The cold corridors of the palace were silent except for the hurried footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Lyanna's breath came in ragged gasps as she stumbled after the man in black, her gown snagging on sharp edges of the uneven floor. Behind them, the distant clash of steel and the screams of nobles faded into a haunting hum.
"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, wrenching her arm from his grasp.
He turned sharply, his hood falling just enough to reveal a face carved from shadow and moonlight—angular jaw, a faint scar tracing the line of his cheek, and those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through her.
"Somewhere you won't get killed," he replied curtly.
"I don't even know who you are!" Lyanna hissed, her voice rising despite herself.
He stepped closer, the air between them charged with a tension that made her pulse quicken. "You can argue with me when you're safe, Your Highness. Until then, I suggest you keep moving."
She hesitated. Every instinct screamed at her not to trust him, but the chaos she'd left behind offered no better option. The rebels had been organized, ruthless—this wasn't a random attack.
Reluctantly, she nodded, and they resumed their hurried pace.
The Secret Passage
They reached a small archway hidden behind a tapestry bearing the Ardelean crest. Without hesitation, the man pushed it aside to reveal a narrow staircase spiraling downward into darkness.
"After you," he said, gesturing toward the stairs.
Lyanna glared at him. "If you think I'm stepping into that without knowing what's at the bottom—"
"You're welcome to wait for the rebels instead," he interrupted, his tone laced with impatience.
She swallowed her retort and descended the steps, the air growing colder with each step. The man followed close behind, his presence an unsettling mix of protection and intimidation.
"Who are you?" she asked again, her voice quieter this time.
"Kalen," he said simply.
"That's all you're giving me?"
"For now."
She bit back a sharp reply. The stone walls of the passage pressed in around them, the flickering torchlight casting shifting shadows that played tricks on her mind.
A Revelation
The passage opened into a small chamber lit by a single brazier. Ancient maps and faded banners adorned the walls, remnants of a forgotten time. Kalen moved to a wooden chest in the corner, pulling out a bundle of clothing.
"Change," he said, tossing it to her.
She caught it, frowning. "Excuse me?"
"If they're looking for a queen, they won't find one in servant's garb," he explained, his back to her as he examined a sword hanging on the wall.
Lyanna's cheeks flushed, but she said nothing. She turned away, slipping out of her ceremonial gown and into the roughspun tunic and trousers. The fabric scratched against her skin, a stark reminder of how far she'd fallen in mere hours.
When she turned back, Kalen was watching her, his expression unreadable.
"What?" she snapped, self-conscious under his gaze.
"Nothing," he said, but the corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile.
The Attackers' Motive
"Who were they?" Lyanna asked, breaking the silence.
Kalen's jaw tightened. "The Order of the Blooded Thorn."
She froze. The name was whispered in the darker corners of the kingdom, a rebel faction that sought to overthrow the monarchy and dismantle its rule. But they had always been a shadowy threat, a distant rumor.
"Why now? Why the coronation?"
Kalen turned to face her, his expression grim. "Because the pendant you almost wore is more than a symbol. It's a key. And they'll kill anyone who stands in their way of claiming it."
Lyanna's blood ran cold. The pendant—her pendant—had been left behind in the throne room.
"They have it," she whispered.
Kalen shook his head. "Not yet. The High Priest secured it before the attack."
Relief was short-lived as a new fear gripped her. If the Order wanted the pendant that badly, they wouldn't stop until they had it.
Unspoken Tensions
"I need to return to the palace," Lyanna said firmly.
Kalen raised an eyebrow. "And do what? March into a hall full of rebels and ask for your throne back?"
Her glare could have melted ice. "I don't expect you to understand, but this is my kingdom. I can't just hide while my people suffer."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The brazier's flames cast dancing shadows between them, their silence filled with unspoken challenges.
"Bravery is admirable, Your Highness," Kalen said finally, his voice softer, almost mocking. "But there's a fine line between bravery and stupidity."
Lyanna stepped closer, defiance burning in her eyes. "And what would you know of either?"
Their gazes locked, the air between them thick with tension. Kalen's lips parted as if to respond, but he hesitated. Instead, he turned away, his movements deliberate.
"Get some rest," he said, his tone clipped. "We move at dawn."
Lyanna didn't trust him—not yet. But as she lay on the cold stone floor, staring at the flickering shadows on the ceiling, one thought consumed her:
The stranger who had saved her life might be the only one who could help her reclaim it.
And that terrified her more than the rebels ever could.