King Theron did not believe the princess was dead.
The room was silent.
Too silent.
A map covered the table in front of him.
Red markings ran across the eastern border.
Three villages.
The capital.
The palace.
All of it had been taken.
All of it belonged to him now.
Or so everyone kept telling him.
Theron stared at the map.
“Say it again.”
The man standing before him swallowed.
“Your Majesty.”
“Say it.”
The man lowered his head.
“The royal family is dead.”
Theron said nothing.
“The king was found in the throne room.”
“And the queen?”
“Dead.”
“The prince?”
“Dead.”
Theron’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
“And the princess?”
The man hesitated.
Theron looked up.
“That was not difficult.”
“We have not found her.”
Silence.
Theron leaned back.
“You said the palace was sealed.”
“It was.”
“You said no one could have escaped.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You said the eastern gate was under our control.”
“It was.”
“Then explain why you cannot find her.”
The man opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Theron looked at him for a long moment.
“Leave.”
The man bowed quickly.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The doors closed.
Theron remained where he was.
He looked at the map again.
The kingdom was his.
The crown was his.
Aldrich was dead.
There should have been nothing left to concern him.
Yet something was wrong.
He knew it.
He had known it from the beginning.
⸻
The palace had been searched three times.
Every room.
Every corridor.
Every passage.
Every cellar.
Every chamber.
They had searched the gardens.
The stables.
The chapel.
The servants’ quarters.
They had searched beneath the palace.
Nothing.
No body.
No blood trail.
No clothing.
Nothing belonging to Celandine.
Theron stood by the window.
Below him, soldiers moved through the courtyard.
His soldiers.
His banners hung from the towers.
His guards stood where Aldrich’s men had once stood.
It should have felt like victory.
It didn’t.
A knock came at the door.
“Enter.”
A commander stepped inside.
“Your Majesty.”
Theron didn’t turn.
“What have you found?”
“Nothing.”
Theron closed his eyes.
Again.
The same answer.
Nothing.
“She could have been killed in the fire.”
“Could have?”
The commander hesitated.
“We cannot be certain.”
Theron turned.
“You cannot be certain.”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“You had three days.”
“Yes.”
“You had soldiers.”
“Yes.”
“You had the entire city.”
“Yes.”
“And still you have no body.”
The commander lowered his head.
“I am sorry.”
Theron walked toward him.
“You should be.”
The commander remained still.
Theron stopped in front of him.
“Do you know why I don’t believe she’s dead?”
The man shook his head.
“No, Your Majesty.”
“Because Aldrich knew.”
The commander looked confused.
“Knew what?”
“That I would come for his family.”
Theron walked past him.
“He knew I would not leave an heir alive.”
He stopped beside the table.
“Aldrich was many things.”
His eyes moved across the map.
“Stubborn.”
“Proud.”
“Foolish.”
He looked up.
“But he was not careless.”
The commander said nothing.
“If he believed there was even the smallest chance that his daughter could survive, he would have prepared for it.”
“Perhaps he did.”
Theron looked at him.
The commander immediately lowered his gaze.
Theron smiled.
“Perhaps.”
He returned to the window.
That was the problem.
Perhaps.
⸻
The throne room had not been repaired.
Theron had ordered them to leave it exactly as it was.
The broken doors.
The blood.
The scorched stone.
The crown that had fallen from Aldrich’s head had been recovered.
It now sat on the throne.
Not Theron’s.
Aldrich’s.
Theron had not touched it.
He didn’t know why.
Perhaps because some part of him still believed that taking it would mean admitting that Aldrich had truly lost.
And Theron had already won.
He walked into the throne room alone.
His footsteps echoed.
He stopped where Aldrich had fallen.
There was still a dark stain on the floor.
Theron looked down.
He remembered the night.
The screaming.
The fire.
The guards.
The queen.
Aldrich.
And then the princess.
He remembered asking one question.
“Where is she?”
No one had answered.
He had assumed the fire had taken her.
But assumptions were for weaker men.
Theron crouched.
His fingers touched the stone.
Cold.
He stood again.
“Find her.”
His voice echoed through the empty room.
No one answered.
He turned toward the doors.
A soldier entered.
“Your Majesty.”
Theron looked at him.
“What?”
“The eastern commander requests permission to withdraw some of the men from the southern roads.”
“No.”
“He believes—”
“I don’t care what he believes.”
The soldier bowed.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Tell him to continue searching.”
“Yes.”
“And bring me every report from the night of the attack.”
The soldier hesitated.
“All of them?”
“Every one.”
The soldier bowed again.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
He left.
Theron looked back at the throne.
Something had survived that night.
He was certain of it now.
The question was not whether Celandine had escaped.
The question was how far she had gone.
⸻
Hours later, the reports arrived.
Theron read each one.
Slowly.
He read them twice.
Then a third time.
The first report listed the dead.
The second recorded the destruction of the palace.
The third described the evacuation of civilians.
The fourth mentioned the chapel.
Theron stopped.
He read the line again.
Two guards assigned to the western passage were found dead.
He continued.
One passage beneath the chapel was discovered open.
His eyes narrowed.
He turned the page.
No body recovered.
Theron leaned back.
There it was.
Not proof.
But enough.
He read the report again.
Then again.
“Your Majesty?”
Theron looked up.
His adviser stood at the doorway.
“Come here.”
The man approached.
Theron handed him the report.
“Read this.”
The adviser did.
His expression changed.
“The chapel.”
“Yes.”
“The princess could have escaped through there.”
“She could have.”
The adviser looked at him.
“But we don’t know.”
Theron smiled faintly.
“You’re beginning to understand.”
He took the report back.
“Send men to the southern roads.”
“They’ve already been searched.”
“Search them again.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“And the villages.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
The adviser hesitated.
“Your Majesty, if she has crossed the border—”
“She hasn’t.”
“You cannot know that.”
Theron’s eyes hardened.
“No.”
He looked toward the window.
“But I know Celandine.”
The adviser said nothing.
Theron remembered her.
He had seen her only a handful of times.
A child the first time.
A girl the second.
Quiet.
Observant.
Always watching the adults around her.
She had her father’s stubbornness.
Her mother’s restraint.
Neither had ever understood what those qualities would cost her.
“She would not leave her kingdom willingly,” Theron said.
“Perhaps she had no choice.”
“Everyone has a choice.”
The adviser looked at him.
Theron turned.
“Find her.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“And when you do?”
Theron looked toward the throne.
“Bring her to me.”
The adviser bowed.
He began to leave.
Theron stopped him.
“One more thing.”
The man turned.
“Do not announce that we are searching for her.”
“Why?”
“Because if she is alive, I want her to believe she is safe.”
The adviser understood.
“And if she believes that?”
Theron smiled.
“She will make a mistake.”
⸻
That evening, Theron stood alone on the balcony.
The city below was beginning to recover.
Markets had reopened.
The streets were crowded again.
People were returning to their homes.
His kingdom was settling into his rule.
Everything was exactly as he had planned.
Except for one thing.
The princess.
He looked toward the horizon.
Somewhere beyond it, she was alive.
He could feel it.
Not because of evidence.
Not because of reports.
Because Aldrich had spent seventeen years protecting her.
A man like Aldrich would not have allowed his daughter to die without a fight.
Theron smiled.
“Run, little princess.”
The wind carried the words away.
“You’ve had enough time.”
He turned from the balcony.
And walked back into the palace.
⸻
Far from the capital, a man sat beside a dying fire.
His face was hidden beneath a hood.
A small piece of parchment lay in his hand.
He read the same words for the third time.
The princess may have survived.
He folded the parchment.
Then placed it inside his coat.
A horse waited nearby.
He stood.
Before mounting, he looked toward the road leading west.
He had been given a name.
A description.
A kingdom to search.
And one order.
Find her.
He mounted the horse.
Then rode into the darkness.
Theron had stopped waiting for Celandine to return.
Now he was sending someone to find her.
And this time, he would not send an army.
He would send a man who knew exactly how to kill.