“The chancellor has requested an immediate private audience.”
Lucian’s expression closed.
“In the throne room?”
“The Moon Gallery.”
Elara felt a thread of alarm.
The Moon Gallery contained the oldest listening bells in the palace.
The bells listen.
Sorrel’s warning returned to her.
“It is a trap,” she said.
Lucian looked toward Rovan.
“Has Aurel ever requested a meeting there before?”
“Not in my service.”
Lucian fastened his coat.
“Then we should not disappoint him.”
“You cannot go alone,” Elara said.
“He asked for privacy.”
“He is attempting to complete a territorial oath. I doubt he will be offended by poor manners.”
The Moon Gallery curved around the highest palace tower. Hundreds of silver bells hung from the ceiling, each representing a ruler, marriage or alliance in the imperial bloodline.
Aurel waited beneath the largest window.
“Lucian,” he said warmly. “You have been difficult to find.”
“I have been governing.”
“With a human prisoner?”
Elara stepped from behind Captain Rovan.
Aurel’s smile remained in place.
“Miss Venn. I had understood that you were confined.”
“So had I.”
Lucian’s mouth shifted almost imperceptibly.
Aurel noticed.
“Captain, leave us.”
Rovan did not move.
“The captain remains,” Lucian said.
“Then I fear our conversation may become uncomfortable.”
“I have survived discomfort.”
Aurel looked toward the bells.
“I served your father for thirty-two years. I carried you from the room when your mother died. I negotiated with rebels while you learned how to hold a sword. Have I earned so little trust?”
Lucian’s face remained expressionless.
“You have earned enough that I came.”
Aurel sighed.
“Lord Veyne sent a message this morning. He claims the western provinces cannot meet their debts. He offers to assume responsibility for the region in exchange for a ninety-year administrative lease.”
Elara’s stomach tightened.
The final stage of the transfer.
“And you recommend accepting?” Lucian asked.
“I recommend survival. The border is consuming imperial resources. Mines are closing. Settlements are emptying. The western governors cannot control their own people.”
“Because someone deprived them of food, medicine and fuel.”
Aurel’s gaze moved to Elara.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The voice that has poisoned you against your own council.”
Elara felt the bells above them begin to vibrate.
No wind entered the gallery.
Aurel continued speaking.
“You have spent weeks hiding with this woman while enemies gather at our borders. She has taught you to see conspiracy in every error.”
The bells vibrated harder.
Elara saw black resin inside their silver mouths.
“Lucian,” she said.
Aurel raised his voice.
“Ask her what she truly wants.”
The bells rang.
Pain pierced Elara’s skull.
She tried to step back, but invisible pressure locked her body in place.
The gallery blurred.
A command entered her mind.
Speak the hidden truth.
The bells had been altered into an interrogation device.
“Elara!” Lucian caught her shoulders.
She tried to warn him about Aurel.
Instead, the magic forced a different truth toward her mouth.
“I want—”
She bit her tongue.
Blood filled her mouth.
Aurel watched.
“Ask her,” he said, “whether she has been manipulating the investigation to avenge her mother.”
Lucian turned toward him.
The emperor’s wolf surged so violently that several windows cracked.
But the spell tightened around Elara’s throat.
“I want him,” she gasped.
Silence fell between the bells.
Lucian stared at her.
The magic had pulled out the truth she had refused to name.
Not the emperor.
Not the throne.
Him.
His attention.
His rare, restrained humor.
His brutal honesty.
The way he listened.
The way he carried responsibility until it wounded him.
Aurel’s expression sharpened with satisfaction.
“Now you understand. She has compromised your judgment.”
Elara felt another command forming.
She would reveal everything: the territorial circle, their evidence, their witnesses and the fact that they suspected Aurel.
Lucian saw the terror in her face.
He drew her against him.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Interrupting the spell.”
Then he kissed her.
It was not gentle.
There was no time for gentleness.
His mouth covered hers before the bells could force another word from her.
For one suspended heartbeat, the gallery disappeared.
Then something ancient awakened.
Silver fire erupted beneath Elara’s skin.
Lucian jerked as if struck.
A thread of light formed between their hearts and spread across the floor in branching lines. Every bell in the gallery rang at once—not with the harsh sound of interrogation magic, but with a clear note that shook the black resin loose.
The windows blazed with moonlight.
A symbol appeared on Lucian’s hand.