Eira's pov
The small parchment was folded with such care, so neatly pressed and slipped under my pillow like a silent whisper in the dark. I barely glanced at it before the words sunk deep into me, chilling every nerve in my body. "The king dies when the queen commands it." No signature. No seal. Just a velvet threat, cloaked in ink and menace. My chest tightened,the threat wasn't vague or empty. Someone wanted me to know I was a target, or worse, a weapon. And that weapon could be turned.
I didn't breathe a word of it to Draven. Not a syllable. If there was a traitor in his ranks, I had no intention of setting off alarms that would ripple into chaos. Panic spreads faster than poison, and once it's loose, no one controls it. No, I would be the shadow in the room, watching, waiting, playing the quiet game.
Surprisingly I would love to watch him die from the hands of his very own Intel. But I'm not like him, besides I would want him to die by my own hands.
