Page 19 of Taken By the Leviathan King

“Report,” Krak’zol demands, his voice reverberating through the chamber.

Vara, the female warrior I’d met briefly before, steps forward. “My King, Rynor breached the outer sanctum through the western corridor—a passage that should have been impenetrable. Our defenses were compromised from within.”

“How many guards were stationed there?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Vara’s eyes widen slightly, surprised at my interruption, but she answers promptly. “Four of our strongest warriors, Lieutenant Vance. All found unconscious, not killed.”

Interesting. I frown, military training kicking in. “That’s... specific. Unconscious means either Rynor didn’t want to kill his own kind, or he needed to preserve something. Information, maybe?”

Krak’zol turns to me, one eyebrow raised. “What are you thinking?”

I move forward, studying the holographic map Zorath has projected into the water. It shimmers with glowing detail, showing the palace’s labyrinthine structure. “In my experience, when someone knows exactly where to hit and how to disable specific defenses, it’s because they have inside information.” My finger traces the path of Rynor’s attack. “These aren’t random strikes. They’re surgical. Precise.”

The warriors exchange glances, and I catch the subtle shift in their posture—a newfound wariness that spreads through the room like ripples in still water.

“You suggest treachery within my court?” Krak’zol’s voice drops dangerously low.

“I’m saying the evidence points that way.” I meet his gaze steadily. “Rynor knew exactly which corridors to target, which guards would be where, and precisely how to disable yoursecurity measures. That’s not luck or even good reconnaissance. That’s someone feeding him information.”

A murmur ripples through the gathered warriors. Krak’zol’s jaw tightens, the ridges along his spine flaring slightly—a tell I’m starting to recognize as agitation.

“If what you say is true,” he rumbles, “then the traitor could be anyone.”

“Not anyone,” I correct, studying the pattern of breaches more carefully. “Someone with access to your security rotations, someone who knows the palace intimately.” I pause, noticing something. “These attacks all happened during shift changes. Who would know exactly when those occur?”

The room falls silent. I can practically hear the mental calculations happening as each warrior considers the implications.

“Only the high council and my personal advisors have access to that information,” Krak’zol says slowly, his silver eyes narrowing.

I scan the faces around me, training kicking in. Years of reading micro-expressions during interrogations has made me sensitive to the tells of deception. Most of the warriors look appropriately concerned or angry. But there’s one face that stands out—not for what it shows, but for what it carefully doesn’t.

Nira, the gentle healer, stands slightly apart from the others. Her expression is perfectly composed, but her fingers twist nervously around a pendant at her neck. When Zorath moves to examine another section of the map, her eyes follow him with a flash of... something. Fear? Concern?

“What about communications?” I ask, keeping my tone casual. “Has anyone been sending messages outside the normal channels?”

Zorath stiffens almost imperceptibly. If I hadn’t been watching for it, I would have missed it entirely.

“Our communications are secure,” he responds, a touch too quickly. “I personally oversee all outgoing messages.”

Perfect position to filter information, I think but don’t say. Instead, I nod thoughtfully. “Then perhaps we should use that to our advantage. Feed false information through the official channels and see where Rynor strikes next.”

Krak’zol’s eyes meet mine, understanding dawning. He catches my subtle glance toward Zorath and inclines his head slightly. We’re on the same wavelength.

“An excellent strategy,” he agrees, his voice betraying nothing. “Zorath, prepare a security briefing indicating that we’re moving additional forces to protect the eastern chamber. Make it appear as though we’re anticipating Rynor’s next move there.”

“At once, my king.” Zorath bows and moves to leave.

“And Zorath,” Krak’zol adds, his tone deceptively casual, “bring Nira with you. Her healing skills may be needed for the wounded.”

Nira’s head snaps up, her eyes widening fractionally before she schools her features. “Of course, my king.”

As they leave, I move closer to Krak’zol, lowering my voice. “You saw it too?”

“The way she watches him? Yes.” His hand finds the small of my back, a light touch that sends warmth cascading through me. “And the way he carefully avoids looking at her. There’s history there.”

“More than history,” I murmur. “Did you notice her pendant? It contains a fragment of the same crystal type as his ceremonial dagger. In human terms, that’s practically wearing someone’s class ring.”

A low rumble of amusement vibrates from his chest. “Your eyes miss nothing, little warrior.” There’s pride in his voice that makes something flutter in my chest. “Now we wait.”

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