Page 22 of Her Fated Alpha Prince
Some were written in a cipher he hadn’t broken yet. Others, he had—and what they’d revealed about the palace’s inner rot had kept him up more nights than he could count.
He added the new parchment to the stack, then took out a blank page and began to write, his hand moving quickly:
V—
You were right. She’s changing faster than expected. The garden responded. She didn’t say how, but she was shaken. That’s twice in two nights. You said she wouldn’t be aware yet, but I think she’s beginning to feel it.
They’ll move soon. I can feel it in the guards. Too quiet.
Keep your eyes on the priestess. If anyone knows what Seryna’s planning, it’s her.
—K
He didn’t sign his name in full. Never had. The letters were too dangerous, too traceable. But Varos would know.
Kael slid the page into the secret box and locked it again before rising. Dust clung to his cloak, and the tower air smelled of old stone and older secrets.
He needed to see Ariana. Not because of the dream—though the way she’d looked this morning, pale and distracted, hadn’t escaped his notice—but because he needed to know if she remembered the note. If she understood what was beginning to stir inside her. If she trusted him enough yet to say anything.
But trust wasn’t something Ariana gave freely.
He moved through the halls toward her wing, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpets. Outside her door, he paused, listening.
No sound.
He knocked once.
No response.
His hand hovered over the latch, but he didn’t push it open. She deserved more than to be cornered like a spy. Still, his gut twisted. Something didn’t feel right.
He stepped back, leaned against the opposite wall, and waited.
Five minutes. Ten.
Then the door creaked open from the inside.
Ariana stood there barefoot, eyes dark with a thousand questions, and Kael knew, without a word spoken, that something inside her had changed.
She didn’t speak. Just stepped back and left the door open, turning her back on him like she trusted he’d follow. Or like she didn’t care if he did.
He closed the door behind him.
The room smelled of lavender and ash. Not smoke—ash. Old, burnt, buried. The flowers by the open archway had wilted at the tips, like they’d bloomed too fast and were paying for it now.
She was by the window, arms folded across her chest. Barefoot. Hair unbound. Her skin glowed faintly, even in the moonlight.
“You read the note,” he said softly.
She nodded. “Who’s watching me?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“And the dreams? The garden responding to me? That’s not normal here, is it?”
Kael hesitated. “No.”
“And you’re not surprised.”
