Chapter 453. Do Not Touch the Honey Cakes

Chapter 453: 453. Do Not Touch the Honey Cakes

’Two breaths,’ William thought, his pulse thrumming against his ribs like a trapped bird. ’Right on schedule.’

The Prince played his part to perfection. He lingered for several more minutes, weaving a tapestry of concerned nobility.

He asked after Kaela’s ankle with practiced tenderness, offered the services of his personal physician with obvious concern, and promised a full, transparent inquiry that would satisfy even the most paranoid courtier.

Then, with the flourish of a seasoned actor, he kissed Kaela’s hand and withdrew. His four honor guards fell in behind him with synchronized precision, their midnight blue coats snapping as they moved, their posture as flawless as a marble statue’s.

Only when the last echo of Alden’s boots had faded from the courtyard did William allow himself to release the breath he had been holding since the Prince first spoke.

His lungs burned. His muscles felt coiled, ready to snap.

Catherine didn’t look at him. She kept her gaze fixed on the distant gate, but her jaw was set so tight William could see the muscle jumping beneath her skin.

"William," she said quietly, her voice carrying a dangerous edge.

"Instructor Wade." Kaela’s voice broke through.

She had pulled the heavy wool blanket up to her chin, making her look smaller, more fragile. Her eyes were wide, glassy, and unfocused, still reflecting the traumatic image of the stone screaming past her ear.

"How did you move like that?"

William turned to her, forcing his features into something resembling calm. "Move like how?"

"I didn’t even see you start," she whispered, her fingers twisting convulsively in the blanket. "One second I was bending down, reaching for that flask, and the next there was this sound like thunder, and then you were just there."

"You didn’t run, you just appeared... Like you knew where the world was going to break before it happened."

William offered a dry, hollow smile. "I can’t explain much from words alone..."

"That is not an answer," she snapped, though there was no real heat in it, only the raw nerve of someone who had just touched death.

"It’s the only answer I have that doesn’t involve a forty-minute lecture on wind currents and muscle twitch responses."

A weak, shuddering breath that might have been laughter escaped her. Exhaustion finally won out over adrenaline; she let her head fall onto Catherine’s shoulder.

Catherine immediately wrapped an arm around her, protective and fierce, but her eyes never left William’s. They were searching him, asking questions she wasn’t yet brave enough to voice.

William turned away. He stood beside the ruined pillar, the silence of the courtyard feeling heavier than the stone itself.

Around his boots, the fine gray dust continued to settle in slow, ghostly drifts. His mind was a storm of dangerous connections: the clean cut in the granite, the pale scar of fresh mortar, and the name Tobin Hale, a ghost who had walked through their defenses and left behind a death trap.

...

Sunset had bled into a bruised purple twilight by the time William found Olivia’s quarters in the scholars’ wing. The hallway smelled of old parchment and beeswax. When he knocked, the door creaked open to reveal Olivia.

She looked as if she had been fighting a war against ancient texts; a quill was tucked behind one ear, a fresh smear of black ink stained her chin, and she clutched a single guttering candle in one hand.

She took one look at his face, the set of his jaw, the unnatural stillness in his eyes, and the candle went onto the nearest shelf without her even thinking about it.

"Something happened," she said.

It wasn’t a question. She had learned to read the weather of his moods long ago.

"A pillar in the east gallery collapsed," William said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him with deliberate quiet.

The shadows of the room seemed to press closer. "It fell on the exact spot where Kaela had been standing three seconds before impact."

Olivia’s breath hitched.

"It wasn’t an accident, Olivia... It wasn’t settling stone or bad craftsmanship." William leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur that cut through the stillness. "I found fresh mortar packed into a precise cut inside the stone."

"Someone carved out the support and disguised it. Someone wanted her dead."

He paused, letting the horror of the statement settle between them like ash.

"The last man to sign off on that inspection was a man named Tobin Hale."

"He isn’t on any of our payrolls... He arrived last week with the Delmore delegation as part of their temporary maintenance crew."

"He’s a ghost who walked right into the heart of the palace." William’s eyes burned with a cold, focused fury. "I want to know everything about him."

"His past, his connections, his family, and his sins... I want to know who sent him, and I want to know what they plan to do next."

Olivia went utterly still. William had seen her in all her moods: he had seen her manic curiosity, her scholarly excitement, and the way she could become invisible while eavesdropping on conspirators with nothing but a notebook and a predator’s patience.

But he had never seen her look like this. The soft, academic air she usually wore evaporated. The amateur disappeared.

In its place stood someone whose eyes had gone cold and glassy with a terrifying new purpose. She looked like someone who had just decided to become excellent at something dangerous.

"I can trace him," she said.

Her voice wasn’t hopeful; it was factual. Almost mechanical.

Without waiting for his permission, she spun on her heel toward her cluttered desk. "Give me one night."

William reached out, as if to steady her. "Olivia, slow down."

"You don’t have to do this tonight. You need rest."

She turned to face him, and the intensity in her gaze made him hesitate. "Yes, I do, William."

"Because if someone had the nerve to try and crush her skull with half a ton of granite today, they won’t wait for me to finish my breakfast before they try again tomorrow."

She didn’t wait for his rebuttal. She grabbed a fresh stack of parchment, her movements sharp and agitated, and snatched up a second quill.

"Go. Sleep if you can."

"And for the love of whatever gods you believe in, do not let anyone touch those honey cakes on the plate by the window."

"I will want them at dawn."

William stared at her for a moment, marveling at the sudden shift in her. "They’re your honey cakes, Olivia."

"I wouldn’t dare."

"Good," she snapped, already diving into a tome on Delmore lineage. "Now get out."

He left, but sleep was a stranger to him. He spent the hours pacing his workroom, the silence of the palace feeling less like peace and more like a held breath.

Every creak of the floorboards sounded like a footstep; every gust of wind sounded like a blade drawn from a sheath. His mind kept replaying the image of the pillar, the clean, surgical cut, and the way Prince Alden’s smile hadn’t reached his eyes.

He felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, waiting for the ground to give way again.

At the first gray, sickly light of dawn, when the world felt drained of color, a sharp knock came at his workroom door.

Olivia walked in. She looked as if she had been dragged through the archives by her hair.

Dark, bruised-looking circles hung under her eyes, and her hair had escaped its bun on one side, spilling across her shoulder in a tangled mess. But her hands were steady.

She carried a thick leather folder she had clearly compiled by hand, each page covered in cramped, urgent handwriting.

She walked up to his table and dropped it in front of him with a soft, decisive thump that seemed to echo in the quiet room.

"I would like it on the record that I did this in a single night," she said, her voice hoarse from lack of use.

William looked at the folder, then up at her. "Noted. And deeply, deeply appreciated."

Olivia didn’t smile. She didn’t offer any comfort.

She simply pulled out the chair opposite him and sank into it, the exhaustion momentarily threatening to overwhelm her. But then she straightened her spine, her eyes sharpening as she looked at him.

"Good," she said grimly. "Now sit down."

"This is going to be a lot."