Chapter 147

Chapter 147: Chapter 147

The Palace City was still in mourning.

Two weeks had passed since the festival, but the streets were quieter than they had ever been. The banners still hung from the buildings, but they seemed faded now, their colors muted by grief. The people moved through their days with heavy hearts, their voices hushed, their eyes downcast. The death of the Moonblood heir had left a wound in the realm that had not yet begun to heal.

And in the center of it all, Soren Thornridge was determined to find answers.

He had not slept properly since Nyra faded in his arms. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face—the silver eyes, the gentle smile, the way she had whispered "I love you" one last time before dissolving into butterflies. The memory was a blade in his chest, twisting every time he breathed.

But grief would not bring her back. Grief would not bring justice. Only the truth could do that.

And so he threw himself into the investigation with a fury that surprised even him.

"The arrow," he said, pacing the length of the council chamber. "Where did it come from? Who fired it?"

Corvin stood on the other side of the table, surrounded by documents and evidence. His whiskey-dark eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, but they burned with the same determination that drove Soren. "The arrow was traced to a bow found in the upper gallery of the square. It was a military-grade weapon—the kind used by Varek’s personal guard."

"Varek’s men are in custody. Have any of them talked?"

"Some. But not about the arrow. They claim they were ordered to cause a distraction, not to shoot. The archer was acting on his own."

"Or on someone else’s orders." Soren’s jaw tightened. "We need to find out who."

They worked together—the wolf and the serpent, their rivalry set aside in the face of shared grief. It was strange, at first, to be standing side by side with Corvin Eldritch, the man who had been his rival for years. But grief had a way of erasing old grievances. And they both wanted the same thing: justice for Nyra.

"Killian Drak," Corvin said one evening, looking up from a stack of documents. "He was Draven Grimscar’s... companion. They were seen together constantly before the showcase. If Draven was involved in the assassination, Killian might know something."

"Then we question him."

"Carefully. If he’s involved, he’ll go to ground the moment he realizes we’re onto him."

"Then we don’t give him that chance."

They began their investigation in secret. Soren used his authority as crown prince to access records and interview witnesses. Corvin used his connections—and his father’s influence—to trace the origins of the poison and the arrow. Ragnar and Roderic provided muscle and surveillance. Finn, Marek, and Jasper gathered intelligence from the student body. Maureen kept her eyes on Selene’s friends. Lucian and Orion watched the academy’s darker corners.

And slowly, piece by piece, the truth began to emerge.

The breakthrough came three weeks after the festival.

"It was Draven," Corvin announced, slamming a document onto the table. "He was the one who shot the arrow. The bow was found in his quarters, hidden beneath the floorboards. The fletching on the arrow matches the shafts he purchased from a blacksmith in the city two days before the festival."

Soren stared at the document. "Draven Grimscar. Of course. He was always Nyra’s enemy. He tried to kill her at the sparring match, at the Mistwood..."

"And now he’s succeeded." Corvin’s voice was bitter. "But why? What did he have to gain?"

"Only one way to find out."

Draven was arrested that same evening.

They found him in the Shadowmoon dormitory, packing his belongings in a frantic hurry. He tried to run, but Ragnar and Roderic blocked the exits, and Soren and Corvin cornered him in the common room.

"It’s over, Draven," Soren said, his voice cold as ice. "We know what you did."

Draven’s face went white. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"The arrow. The bow. The poison." Corvin stepped forward. "We have evidence. We have witnesses. We have everything we need to see you executed for treason."

Draven’s composure shattered. "It wasn’t me! I didn’t shoot the arrow! I didn’t kill anyone!"

"Then who did?"

"I don’t know! I don’t know who fired the arrow! It was supposed to be a different plan! Thorne was supposed to be disgraced, not killed! I didn’t—I never—"

"Then why was the bow found in your quarters?"

Draven’s eyes widened. "The bow? What bow? I never had a bow—"

"Don’t lie to us!" Soren grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall. "Nyra is dead because of you! Because of your poison! Because of your arrow!"

"It wasn’t me!" Draven was crying now, tears streaming down his face. "I swear on the Moon Goddess, it wasn’t me! Killian—Killian said he had a plan, but he never told me the details! He just said I had to—"

He stopped abruptly. His eyes bulged. His hands flew to his throat.

"Draven?" Corvin stepped closer. "Draven, what’s wrong?"

Draven opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, blood bubbled up from his lips—dark and thick and wrong. He began to convulse, his body jerking violently. Soren released him, and he crumpled to the floor, still shaking.

"Someone get a healer!" Ragnar shouted.

But it was too late.

Draven’s convulsions slowed, then stopped. His eyes stared up at the ceiling, unseeing. Blood pooled beneath his body, spreading across the stone floor like a dark stain.

He was dead.

Corvin knelt beside him, his face pale. "Poison. Someone got to him before we did."

"Killian," Soren said, his voice hard. "Draven was about to expose him. He was silenced."

"We need to find Killian Drak."

But when they searched the academy, Killian was gone. His room was empty. His belongings were missing. He had vanished without a trace.

Two weeks after Draven’s death, the academy officially resumed.

Soren returned to Shadowmoon despite his mother’s desperate pleas. The palace was too quiet, too suffocating. He needed to be somewhere he could think. Somewhere he could fight. Somewhere he could continue his investigation without the constant weight of royal protocol.

The Proctor and the school board welcomed him with a ceremony that felt more like a funeral than a homecoming. Students lined the corridors, their faces a mixture of awe and sympathy. Some of them bowed. Some of them wept. A few of them reached out to touch him, as if to reassure themselves that he was real.

Soren endured it all with the patience of a man who had nothing left to lose.

After the ceremony, he went to his old suite.

The door was locked from the inside. He knocked once, twice, and then the door swung open.

Selene stood there, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders, her amber eyes wide with surprise. She was wearing one of his old shirts—a training tunic that hung loose on her frame—and her feet were bare on the cold stone floor.

"Soren." Her voice was soft, hesitant. "You’re back."

"I’m back." His golden eyes swept over the room behind her. His room. His things. His life now occupied by the woman who had lied to him, manipulated him, and tried to destroy the woman he loved.

He wanted to throw her out. He wanted to scream at her, to demand answers, to make her suffer the way Nyra had suffered. But something made him pause.

She knows something, he thought. She’s been lying to me since the moment I woke up. If I push her away now, I’ll lose whatever information she might reveal.

He forced his expression into something neutral. "May I come in?"

Selene blinked, clearly surprised. "Of course. It’s your room, after all."

She stepped aside, and he walked in. The room was exactly as he remembered it—the furniture, the books, the training equipment. But there were signs of her everywhere: her clothes in the wardrobe, her brushes on the nightstand, her scent lingering in the air.

"I didn’t know you were coming back," she said, closing the door behind him. "I would have... prepared."

"It’s fine." He sat down on the edge of the bed—the bed where he had once held Nyra, kissed her, whispered that he loved her. The memory was a knife in his chest. "I’ve been thinking, Selene. About us. About everything that happened."

Her expression flickered with something like hope. "And?"

"And I think I was too hasty. I said things I shouldn’t have. I pushed you away when I should have been grateful." He looked at her, forcing warmth into his voice. "You were there for me when I couldn’t remember anything. You helped me. You comforted me. And I... I treated you badly."

Selene’s eyes glistened. "Soren..."

"I want to make it right. I want to try again. If you’ll let me."

It was a lie. Every word of it was a lie. But Selene didn’t know that. She crossed the room and sat beside him, her hand finding his.

"Of course I’ll let you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I’ve been waiting for this. Waiting for you to remember what we have."

Soren forced a smile. "Then let’s start over. No more secrets. No more lies. Just the two of us."

And eventually, he thought, you’ll tell me everything. And when you do, I’ll make you pay.

The investigation continued in secret.

Corvin had taken the lead on tracking Killian Drak. The alchemist had vanished the night of Draven’s death, leaving behind only a half-packed bag and a strange sense of foreboding. But Corvin was relentless. He questioned Killian’s acquaintances, searched his abandoned quarters, and traced his movements through the academy.

"Killian was obsessed with me," Corvin admitted one evening, standing in the potions laboratory with Soren and the others. "He followed me. Watched me. He was jealous of Nyra because I cared about her."

"So he had a motive," Ragnar said. "He wanted Nyra dead because he saw her as a rival."

"More than that. He was working with someone. Draven was just his pawn. The real mastermind is still out there."

"Varek," Soren said flatly.

"Probably. But Varek is in custody. He can’t orchestrate anything from a prison cell."

"Unless he has allies on the outside."

The group exchanged glances. The same thought was on all their minds: the traitor. The person in their midst who had been feeding information to Varek all along.

"We need to find out who else was involved," Corvin said. "Killian is the key. If we can find him, we can make him talk."

"And if he’s already dead?" Jasper asked quietly.

"Then we find out who killed him. And we follow that trail."

Selene’s meetings with her mysterious ally had grown more frequent.

They met in secret—in the abandoned east wing, in the gardens after dark, in the shadows of the palace city. She would slip away from Soren’s side, always with an excuse, always with a smile. And then she would report to the figure who held her fate in his hands.

"He suspects nothing," she said one night, standing in the darkness of the east wing. "He’s playing the role of the doting betrothed. But I can see it in his eyes—he doesn’t trust me."

The figure smiled. "Of course he doesn’t. He’s not a fool. But as long as he’s pretending, we have time."

"Time for what?"

"Time to finish what we started. Time to eliminate the last of our enemies. Time to secure the throne."

Selene’s jaw tightened. "And Nyra? She’s dead. What’s left to eliminate?"

The figure laughed—a cold, cruel sound. "Nyra was just the beginning. There are still those who would oppose us. The Blackfang boy. The Eldritch heir. The prince himself, if he becomes a problem."

"You can’t kill the crown prince."

"Can’t I?" The figure stepped out of the shadows, and the moonlight revealed his face.

It was Finn Harlan.

Selene stared at him. She had known, of course. She had known from the beginning. But seeing him like this—cold and calculating and utterly without mercy—still sent a chill down her spine.

"My father thinks I’m the gentle one," Finn said, his voice soft. "The innocent one. The one who could never hurt anyone. But he’s wrong. I’ve been the one pulling the strings all along."

"The poison," Selene whispered. "The arrow. The sabotage."

"All me. The others—my father, Elias, even Draven—they were just pawns. Useful tools. Nothing more." He smiled. "And now, with the Moonblood heir dead and the prince distracted by grief, the path to the Astrlyn throne is clear."

"What about Elias? He thinks he’s the one who will inherit."

"Elias is a fool. He believes whatever I tell him. When the time comes, he’ll be eliminated like the rest."

Selene stared at him, a shiver running down her spine. She had made a deal with a monster. She had known it from the beginning. But now, seeing the true depth of his cruelty, she wondered if she had made a terrible mistake.

It’s too late to back out now, she thought. I’ve come too far.

"So what happens now?" she asked.

Finn smiled. "Now we wait. The investigation will continue, but it won’t find anything. I’ve been too careful. My records are clean. My reputation is spotless. No one will ever suspect the gentle, foolish Finn Harlan of being the mastermind behind it all."

"And if they do?"

"They won’t." His gray eyes glinted with cold amusement. "And if they get too close, I’ll simply remove them from the equation."

He stepped back into the shadows, his form dissolving into the darkness.

"Stay close to the prince," he called over his shoulder. "Keep him distracted. And report everything he says to me."

Selene nodded, her heart pounding.

What have I done? she thought. What have I become?

But it was far too late for regrets. The game was already in motion. And the only way to survive it was to play until the end.