The voices outside Cassie’s door grew sharper, though they never quite escalated into a shout. Theodoric’s cold, measured tone stood out, as precise and unyielding as a drawn blade.

  “You’re grasping at shadows, Dietrich. The logic doesn’t hold, no matter how you twist it.”

  A second voice followed, smoother, laced with mockery. “Twist it? Oh, brother, I’m simply presenting the facts. And the facts, inconvenient as they may be for you, paint quite the damning picture.”

  Cassie stilled, straining to hear past the dull ache in her side. She recognized the voice immediately—Prince Dietrich.

  “Your facts are selective,” Theodoric replied evenly. “Which makes them useless.”

  A low chuckle drifted through the hallway, far too pleased for the weight of the conversation. “Selective, perhaps, but not untrue. Would you like me to list them? Oh, but I wouldn’t want to bore our dear audience.”

  The word "ambush" filtered through the exchange, followed by "insignia" and "attack." Cassie’s stomach tightened as flashes of the hunt returned—the snarling beast, masked attackers striking from the shadows, and the sharp glint of Dietrich’s insignia on their gear.

  Her thoughts churned as the implications fell into place. Both sides had been targeted during the hunt, with attackers bearing the other’s insignia. It wasn’t coincidence. It was a trap.

  The door creaked open, and Theodoric stepped inside, his expression carved from stone. His sharp gaze flicked to Cassie, scanning her briefly before he spoke.

  “There’s more you need to know,” he said curtly. “Come with me.”

  The sitting room was dimly lit, the faint glow of lanterns casting long shadows along the walls. Cassie’s eyes were drawn immediately to the figure reclining on a chaise at the center.

  Prince Dietrich looked every bit the picture of wounded nobility. His torso and shoulder were wrapped in pristine bandages, the bloodstains beneath them artfully visible. His pale face was tinged with a faint sheen of sweat, though the smirk curling his lips betrayed no pain.

  “Ah,” Dietrich said as Theodoric entered, his tone light and dripping with feigned delight. “You’ve brought her. How thoughtful. I do so love an audience for these little exchanges of ours.”

  “She’s here for the truth,” Theodoric said, his voice cold and clipped.

  Dietrich tilted his head, his smirk widening. “And which version will you be providing today? Yours, no doubt, is polished and pristine. Mine, of course, is riddled with holes and petty grievances.” He sighed dramatically. “A shame I’m so unreliable.”

  “Enough,” Theodoric said sharply. “Speak plainly.”

  “But where’s the fun in that?” Dietrich replied, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He shifted slightly, wincing as if for effect. “Shall I tell her how your loyal men ambushed me? Or should I start with the part where they left your insignia scattered about like breadcrumbs? It’s a curious thing, really, how your emblem ended up on the corpses of those who tried to kill me.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Cassie stiffened, watching Theodoric’s reaction closely. His expression didn’t change, though the faintest shift in his posture suggested tension beneath the surface.

  “Convenient,” Theodoric said coolly. “But not as curious as how my men were attacked during the same hunt—by figures bearing your insignia.”

  Dietrich’s smirk didn’t falter. Instead, it grew sharper. “A marvelous coincidence, isn’t it? One might even call it poetic. Your men strike at me; my men, in turn, retaliate. It’s almost as though we’re caught in a cycle of violence, one that benefits neither of us. How tragic.”

  “You’re deflecting,” Theodoric said, his tone even. “Your beasts, your ambushes. And still, here you sit, spinning tales rather than asking the obvious question: who profits from this?”

  Dietrich spread his hands, his smirk fading into a faint smile. “Oh, I’m asking. Believe me. But if we’re pointing fingers, shouldn’t I start with the brother whose ambition has always outweighed his subtlety?”

  The tension in the room thickened like a storm about to break. Cassie watched Dietrich closely, noting how his retainers mirrored his slippery demeanor. They whispered among themselves, their words low and dangerous, while Theodoric’s advisors stood rigid and silent, their eyes like hawks watching for the faintest twitch of a threat.

  “If I wanted you dead, Dietrich,” Theodoric said, his voice low and cold, “you wouldn’t be here to gloat.”

  Dietrich’s laughter was quiet, unhurried. “And there it is—the stoicism. The noble air of superiority. How exhausting it must be to sit atop your self-made pedestal, constantly looking down.”

  “And how convenient it must be,” Theodoric countered, “to keep playing the fool while others do the real work.”

  Dietrich’s smile slipped for the briefest moment, though he recovered quickly. He gestured lazily to his bandaged shoulder. “A fool? Perhaps. But a fool still breathing, despite your best efforts.”

  “Your breathing is beside the point,” Theodoric said icily.

  Later, Theodoric pulled Cassie aside into a quiet corridor, his steps deliberate but quieter than usual. When he turned to face her, his expression was as unreadable as ever, though his words carried weight.

  “You’ve seen enough to understand,” he said quietly.

  Cassie nodded. “This wasn’t just chance. The ambushes—they were deliberate. Someone wanted you both to think the other was behind it.”

  “Precisely,” Theodoric said. “And it worked.”

  His gaze turned steely. “Dietrich doesn’t see the larger picture. The court thrives on division, and whoever orchestrated this knew exactly how to fan the flames. If Dietrich retaliates, it’ll be chaos. The kingdom can’t afford another war—not now.”

  Cassie leaned against the wall, her mind racing. “You want me to investigate?”

  “I need you to investigate,” Theodoric corrected. “Quietly. The fewer who know, the better. Whoever planned this won’t stop with one hunt.”

  For a moment, his gaze softened. “I trust you to handle this.”

  On her way back to the medical wing, Cassie’s mind churned with the weight of Theodoric’s words. The ambush had been a masterstroke, pitting the brothers against each other with just enough evidence to stoke their suspicions.

  Passing Dietrich’s quarters, she slowed as low voices filtered into the hall.

  “Even if it wasn’t Theodoric,” Dietrich was saying, his voice light but with an edge, “someone went to great lengths to make it look like him. I wonder why.”

  Another voice replied, calm and measured. “Perhaps it doesn’t matter why. What matters is how you respond. Hesitation is defeat. It also looks like weakness. Weakness is a sin.”

  Dietrich chuckled softly. “And strength? That would look like moving first, wouldn’t it?”

  Cassie’s chest tightened as she moved quietly past the door, her heart racing. If Dietrich moved against Theodoric, the court would descend into chaos—and whoever orchestrated the ambush would achieve exactly what they wanted.

  Her steps quickened as she muttered to herself, “I need answers... fast.”