The Serpent in the Garden

A week of brittle, anxious silence settled over the palace in the aftermath of the attack. The specter of the summer manor massacre haunted the royal corridors, a constant, silent reminder of their vulnerability. But for Natalia, another phantom was taking shape—the ghost of a conversation.

She sat in the cavernous royal library, a thick tome of Ruen history lying heavy and unopened in her lap. Her mind was not on the page, but in the garden, reliving her exchange with General Julian. “Viktor never shares his plans with me. I want to surprise him with a party. Would you please tell me what he has planned?”

The words, once so innocent and well-intentioned, now tasted like ash in her memory. She recalled the details she had so eagerly shared with Viktor’s doctor, Isaak. “There will be a ball and a festival to celebrate Viktor's first victory.” The attack on the ball. “Viktor is heading to Kingston with a force.” The massacre at the manor while Viktor was away.

The pieces clicked into place with a sickening, horrific finality. This had been no accident. She had not been a conspirator in a friendly surprise. She had been the General’s unwitting informant. The serpent in Viktor’s own garden.

No tears came this time. In their place, a cold, hard fury began to take root in the hollow of her chest. She surged to her feet and slammed the book shut, the crack echoing like a gunshot in the silent library. She was done being a pawn. She refused to be used.

She found Viktor and Markus in his study, poring over maps spread across a massive oak table. He looked up as she entered, his expression drawn and weary.

“Natalia, I’m busy—”

"It was him." Her voice was devoid of its usual tremor, replaced by a steadiness that was as cold and unyielding as glacial ice. "It was your uncle."

Viktor’s eyes narrowed. "What foolishness are you speaking of now?"

She marched directly to his desk, planting her hands flat on the gleaming wood and leaning forward. She laid it all out for him—the conversations, the timeline, the damning “coincidences.” She detailed how Julian had played upon her emotions, manufacturing the fiction of a “surprise party” to milk her for the intelligence he needed for two perfectly timed assaults.

As she spoke, she watched the color drain from Markus’s face. Viktor remained impassive, yet she could see a tempest gathering in the depths of his dark eyes. The treachery was no longer merely political; the sword had been twisted by his own family.

"The doctor, Isaak," Viktor said, his voice dangerously low. "He was Julian’s messenger."

"And I was his source," Natalia finished, her jaw tight. "He used me to learn where you would be, and where you would not. He orchestrated everything."

At last, the storm in Viktor’s eyes broke through his control. He swept an arm across his desk, sending maps and quills scattering to the floor. "Markus," he growled. "Find Doctor Isaak. Bring him to the throne room. Now." He turned back to Natalia, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. "And you… you will be with me."

They set the trap. Doctor Isaak crumbled under the crushing weight of Markus’s interrogation, confessing everything. General Julian Gathersword was then summoned to the throne room for an “urgent report on the rebellion.”

He entered with the quiet confidence of a man who believed himself untouchable. He found Viktor seated upon the throne, with Natalia standing beside him, her face a mask of icy resolve.

"Uncle," Viktor began, his voice imbued with a chilling resonance that filled the great hall. "I have new intelligence. I intend to ride for the northern border at dawn, with only a small personal escort. There are whispers the leader of the rebellion is hiding there."

A flicker of triumph sparked in Julian’s eyes, so faint that only one looking for it could have seen it. "A bold move, nephew. Perhaps too bold. Are you certain of your source?"

"Oh, I am very certain," Viktor replied, a slow, predatory smile touching his lips. "I am positive that you were about to relay that very information to your true allies."

As if on cue, Markus strode into the room, dragging a terrified Doctor Isaak with him.

Julian’s composure finally shattered. His face contorted into a mask of pure hatred, and he snarled at Natalia. "You! You were supposed to be a simple, witless girl! A useful tool!"

"She is my Queen," Viktor roared from his throne. "And you are a traitor to the crown."

"This crown?" Julian let out a wild, unhinged laugh. "This crown belonged to a man who allowed my sister, your mother, to be cast aside! You are just like him! A monster! Everything I did, I did for her! I misled the rebels, I allied with Stefan—all to rid this realm of your filth!"

In a blur of motion, he produced a blade from within his sleeve and lunged—not for Viktor, but for Natalia.

Viktor moved faster. His own sword met Julian’s with a deafening clang. Markus threw Isaak to the ground as guards charged forward. The throne room exploded into chaos. Julian, a brilliant tactician, fought with the ferocity of a cornered animal. He shattered a stained-glass window with the pommel of his dagger, shoved Viktor back, and wounded two guards.

Before anyone could stop him, he leaped through the opening, disappearing into the twilight gloom of the palace grounds below.

A profound silence descended upon the great hall, broken only by the sound of the wind whistling through the shattered window. The immediate threat had passed, but war had just been openly declared.

Later that evening, Viktor and Natalia stood on the balcony of their chambers, looking out over the sleeping city. The cool night air was a balm on her frayed nerves.

"He's still out there," she said softly.

Viktor moved to stand behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist. He rested his chin on her shoulder, his weight solid and reassuring.

"I would not have seen it," he confessed, his voice a low growl against her ear. "His treachery. Not without you."

She leaned back against him, drawing strength from his embrace. The pain of the last few months, the loss of Jace, the terror—it was no longer a weight dragging her down. It was a fire that had forged her into something stronger.

"What do we do now, Viktor?" she asked, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

He tightened his grip, his voice filled with a new, unrelenting certainty.

"Now," he said, "we hunt."