Chapter 7: The Trap in the Maps

The next morning, the White Stone Castle felt less like a palace and more like a gilded cage. Every corridor was patrolled by Kaelen’s personal guards—massive, silent wolves who watched me like I was a piece of contraband they were itching to confiscate. I was holed up in the "guest study," supposedly to review the summit materials. In reality, I was back on my laptop, the screen reflecting in my eyes. I’d spent the last three hours digging into the pack’s backend data. If the King wanted a diplomat, he was going to get one—but he was also going to get a front-row seat to his own internal rot. *Found you,* I thought, pulling up a hidden folder labeled *Project Iron-Curtain*. It wasn't just weapon shipments. It was a massive, decentralized network of shell companies funneling resources into the neutral territories. My own pack, along with three others, was essentially building a private army right under Kaelen’s nose. "Looking for something, human?" The voice was like grinding stones. I slammed the laptop shut and spun around. Kaelen was standing in the doorway. He hadn't made a sound. He was leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, looking like he’d been standing there for an hour, just enjoying the sight of me panicking. "Just doing some light reading," I said, my heart doing parkour in my chest. "You know, geopolitics, logistics, the usual boring stuff. Makes for great sleep aid." He walked toward me, his boots silent on the marble. He stopped just behind my chair, his presence so overwhelming I could practically feel the static in the air. He reached over—his arm looking like a bronze statue compared to my pale skin—and flipped the laptop open. "You're not reading, Elian," he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register. "You're digging. And in my experience, people only dig this deep when they're looking for a weapon to stab someone in the back." "Or maybe I'm just looking for a way to stay alive," I countered, looking up at him. "You’ve got a leak, Your Majesty. A big one. If you keep ignoring the logistics, the next ‘rogue’ attack isn't going to be on the border. It’s going to be in your bedchamber." Kaelen laughed, but it wasn't the amused sound from dinner. This was colder. He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his eyes glowing with that predatory gold light that usually meant someone was about to lose a limb. "You think you’re so smart," he whispered, his scent—sharp cedar and ozone—completely drowning out my own. "You think you can play these games because you have a brain that doesn't run on instinct. But here’s the thing about rats, Elian: they’re great at finding crumbs, but they’re also the first to drown when the ship starts sinking." "Then stop the ship from sinking," I said, my voice dangerously close to a whisper. "Or let me show you where the holes are." He held my gaze for a long, agonizing moment. For a second, I thought he was going to snap my neck. Instead, he pulled back, his expression unreadable. "I’ll give you until tonight’s banquet," he said, turning toward the door. "Show me proof, not theories. If you’re bluffing, I’m going to personally see to it that you never leave this castle. If you’re right… well, let's just say you might find that being a 'defective' has its perks." He left without looking back. I sat there, my hands shaking so hard I couldn't even close the lid. I had just bet my life on a spreadsheet. *God, I am such a moron,* I thought, staring at the screen. *But hey, at least I’m not bored.*