The corridors of the palace felt different at night.
Colder.
Quieter.
Hungrier.
Selene walked alone, her slippers making no sound against the polished marble floors. Her new guards, the ones Cassian had assigned, kept their distance, barely visible as shifting shadows in the corners of her vision.
It was almost clever.
Almost.
No chain was stronger than the illusion of freedom.
She knew better than to trust the space they gave her.
Every step she took was being measured, cataloged, judged.
But tonight, she would give them nothing.
Tonight, she would make her first real move.
The meeting had been arranged through a whisper slipped into her glove during the court recess, a folded scrap of paper pressed against her skin by a servant she didn't recognize.
No words.
No symbols.
Just a location: the eastern tower. Midnight.
Selene palmed the message without missing a step, smiling serenely at the noblewoman who had offered her congratulations seconds later.
The first message had come sooner than expected.
And it could not be ignored.
The eastern tower was old.
Older than the rest of the palace, its stones blackened by storms and time, its hallways narrow and twisted like veins through a dead limb.
It had been abandoned after the last war or so the palace lore claimed.
Selene didn't believe in ghosts.
Only the living could haunt you.
The heavy oaken door at the tower's base groaned as she pushed it open.
The air inside was colder, damper. Dust choked the narrow stairwell spiraling upward.
Selene gathered her skirts and began to climb, each step heavier than the last.
At the third landing, she paused.
A figure detached itself from the shadows near the arrow-slit window, a man wrapped in a plain gray cloak, his face hidden beneath the low pull of his hood.
Selene didn't flinch.
She knew better.
Anyone could wear a familiar face in this game.
Trust was death.
"You came," the man said, voice low and rough.
Selene tilted her head, studying him.
"I always come when summoned," she said lightly. "Isn't that what good little traitors do?"
The man snorted softly.
He reached into his cloak and produced a small, folded parchment sealed with black wax.
Selene accepted it without hesitation, slipping it into the inner pocket of her gown.
"What are my orders?" she asked.
The man's posture stiffened slightly.
"You are to escalate," he said. "Gain access to the king's war council. His private communications. His alliances."
Selene's stomach twisted.
War council.
Alliances.
This wasn't simple espionage anymore.
This was the slow carving open of a kingdom's heart.
The man continued, his voice sharp as a blade.
"You were placed here for a reason, Selene.
Your family died screaming for vengeance.
Or have you forgotten?"
Selene's fingers clenched around the fabric of her skirts.
"I have forgotten nothing," she said coldly.
The man tilted his head slightly, studying her through the gloom.
"Then prove it."
He turned to leave, his steps vanishing into the deeper shadows.
No farewell.
No further instructions.
No forgiveness if she failed.
Selene stood there a moment longer, feeling the tower's silence close around her like a shroud.
The note burned against her skin.
The war had begun.
And she was its first and most expendable soldier.
She returned to her chambers through the servants' routes, silent as smoke.
No one stopped her.
No one spoke.
The guards Cassian had placed at her door bowed low as she passed.
Selene entered her rooms, locking the door behind her with a click that sounded too loud in the hush of midnight.
She moved to the hearth, knelt before the fire, and drew the black-sealed parchment from her gown.
The seal cracked open under the pressure of her fingernail.
Inside, in a familiar, brutal hand, were six words:
"Strike deeper. Earn his trust. Betray him."
Selene closed her eyes.
A memory rose unbidden, her father's hand on her shoulder the night their home burned, his voice raw with smoke and fury:
"Never forget who stole everything from you, Selene. Never forget your duty."
But the memory that followed it was not of fire or screams.
It was Cassian's face.
Silent. Watching. Bleeding in the half-light of the throne room as he crushed a traitor's goblet in his hand.
A king ruling from the edge of a sword.
A man who wore his crown like a noose.
Selene forced the thought away.
She fed the parchment to the flames, watching the black wax curl and scream as it burned.
No evidence.
No doubts.
Only duty.
Only vengeance.
Only survival.
She rose to her feet slowly, smoothing the skirts of her nightgown.
Across the room, the moonlight spilled through the tall window, silvering the chamber in cold light.
Selene moved to it, placing her hand against the chill glass.
Below, the palace gardens stretched into endless darkness, an ocean of secrets.
Somewhere out there, enemies plotted.
Somewhere closer, Cassian Veredon slept.
Trust him.
Betray him.
Destroy him.
Selene rested her forehead against the window, her breath misting the glass.
And whispered into the night:
"Forgive me."
Then she turned away from the window, from the moon, from the fragile piece of herself she could not afford to keep.
Tomorrow, the game would continue.
Tomorrow, she would smile brighter.
Bow lower.
Speak sweeter lies.
And tomorrow, she would step one move closer to the throne.
One move closer to betrayal.
One move closer to the end.