Chapter 3

The crypt air thickened with the weight of secrets as Jade’s finger traced a line in the ledger detailing grain shipments diverted during famine. "He starved his own people to fund the border forts? To intimidate Galloway?" Her voice was a rasp, disbelief warring with fury.

Edward blew out the candle plunging them into near-total darkness. "Listen," he hissed. Footsteps echoed distantly above – too heavy for servants, too purposeful. Palace guards? Julien’s personal sentinels? Or worse? "We linger, we die. Your mother bought you a night, Jade. No more."

He guided her through the pitch-black labyrinth, his knowledge of the crypts uncanny. They slipped behind a massive sarcophagus, its stone cold against Jade’s back, as torchlight flickered at the entrance. Muttered curses faded as the searchers moved deeper. "My father's men," Edward whispered, a grim satisfaction in his tone. "Julien wouldn't trust his own guards with this hunt."

Catherine stood rigid by the cold fireplace, the echo of her threat – *"I'll burn this throne myself"* – still hanging in the perfumed air. Julien hadn't flinched. He’d merely poured himself more wine, the ruby liquid catching the lamplight like blood.

Julien: (Taking a slow sip) "Your theatrics tire me, Catherine. Burn it? You haven't the spine. You never did." He set the goblet down with deliberate force. "Mark Galloway corrupted everything he touched. His seed poisons this palace. That *boy* is his viper, and Jade…" He paused, his eyes flat and cold. "Jade is the kindling he uses to ignite rebellion. She must be contained. Or extinguished."

Catherine: "Contained? Like you contained Mark? By shoving a dagger in his back during a parley?" The accusation, long buried, exploded into the open.

Julien surged to his feet, knocking the goblet over. Wine spread across the map of the kingdom like a fresh wound. "He was planning treason! Conspiring with those northern savages! I saved Agmeygv!"

Catherine: "You saved your crown, Julien. And damned your soul. Touch Jade, and you will learn the spine I found *after* you murdered the man I loved." She didn't wait for his reply. She swept from the room, leaving the King trembling, not with fear, but with incandescent, impotent rage. He bellowed for Rook.

Garrick watched the first streaks of light bleed into the sky above the palace walls. His rebels, a motley band of desperate farmers, disillusioned soldiers, and angry townsfolk, huddled in the shadow of a granary just outside the city's secondary gate. The charred rose was pinned to his worn jerkin. A scout, mud-spattered and panting, crouched beside him.

Scout: "Guards at the main gates doubled. The King’s Falcons are prowling the inner courtyards. But the old servant's passage… beneath the eastern wall near the stables… it’s lightly watched. Two men, bored."

Garrick grunted, sharpening a wicked-looking skinning knife on a whetstone. "The crypts connect near there. That’s their bolt-hole." He spat. "Rook’s predictable. He thinks like a siege engineer, not a rat-catcher." He stood, his bulk imposing against the paling sky. "We hit the passage. Subdue the guards quietly. Then we find the Ashmarked Princess and her pet viper *before* Julien does. Remember, she’s the symbol. The Galloway boy… he’s leverage. Or a corpse. Depends on his usefulness." A murmur of agreement rippled through the rebels. Torches were doused; only the grim set of their faces remained visible. "For Agmeygv!" Garrick growled, low and fierce.

Jade pushed aside the heavy, rusted grate, wincing at the screech of metal. Cold, damp dawn air washed over them, a relief after the tomb's closeness. They emerged into a neglected corner of the palace gardens, overgrown hedges shielding them from view of the main paths. The scent of smoke was fainter here, replaced by dew and earth.

Edward scanned the mist-shrouded grounds, dagger already in hand. "Stables," he murmured. "Horses. We need to be gone before the palace fully wakes."

Jade nodded, clutching the wrapped ledger beneath her cloak. Her hand trembled slightly, the phantom sting of the assassin’s blade still cold at her throat. The shouts of "Witch!" echoed in her mind. "Where?"

"North," Edward said decisively. "To the Whispering Peaks. My father… Mark… had allies there. People who remember Julien’s treachery. People who might shelter a princess with fire in her hands and a king’s sins in her satchel." He offered a hand, not gentle, but steady.

Before she could take it, a guttural cry shattered the morning calm. From the direction of the stables came the clash of steel and a choked-off scream. Then another. Rebels, clad in roughspun and leather, burst from behind a topiary, their faces grim, weapons drawn. At their head, Garrick filled the garden path, his eyes locking onto Jade with predatory intensity.

"Well now," Garrick boomed, his voice cutting through the mist. "Looks like dawn delivers us our prize right to the doorstep." He gestured with his knife towards Jade. "The Ashmarked Princess, ready to lead the charge!" His gaze flicked to Edward, hardening into something colder. "And the Galloway whelp. Julien will pay a pretty penny for your head, boy. Or perhaps you’ll pay a different price for your usefulness." He took a step forward, the rebels fanning out, blocking the path to the stables, the path back to the crypt. "Come quietly, Princess. Your people await."

Jade felt Edward tense beside her, a low growl escaping his throat. Her own fear crystallized into something sharp and hard. She wasn’t Julien’s pawn. She wouldn’t be Garrick’s symbol. The ember of defiance, stoked by the ledger’s truths and her mother’s fury, flared. Her hand, hidden within her cloak, grew unnaturally warm against the leather binding of the ledger.

She met Garrick’s gaze, her voice clear, cutting through the tension. "My people," she stated, "are not led at the point of a traitor's knife." She took a deliberate step forward, not towards the rebels, but towards the space between them and the stables, putting herself directly in their path. Edward shifted instantly, a dark shadow at her shoulder, his eyes scanning for the first rebel to move.

The tiny flame she and Edward had toasted by in the crypt seemed a lifetime ago. Now, caught between her father’s assassins and the rebels who saw her only as a tool, Jade felt a different kind of fire ignite within her. The garden, veiled in dawn mist, became a battlefield. The Ashmarked Princess stood ready, not to flee, but to burn her own path through the gathering storm.

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