Chapter 10: Karlos' Question
The night was an expansive, suffocating velvet, and I moved through it like a secret. I slipped through the jagged shadows of the treeline, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs, each beat echoing the name I couldn’t shake: Zion. I had caught his attention—a mistake that felt like stepping barefoot into a silver-toothed snare—and now, as the towering spires of the fortress loomed behind me like obsidian needles, the safety of Karlos and Bran was the only thing that kept my legs moving.
The smell of woodsmoke hit me first, a sharp, earthy tang that cut through the floral perfumes of Fortundra. It was a scent of home, of survival, and of the world I had left behind only hours ago. After ten minutes of silent trekking through the underbrush—my ears strained for the clatter of pursuit—I finally spotted the orange flicker of a campfire tucked deep within a limestone hollow.
I didn't call out. In my world, a voice was a target. Instead, I drew my dagger, the cold iron familiar and grounding in my palm, and tiptoed through the carpet of dry leaves.
“What was that?” A voice mumbled—low.
I froze behind the trunk of a massive, ancient oak, pressing my spine into the rough, furrowed bark. Just breathe. Don’t let the leaves crunch. Don’t let him see how much I’m shaking.
“Diana? Is that you?” Karlos called out. There was a thin tremor of hope in his voice that made my chest ache with a sudden, sharp guilt.
“Yeah, it’s me,” I exhaled, the tension leaving my shoulders in a heavy rush. I sheathed my blade and stepped into the amber circle of
Bran was there, a small heap of dark feathers resting on Karlos’s right shoulder. The raven let out a soft, sleepy croak at the sight of me but didn't move. Karlos stood up abruptly, his eyes scanning my face, my hair, and the shimmering, ocean-colored silk of the gown I was still wearing.
“How did it go? Did you find the maps? Did you get into the archives?” He stepped forward, his hands reaching out as if to grab my shoulders before he hesitated and pulled back.
“No,” I admitted, the shame tasting like cold ash in the back of my throat. “I was foolish. I was reckless. I caught Zion’s attention before I could even find the servant’s stairs.”
Karlos’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. “You’re on a first-name basis with the Prince of Shadows now? Zion? Just like that?”
“I met him, Karlos. Properly. Face to face.”
“You met him,” Karlos gawked, crossing his arms over his chest as he paced a small tight circle around the fire. “And lived to tell the tale? What, did you two have a lovely chat over tea and crumpets while our people wait for word?”
I bit my lip, looking down at the dancing flames. The warmth of the fire felt pale compared to the heat of the King’s gaze earlier that evening. “I may have had dinner with him. In the Great Hall.”
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush the embers. Karlos stopped pacing, his jaw dropping as he stared at me in pure, unadulterated disbelief. “You did what?”
“I know! I screwed up, alright?” I hissed, stepping closer and lowering my voice to a frantic, jagged whisper. “But so did he. He’s curious, Karlos. He thinks I’m some wandering nomad with a 'gift' like his. He’s lowering his guard. He even gave me a bedroom in the high wing—though I’m certain the stones themselves have ears in that place.”
“Diana, if he suspects even for a second that you’re a spy sent from Silvermere, he isn't lowering his guard,” Karlos warned, his eyes dark with a sudden, fierce worry. “He’s building a cage. He’s letting you think you’re free so he can watch which way you run.”
“Then I’ll act like I love the cage,” I countered, my voice gaining a desperate edge. “I have to play the friend. I have to be the one person he thinks he can trust. It’s the only way to get close enough to the armory to see what they’re building
“Well, this is a mess of your own making,” he muttered, turning his back to me to poke at the fire with a stick.
“I know,” I snapped, the defensiveness flaring up before immediately wilting. “I know it is. I’m in over my head, and I know it.”
Karlos sighed, his anger deflating as he turned back around. He stepped into my personal space, the scent of horse leather and sweat grounding me. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. He’s... he’s not like us, Diana. He’s a predator. You’re playing with a wildfire and pretending you won't get burn
“Why do you care so much?” I asked, the question slipping past my teeth before I could catch it. “You knew the risks when we left Silvermere.”
Karlos’s face went pale, the flickering firelight catching a sudden, sharp glint of panic in his eyes. He looked away, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “I care about the mission. I care about your safety because you’re our best lead. If you fail, we all fail.” He paused, his voice dropping to a softer, more vulnerable register. “And you’re my friend. The only one I’ve got left.”
“I’m sorry I dragged you into this, Karlos,” I whispered, looking down at my dusty boots peeking out from under the expensive silk. “I’m sorry I’m making this harder than it needs to be.”
“It’s no trouble,” he said, his voice regaining a bit of its old, lopsided charm. He gave me a small, crooked grin that didn't quite hide the fear in his eyes. “Okay, it’s a lot of trouble. A monumental amount of trouble. But...” He looked at me then, truly looked at me. “You’re worth the trouble.”
I looked up, seeing the raw sincerity etched into his features—the boy I had grown up with, the only anchor I had in this sea of lies. A sudden, reckless surge of affection and terror overcame my common sense. Before I could talk myself out of it, I leaned in and pressed a quick, lingering kiss to his right cheek.
The moment my lips touched his skin, my brain screamed: What are you doing? This isn't part of the plan.
I pulled away so fast I nearly tripped over a protruding root. Karlos stood frozen, his mouth slightly open, a deep, crimson flush creeping up his neck that had absolutely nothing to do with the heat of the campfire. Even Bran seemed to go still, his black eye fixed on us.
“I’m so sorry,” I stammered, my hands flying to my flaming cheeks. “I don’t know why I—it was just—the stress, I think. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted, his voice an octave higher than usual. He let out a shaky breath that sounded like a laugh and a sob all at once. “Really, Diana. It’s... it’s fine. More than fine.”
He stared into my eyes then, searching for something—an explanation, a promise, or maybe just a repeat of the moment. The intensity of his gaze made my skin prickle with an anxiety I couldn't name. It was different from the weight of Zion’s stare; this was a weight I actually cared about.
“I have to go,” I blurted out, already backing away into the darkness of the trees. “I have to get back before the guards realize my bed is empty. If I’m caught out here, everything is over.”
“Diana, wait!” Karlos called out, reaching a hand into the dark.
I didn’t wait. I turned and sprinted, the cold night air stinging my lungs and whipping my hair into a frenzy. I didn't look back at the dying fire or the boy standing beside it with his hand still outstretched. I just wanted to reach the castle walls before the heat in my heart burned me alive, and before I had to face the King who was waiting for me in the shadows of the high wing.