Chapter 3 2

The Gathering Storm

The quiet in the Sun Tower was not like the silence of the dungeon. Down below, the quiet had been heavy and thick, like being buried. Up here, the quiet was thin and high, like a faint ring in her ears. It was filled with distant sounds-men shouting in the practice yard, the rumble of carts in the courtyard below, the soft, faraway pluck of a lute from somewhere deep in the keep. It was the sound of life going on without her.

For three days, no one came but Hilda. Hilda was a woman with watchful eyes and a silent mouth. She was not kind, but she was not cruel either. She brought meals and left without a word. The food was good: thick stews with bits of meat, crusty bread, roasted roots, even little candied fruits. Constantina ate every bite, swallowing past the hard knot of grief and anger in her throat. Fuel, she told herself. You are a fire. Burn this and turn it into strength.

She moved through the small room, practicing the quiet, flowing drills her old fighting master had taught her long ago. The moves were for balance, for control, not for raw force. She examined her prison. The bars on the window were sunk deep into the stone; shaking them did nothing. The chimney was too narrow to climb. The lock on the door was huge and complicated.

On the fourth morning, the lock turned. But it was not Hilda with a tray.

It was Raymond.

He brought the chill of the outside with him. A cold breeze clung to his wool cloak, and his cheeks were pink from the wind. Under his arm, he carried a rolled-up piece of parchment.

"Good morning," he said, as if they were meeting for breakfast. He took off his cloak and tossed it over a chair. "I hope you find your new room more comfortable."

Constantina stood by the window. She had just finished her exercises. She said nothing. She only watched him.

He did not seem to need a reply. He unrolled the parchment on the writing desk, using books to hold down its corners. "Come here," he said. "I would like to hear what you think."

Slowly, she walked over. It was a map. Not of the whole empire, but of his lands-the province of Diendrik, and the southern parts of Aragon he had stolen. Her heart squeezed tight seeing the familiar names written in his sharp, slashing handwriting: Aragona Vale. Silverpine Reach. The Emberfields.

"The spring planting is causing... problems," he began, pointing to a spot near the old border. "My stewards are forcing a new way of farming. It is better in the long run, but it is different. The peasants want to keep doing things your father's way. It is making the harvest smaller."

He looked at her, his head tilted. "You traveled with your father. You heard his councils. What would he have done?"

It was a test. A trap hidden inside a riddle. If she refused to answer, she was being defiant and useless. If she answered with her father's true wisdom, she would be giving Raymond the knowledge to rule her people more harshly. If she gave bad advice, she might be punished, or worse, her people might suffer.

She studied the map, her thoughts moving fast. This was the "learning" he had promised. He was not just showing off his power. He was trying to catch her mind, to make her take part.

"My father," she said, keeping her voice even, "would have sent his most trusted land-reeve. Not a steward. Someone who spoke like the locals, who knew their dirt. He would have helped them with the risk-given them seed for the new crops, or let them pay less tax for one year. He knew you cannot command the earth. You have to persuade the people who work it."

Raymond listened, his face giving nothing away. He tapped the map. "Help. A cost. It rewards people for resisting."

"It stops a rebellion," she answered, and her father's ghost seemed to whisper in her words. "A starving peasant with nothing left to lose is more dangerous than any rival lord. And it is not a reward. It is an investment. In their loyalty. And in your food next year."

A slow smile spread across his face. It held a real, unsettling sort of respect. "Yes. The practical heart under the soft hand. You see? You understand how power works better than you pretend." He made a note on the edge of the map with a piece of charcoal. "A land-reeve. Some help. We will try it. You will read the steward's report in a week."

He rolled up the map. The lesson was done. But he did not leave. He walked to the bookshelf and pulled out a heavy book about Raymond's own family history. "You will join me for dinner tonight. Lord Valerius is here. He was the Master of Coin for your parents. He... liked them. It will calm him to see you well."

Another test. A performance for an audience.

"Shall I wear this?" she asked, pinching the simple grey wool of her dress.

"No." He went to the door and opened it. A maid hurried in, her arms full of a deep, blue silk gown. "Something better for a princess." The maid laid the dress on the bed. It was beautiful, with silver thread sewn along the cuffs and collar. It was beautiful, and it was a costume.

The door closed. She was alone with the silk and his silent command.

---

Dinner was a beautiful kind of torture.

The great hall of the Wolf's Den was enormous. The ceiling was lost in shadow. The walls were hung with banners showing a snarling wolf. The high table stood on a platform, and she was placed at Raymond's right side. The blue silk felt like a lie against her skin. Its beauty was a mockery.

Lord Valerius was a thin, nervous man. His clever eyes jumped from her to Raymond like a scared bird. "Princess Constantina," he said, bending over her hand. His grip was quick and damp. "It is... a relief to see you well. These are difficult days."

"Thank you, Lord Valerius," she said, forcing a calm she did not feel. "The Duke's hospitality has been... educational."

Raymond, at the head of the table, took a sip of wine. She saw the smirk he hid behind the cup.

The meal was a parade of fancy dishes. Raymond talked of trade roads, mine output, and soldiers. He was clever, decisive, and utterly cold in his judgments. Sometimes, he turned to her. "The Princess and I were just speaking of farm changes in the south. She has her father's talent for useful answers."

Valerius looked surprised, then strangely comforted. The story was being spun right before her: The strong, wise Duke, asking the legacy of the past for advice, building a steady future.

She played her part. She answered when spoken to. Her answers were careful, empty, giving away nothing of her heart. She ate very little. Her stomach was tight. She felt the eyes of everyone else-lesser nobles, army captains, officials-watching her. Some looked at her with pity. Some with curiosity. Some with a hungry ambition. She was a curious thing, a trophy, a piece in a political game.

When the musicians played a soft song, Raymond leaned close. His voice was for her alone. "You see?" he whispered. "This is where you belong. At the high table. Your mind being valued. Not rotting in a cell, or bleeding on the ground. This is the power you were born for, Constantina. I am just the one who can make it safe for you."

His words were like poisonous honey. For one flashing moment, she let herself imagine it. A life where she used her wits to shape his rules, to maybe soften the hard corners of his reign. A survival that looked almost like living.

Then she looked down the hall. By a small door, a soldier stood guard. He had a fresh, red scar across his face-a cut she was sure had been made by a farm tool, not a sword. A rebel, or someone who had fought back. His eyes met hers. There was no hope in them. Only a hollow, tired defeat.

The daydream shattered.

She turned back to Raymond. A cold, polished smile touched her lips-the first real smile she had allowed all night, because it was made of pure, frozen steel. "Make it safe for me?" she echoed softly, so only he could hear. "Or make me safe for it?"

His eyes widened a little. Then they crinkled with what looked like real delight. The challenge, the unbroken spirit, excited him. "A small difference, Princess," he whispered back. His knee brushed against hers under the table-a claiming, intimate touch that made her skin crawl. "One we will study in time."

The dinner ended. Lord Valerius left, seeming settled. Raymond was pleased. As she was led back to the Sun Tower, the cold mountain air was a blessing.

Back in her room, she tore the beautiful blue dress off as if it were burning her. She stuffed it into a chest. She stood in her thin under-dress, shivering before the dying fire.

The day's lesson was clear. Raymond's prison was not just made of walls. It was a prison for her mind and her place in the world. He was offering her a share in his cruelty. He wanted to rot her legacy from the inside, to make her a partner in crushing her own people.

She looked at the book he had left on her desk-the history of his family tree.

Fine, she thought, sitting down and opening it. You want my mind to work? Then let's play.

She began to read, not for fun, but for a plan. She looked for family fights, old hatreds, weak sons, ambitious cousins. She burned names, lands, and dates into her memory. Information was money, and she had none. It was time to start saving.

The fire crackled, throwing dancing shadows on the wall. In the quiet tower, far from home, the fallen princess began her real work. Not with a sword, but with the focus of a scholar. She was drawing a map of a different battlefield-the messy, dangerous world of Raymond's own court.

The gilded cage did have a door. She would find the key not by shouting, but by learning. And when she did, she would not just walk out. She would bring the whole cage crashing down around his ears.