"The first part is done," Havana said quietly, her fingers resting on the edge of the table as if she could feel the weight of what they had set in motion. "Now we will see who sends a raven."
She did not raise her voice. She did not need to. The room already carried the tension of something waiting to snap.
Outside, Cliffland still moved like a city celebrating victory. Men laughed, wine flowed, and the noise of triumph drifted through the walls like it belonged there.
But inside, something colder had taken hold. Havana turned, already issuing orders before the silence could settle.
"Follow every man who attended the council," she said. "I want eyes on them at all times. No mistakes."
The spies did not respond with words. They moved. And just like that, the hunt began.
That evening, the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the training grounds. Steel rang against steel.
Commander Rufus stood at the center of it, watching his men with sharp, practiced eyes. Every movement, every strike, every mistake, he saw it all. He corrected where needed, barked orders when necessary, and when he stepped in himself, his blade moved with the ease of a man who had done this for decades.
No hesitation. No weakness. Nothing about him suggested betrayal. Which was why the truth, when it came, would feel heavier.
He dismissed the soldiers just as the last light faded.
Men bowed, some lingered, others left in groups, their voices low and tired.
Rufus remained. For a moment. Then he turned. Not toward the barracks. Not toward the main halls. But toward the quieter edge of the grounds.
A child waited there. Small, and Quiet.
Rufus approached without looking around, as if this was no different from any other routine.
He crouched slightly. From within his cloak, he pulled out a folded note. "Deliver this to the raven immediately," he said.
No hesitation. No warning. Just instruction. The boy nodded once. Took the note. And turned.
He did not run at first..He walked. Calm, and measured.
As though nothing about this moment mattered. But someone was watching. From the shadows, unseen.
A spy. He waited just long enough. Then followed.
"Give me that note." The command came sharp, and sudden.
The boy froze mid-step, his small hand tightening around the folded parchment. He turned slowly. His eyes met the man's. And for a second, something flickered there.
Not fear, not fully, but defiance. "This is personal," the boy said, his voice steady in a way that did not match his size. "Nobody is meant to see it."
The spy did not argue. He drew his sword. Steel caught what little light remained. "You will either do this the peaceful way," he said, his tone dropping, "or I use force on you."
That was enough. The boy turned and bolted.
Fast. Faster than expected.
His feet hit the ground hard, kicking up dust as he ran through narrow paths, weaving between structures, slipping into spaces only someone familiar with the place would know.
The spy followed. Boots were heavier. His breath was controlled.
He did not shout. He did not call for help. This was not something to draw attention to.
They ran. Past walls. Through tight corners. Across uneven ground. The boy moved like he had done this before.
But he was still a child. And the man behind him was not. The distance closed.
Slowly.
Then all at once. A hand shot forward, grabbing the back of the boy's shirt and yanking him back.
The boy hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of him in a sharp gasp.
The note slipped. But not far. The spy stepped forward, picking it up before the boy could recover.
He unfolded it. His eyes scanned quickly. Once.
Then again. Slower. "He is the traitor," he muttered under his breath.
The words felt heavier once spoken. Like they made it real. He looked up, and realized the boy was gone.
Just like that. No sound. No warning. The spy's eyes narrowed as he scanned the area.
But he saw nothing. Only shadows. And silence. He stood there for a moment longer. Then folded the note, and turned. Then headed back.
"My lady," he said, bowing as he entered Havana's presence. "I have something that might interest you."
Havana did not move immediately. She extended her hand. The spy stepped forward and placed the note into it. Her fingers closed around it slowly.
"Who wrote this?" Havana asked. The spy bowed again. "I saw Commander Rufus handing it to a boy," he said. "No older than ten. I intercepted him and retrieved the note."
Havana's jaw tightened. "Rufus?" The name did not come out loud. It came out controlled.
The spy nodded.
"Where is the child?"
A pause. Small, but enough.
"Forgive me, my lady," he said. "I lost him."
Havana held his gaze for a moment longer. Then nodded once. "You may leave." He bowed and exited.
The moment he was gone, the room shifted. Havana turned to her guards. "Arrest General Rufus," she said. "Bring him to me."
No hesitation. No doubt. The guards moved immediately.
Steel rang again in the arena. Rufus had returned. Training did not stop because the sun had set. If anything, it became sharper, and more focused.
Two royal guards stepped into the space. Their presence alone was enough to draw attention. "General Rufus," one called. The training slowed. Then stopped. "I have the order from the Warden to arrest you."
For a brief moment, Rufus did not react. Then his brows furrowed.
"The Warden will never give such a command."
The guards did not argue. They moved. Hands gripping his arms, firm and unyielding. "Then you better follow us," one said, "and see for yourself."
The soldiers around them watched. No one stepped forward. No one spoke. Rufus did not resist. But his eyes had changed.
The throne room felt colder. Even with torches burning along the walls. "My lady," Rufus said as he was brought forward, bowing despite the grip still on him. "Could you please explain the meaning of this dishonor?"
Havana smiled. Not warmly. Not kindly. She reached for the note. Unfolded it. Held it where he could see. Rufus went still.
It was small. But unmistakable. The moment before denial. Before defense. Before anything else. And Havana saw it. "We have the boy," she said. Her voice was calm, and measured.
"He has confessed to everything." Rufus's heart pounded. It showed. In the way his shoulders dropped. In the way his breath shifted. In the silence that followed.
Havana stepped closer. "Why?" The word hung between them.
Rufus shook his head slowly. "I was sent here thirty years ago," he said, his voice quieter now, stripped of command. "By his father. Lord Marcel Woodland."
A pause.
"I serve them."
Havana's jaw tightened. "I trusted you," she said. "I promoted you. And all this time."
She did not finish it. She did not need to. Rufus dropped to his knees. "I am sorry, my lady." The apology felt small, and useless.
Havana turned away. "Lock him up." The guards moved. Dragging him away. Not roughly. But firmly. Like it was already decided.
Drexo stepped in just as Rufus was being taken out. He stopped. Watching. Confusion flickering across his face. "Why is the commander treated in that manner?"
Havana exhaled slowly. "He is a traitor," she said. "The one giving our plans to Edmond."
Drexo froze.
Of all the names, That was not one he had expected. Not the man who stood at the head of his army. Not the man he had trusted without question.
For a moment, he said nothing. Because there was nothing to say.
That night, the forest felt different. Darker, and heavier.
Maria stood where she always did. But when Drexo approached, there was something in his steps that gave it away. "The traitor has been found," he said.
She turned, fast. "Commander Rufus," he continued. "He is the one giving information to your brother."
Maria froze. "What?" The word slipped out before she could stop it. Drexo nodded.
"I will execute him tomorrow." She shook her head immediately. "No." It came out sharper than expected.
Drexo frowned. "What am I leaving a traitor alive for?"
Maria stepped closer. Her eyes locked onto his. "Keep his status a secret," she said. "Find the boy. Allow the fake message to be sent."
Drexo's expression shifted slightly.
"They will be preparing for our invasion," she continued, "while we evade Dorne successfully."
Silence followed.
Not empty, but working. Drexo's mind moved through it, piece by piece.
Then slowly, a smile formed. Small at first. Then clearer. "How are you this intelligent?" he asked.
Maria smiled faintly. "It is a warrior's instinct." Drexo shook his head. "No." He stepped closer. "You are special."
For a moment, the war, the betrayal, the weight of everything all faded.
Maria leaned in. Pressed her lips against his. Soft, and brief, but enough. "Maybe," she whispered when she pulled back, "it is a gift from the gods."