Soulbound: Dual Cultivation

In another part of the castle. A young man at the door of a chamber gave two subtle knocks, and the door opened just slightly before he was ushered in without a word.

Inside, the room was dimly lit by a lone brazier casting faint, dancing shadows on the marbled walls. Marquess Scott stood by the window, his arms crossed behind his back, fingers twitching in barely veiled agitation.

"They're moving too fast," he said in a low voice, sharp and deliberate. "Faster than I anticipated. We may have less time than we thought."

The young man, slender, sharp-eyed, and dressed in the unassuming robes of a palace scribe, closed the door quietly behind him. "Is it the crippled one?" he asked, his voice hushed.

Scott finally turned, his eyes shadowed but alert. "He was captured, yes. And now I hear that he's begun to talk. I don't know what they offered him, but it's enough to make him consider betraying us, or perhaps he already has."

"But...he doesn't know anything about you," the young man reminded him quickly, stepping closer. "None of us do. That was the entire point of the division. The orders were scattered, veiled, anonymous. Even if he speaks, the most he could give them is speculation."

Scott didn't look reassured. He moved to a cabinet and poured himself a small cup of wine, he stared at the dark liquid instead, his voice low and cold. "Still. The king will move soon. And Henrietta... she's not a fool. If she's broken through to Ascendant, then the scale is shifting faster than we anticipated."

The young man swallowed. "Should we begin the fallback plan?"

"Not yet." Scott's voice was sharp. "But stay alert. I may need to vanish from this place without warning. If word starts to move in my direction, I won't wait to see how it ends."

He stepped closer to the young man now, his eyes narrowing. "Remember what I said from the beginning. If one of us is compromised, the others must remain untouched. No trail, no sympathy, no names, no faces."

The young man nodded slowly, his face pale in the firelight. "Understood."

"Good," Scott muttered, finally taking a sip of his wine. "Now go. Keep your ears open. If anything shifts...Let me know."

Without another word, the young man slipped out of the chamber. Alone now, Marquess Scott turned his eyes back to the window, watching the flicker of torchlight from the outer walls.

______

Back in the royal hall, the King stood with his arms folded, brooding beneath the towering stained-glass windows that painted fractured light upon the floor. His face held a trace of disbelief as he processed Henrietta's words. Still, a sliver of hope flickered behind his cold stare. If there was even a chance to extract truth from the prisoner, he would take it. He turned his gaze to Henrietta with stern finality.

"Bring him to me," the King said, his voice low but resolute, reverberating across the hall with the gravity of a command that could not be questioned.

Henrietta bowed with a clenched fist across her chest. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Without delay, she turned and left the chamber, she reached the dungeon stairwell and descended into the dimly lit depths where the flicker of torchlight revealed Lucas, still standing calmly before the chained grandmaster.

"He's ready," she said, her voice carrying both formality and urgency. "The King wants to see him now."

Lucas shifted his weight and gave her a steady look. "Are you certain?" he asked in a low voice. "Once he opens his mouth, he could name anyone. If he names the Marquess… if he says Marquess Scott poisoned Prince Darius, everything will collapse around him."

Henrietta gave a small, humorless smile and nodded. "You think I haven't thought of that?" she replied, glancing at the prisoner who sat still, head bowed, the chains clinking faintly as he stirred. "You've only seen fragments of this, Lucas. I've seen more than I've shared with you. These traitors... they were smart. Smart enough to make themselves ghosts."

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"They're bound by something," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper as if the shadows themselves might be listening. "Everything they did... every message they passed, every mission they carried out... was done through layers and veils. No names or faces, no direct links. Only a few are acquainted, they are mostly operating anonymously."

Lucas clenched his jaw. "So even if he speaks...?"

"He might not be able to say who gave the order," she admitted. "But if the right questions are asked... and if he remembers the right moments... we might still piece something together."

Her eyes met Lucas' with sharp intensity. "We just need to make sure we get to those truths before they realize we're coming."

Lucas glanced back at the prisoner, who now raised his head slowly, eyes burning with a mixture of desperation and anticipation.

"Then let's not keep the King waiting," Lucas murmured.

Henrietta nodded, signaling the guards to unfasten the chains. The sound of iron scraping iron filled the air as the man slumped forward for a breath, then was hoisted to his feet by two soldiers.

As the guards led the prisoner away, Lucas leaned subtly toward Henrietta, his voice kept low.

"So the King doesn't know about Marquess Scott yet," he said quietly, studying her expression for even the slightest shift.

Henrietta's eyes didn't waver. "No. Not yet."

Lucas narrowed his gaze. "Then why does Marquess Scott still believe he's safe? You were personally looking into who poisoned Prince Darius. He should've been the first to sweat under pressure."

Henrietta exhaled through her nose, the corner of her mouth twitching with restrained irritation. "Because there's a spell," she murmured, tilting her head as if listening for it in the silence. "A very old one."

Lucas frowned, intrigued. "A concealment spell?"

"Yes," she replied. "It's .... woven directly into his heart. Not his mind, where it could be traced. His heart. It's incredibly subtle, meant to keep people like me from ever suspecting him. It bends intuition, dulls hunches, clouds visions without making it obvious. Any other seer would pass over him without a second glance. But I'm not just any seer."

Her voice held a quiet pride, not born of arrogance, but of countless years spent sharpening her gifts beyond what most even thought possible.

Lucas tilted his head slightly. "And you noticed."

Henrietta nodded, her eyes dark with a deeper understanding. "Barely. It's like trying to hear a whisper in a thunderstorm. But once I knew what to look for, I felt it. The spell coils around his loyalty and masks his intent. It's why he moves so confidently through the court. Why he never flinched when we questioned every noble. That magic gives him the illusion of untouchability."

Lucas absorbed her words in silence, the weight of them sinking into him like stones in water.

"That's why I haven't told the King," Henrietta continued, her voice softer now, more solemn. "Because anyone capable of casting that kind of spell isn't just powerful. They're dangerous. And they're working with him... or above him."

Her gaze turned to the corridor where the prisoner had been led, her jaw tightening with resolve.

"This isn't just a traitor hiding in the court. This is a conspiracy running through veins we haven't even cut open yet."