“Celia, that was ten years ago. You were still a child,” Richard Ashford said, his voice calm, almost resigned. They sat in his luxurious study, surrounded by dark wooden bookcases and heavy curtains. “Why do you want to know this now, when it has nothing to do with you?”

  Celia’s heart pounded in her throat. She had tried to keep her emotions under control, but the sight of her father made that nearly impossible.

  “I’m simply conducting my own research,” she replied, though her voice wavered. She met his gaze without flinching. “But it’s true, then? That the Ashfords were involved in something that led to innocent people dying—only for the sake of power?” Disbelief trembled beneath her words.

  Derek Ashford, her older brother, sat opposite them, leaning casually against a desk. He began to laugh—a harsh, cutting sound that sharpened the tension in the room.

  “You see, Father?” he said, his eyes gleaming with contempt. “This is exactly why she’s unfit for the throne. If you present her as a candidate, the crown will certainly pass to a Bellgrave or a Darwyn. She lacks the ruthlessness required.”

  A sharp stab of anger flared in Celia’s chest. She ignored her brother and fixed her gaze once more on her father.

  Richard Ashford shook his head gently. His expression softened, almost tender.

  “You have a sincere heart—that is precisely why you would make a wonderful queen,” he said. His gaze drifted briefly into the distance before returning to her. “The Ashfords were not involved ten years ago,” he continued, his tone firm. “We were aware of what happened, yes—but we took no part in it. We are innocent.” He let his eyes rest on hers, as if to reassure her. “And that bloodline has been completely eradicated.”

  Celia’s anger boiled over. His words, meant to comfort her, had the opposite effect.

  “Innocent?” she cried. The softness in her voice vanished, replaced by a steely edge that even made Derek straighten. “That is called complicity.”

  Richard laughed—a cold, humourless sound.

  “Stop behaving like a child, Celia.”

  The words struck her like a slap. She wanted to erupt, to hurl the truth in his face—but the memory of Lucius’s gaze from earlier restrained her. She needed the name. That was the only reason she had risked everything: to obtain proof.

  She looked at her father, indignation burning in her eyes, though her voice dropped to a whisper.

  “Tell me the name,” she pleaded. “The surname of the first king of Brittania.”

  Richard’s expression shifted—pride and regret flickering across his features. After a brief silence, he gave her the answer.

  Celia’s breath caught. Her mouth fell open, her entire body going rigid. She forced herself not to react—not to betray what she now understood. Words failed her. She could only stare at her father with wide, fathomless eyes before turning and leaving the room in stunned disbelief.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  They slaughtered that entire family, she thought as she walked away, tears burning behind her eyes. They believe no one survived—but I know better.

  ?

  Celia stepped outside. Evening had begun; the sky was painted in deep shades of orange and violet. She looked around at the place where she had grown up.

  District Water—the smallest and most elite of all the districts—was an oasis of calm and grandeur. Immaculately maintained royal gardens stretched as far as the eye could see. Elegant fountains sent arcs of crystal-clear water into the air. The scent of flowers lingered in the cool evening breeze, mingling with the damp fragrance of earth. Marble statues of mythical figures stood in silent rows, and broad paved paths led to white stone buildings glowing in the fading light.

  This was her home—a world utterly removed from the harsh reality beyond the walls. A world she had just learned was built upon blood and lies.

  She walked toward the gate separating District Water from District Air, an imposing structure of wrought iron and stone. Lucius was already waiting for her there. The revelation about her father and the Royal Guard hung heavily between them.

  Beside him stood a shorter figure, concealed entirely beneath a dark hood. The figure remained motionless, yet emanated a subtle tension. As Celia approached, she noticed the slight tilt of the head—a small, almost imperceptible movement. A faint memory stirred, a familiar silhouette flickering at the edge of her thoughts, but it vanished before she could grasp it.

  Lucius’s gaze was sharp as she drew near.

  “Pay no attention to this person for now,” he said quietly. “You may trust him. What did you learn?”

  Celia hesitated. The cold stone beneath her feet suddenly felt treacherous. Would she betray her own family? What would happen if she gave Lucius the information? And Lucius himself—was he merely using her to expose the secrets of the royal houses?

  The thought twisted in her stomach.

  She met his gaze, her doubt plainly visible.

  “I don’t know who I can trust anymore,” she admitted softly.

  A flicker of impatience crossed Lucius’s face before he mastered it. His expression hardened.

  “I understand,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Come. You may consider your choice along the way. This is not a matter to be taken lightly, Celia. The truth may cost you your freedom.”

  And so they departed into the twilight. The last traces of daylight faded as darkness settled over the world. It felt as though she were crossing a threshold—leaving behind her ordered life and stepping into an uncertain future filled with hidden truths. The small, hooded figure followed a few steps behind, a silent reminder of the shadows gathering around them.

  ?

  Inside the headquarters, Lucius led Celia—followed by the enigmatic figure—into a secluded, silent chamber. The flickering light of an oil lamp cast restless shadows along the walls. The air felt heavy, oppressive.

  Lucius regarded her. His gaze had changed—less imposing, more searching.

  “Celia,” he began, “you were once part of the Royal Guard. Your brother Derek still serves within it.”

  She looked at him blankly, doubt weighing on her heart. Yes. And what of it? Her thoughts churned. Who was Lucius truly? How much did he know? And why did he want her to stand against the Royal Guard?

  Lucius continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur.

  “You must understand that we will soon confront Marcus, the leader of the Royal Guard.” He paused, watching her closely. “If that makes you uneasy, this is your final opportunity to leave the Research Team.”

  Celia recoiled. The question struck deeper than she had expected. What was right? What was wrong? What was loyalty? Her life had always been a balancing act between duty and truth. The Royal Guard was her blood—her family. Yet their secrets stained everything.

  Lucius’s gaze weighed upon her.

  Before she could respond, the massive main doors of the headquarters burst open with a deafening groan. The sound echoed down the corridor. James stood there, pale, supporting a severely battered Tony. Behind them, borne in Lori’s arms, lay an unconscious Zack, his face marred by bruises and welts.

  James scanned the room, panic in his eyes.

  “Get the medics!” he shouted.

  Lucius’s eyes sharpened; a flicker of concern passed through them before he concealed it behind icy composure. Tony… beaten this badly? The disbelief remained hidden beneath his calm expression. How? The training session had been private—and it seemed impossible that a C-rank recruit could have inflicted such damage.

  Celia saw Zack.

  All her doubts vanished.

  Her heart pounded violently as she rushed forward, her fingers trembling as she gently took his hand.

  “What happened?” she whispered, panic threading her voice.

  A sharp, almost physical pain pierced her chest—one that had nothing to do with her own wounds. The warmth of Zack’s hand felt alien in the cold, calculated world she had always known.

  As the medics hurried in, clarity dawned upon her. The fear of her father, the uncertainty surrounding Lucius—everything receded. The Royal Guard was not the truth. The Research Team was not the truth.

  The truth—her truth—lay in the boy broken before her.

  She loved him.

  And she knew, with a certainty deeper than fear, that she would do anything to protect him. This was the right side—the only side—because Zack was her reason.