Chapter 15: Warning Signs

CASSIAN

The acrid smell hits me before Captain Matthias even enters my chambers; burned parchment and horse sweat, the unmistakable scent of messages that couldn't wait for proper channels. He doesn't knock, just shoulders through the door with his sword already half-drawn, eyes scanning for threats that might have reached me first.

"Clear the room," he barks at the servants preparing my morning meal. They scatter like startled birds, and I catch the fear in their faces. They know what urgent couriers mean in occupied territories.

Matthias slams the door behind them and throws the bolt, a breach of protocol that tells me more than words could. His weathered face is gray beneath road dust, and there's blood on his riding gloves - not his own, judging by his movements.

"The courier?" I ask, though I already know.

"Dead. Arrow in the back, three miles from the gates." He produces a leather tube from inside his cloak, the imperial seals cracked but intact. "Managed to pass this off before he fell. His horse made it another mile before its heart gave out."

A dead courier. A dead horse. The Empire doesn't authorize such sacrifice unless the world is ending. My hands remain steady as I break the remaining seals, but my pulse hammers against my throat. The coded script blurs for a moment before resolving into words that make my blood run cold.

Administrative Directive 847: Blackmere Pacification Protocols. Full suppression authorized. Lord Commander Marcellus granted emergency powers. Rebellion leadership to be eliminated within 72 hours. No exceptions. No negotiations.

Blackmere. My homeland. My people.

"There's more," Matthias says, and his voice carries the weight of a man delivering a death sentence.

The attached intelligence makes my hands tremble. Not just military assessments, detailed lists of suspected rebels that read like a roster of everyone I grew up knowing. Lord Garrett, who taught me swordplay. Master Reid, the stable master who helped me train my first horse. Even-

"Gods," I breathe. Lady Catherine Marshall's name leaps from the page, marked in red. My mother's closest friend, named as a key figure in what they're calling the Blackmere Uprising.

But it's the analysis that follows that turns my stomach to ice:

Intelligence suggests coordination between Blackmere resistance cells and similar movements in occupied territories, particularly Ravencrest. Investigate all connections between Prince Cassian's homeland contacts and local agitators. Note: Subject's extended absence from Asterion and deepening involvement with Ravencrest nobility requires enhanced scrutiny.

"They suspect you're involved," Matthias says quietly. "This isn't just about crushing Blackmere. It's about cutting off what they think are your supply lines to rebellion."

I scan further, finding my parents mentioned in clinical terms that make me want to retch: King Trenton maintains public compliance but private loyalties remain uncertain. Queen Dierdre's influence on regional nobility noted as potential destabilizing factor. Recommend containment protocols if pacification efforts meet significant resistance.

Containment protocols. Imperial euphemism for imprisonment or worse.

"And here," Matthias points to a section I'd almost missed in my horror. Princess Melianthe of Ravencrest - Priority Surveillance. Suspected communication channels with Blackmere resistance. Relationship with Prince Cassian may indicate deeper revolutionary connections. Monitor all interactions.

They think she's working with my people. Think our connection is some kind of rebel conspiracy rather than... whatever it's becoming.

A knock at the door makes us both freeze. Matthias's hand goes to his sword while I struggle to compose myself. "Yes?"

"Ambassador Cordelia requests your immediate presence, Your Highness." The voice belongs to one of her functionaries, but there's steel beneath the courtesy. "She insisted I convey the urgency of your attendance."

Of course she does. She wants to watch my face when she tells me my homeland is about to burn.

"Five minutes," I call back, surprised my voice doesn't crack.

Footsteps retreat down the corridor, but Matthias doesn't relax. "This could be a trap."

"Everything's a trap now." I move to my desk, my mind racing. "Seventy-two hours. They're going to slaughter everyone in Blackmere who's shown a hint of defiance."

"What are you going to do?"

My hands move without conscious thought, pulling out writing materials. "Warn them. Get word to my father, to Lord Garrett, to-"

"That's treason." Matthias's voice is flat, factual.

I meet his eyes. "My people are about to die. People who helped raise me, who served my family with honor for generations. If warning them is treason, then the Empire has made me a traitor."

Something shifts in Matthias's weathered face. "Your Highness-"

"My father doesn't know what's coming," I continue, the words pouring out. "He's been trying to work within the system, to protect our people through compliance. But that won't save them now. The Empire has decided Blackmere is a threat, and they'll burn it to ash before admitting their occupation has failed."

"And Princess Melianthe?"

I pause, pen hovering over parchment. "If they think she's connected to Blackmere's resistance..."

"They'll use her to get to you. Or use you to get to her." Matthias moves to the window, checking the courtyard below. "Either way, she needs to know what's coming."

The thought of telling Melianthe the truth - that I'm not just an imperial prince but one whose homeland is about to be destroyed - makes my chest tight. But the alternative is letting her walk blind into whatever trap the Empire is setting.

"One crisis at a time," I mutter, returning to my frantic writing. The cipher flows from my pen; locations of safe houses, names of imperial agents, weaknesses in their occupation structure. Information that could save lives if it reaches Blackmere in time.

"I know that cipher," Matthias says quietly. "Old Blackmere military code." His face carries the weight of old grief. "I was there the day the imperial banners replaced our black wolves on the castle walls. When the Empire came, I had a choice. Die with honor or live to protect what remained. I chose to bend the knee and join their ranks, told myself I could do more good alive than dead."

"You never said-"

"What was there to say? That I watched them execute the honor guard who refused to surrender? That I helped train imperial soldiers in our own fortresses?" His laugh is bitter as winter wind. "I became what I hated to stay close to your family, to ensure at least some of our traditions survived. Your father knows, of course. It's why he requested me as your guardian when you left for Asterion."

The revelation reframes twenty years of memories. Every lesson in swordplay, every quiet correction of my imperial-influenced pronunciation of Blackmere names, every story about "how things used to be done"... all of it was Matthias keeping our culture alive in the only way he could.

"Will you help?"

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

He's quiet for a long moment, and I see him fingering something beneath his uniform; a pendant, perhaps, or some other remnant of the man he used to be. "Twenty years I've served the Empire, telling myself I was protecting our people from the inside. Twenty years of watching them slowly strangle everything Blackmere stood for. The old songs forbidden. The histories rewritten. Our children taught to be ashamed of their blood." He gestures at the death warrants masquerading as administrative documents. "But this - marking our own for slaughter - this is where it ends."

"Matthias-"

"Do you know what they call us in the imperial ranks? The tame wolves. Broken hounds who've forgotten how to hunt." His eyes blaze with sudden fire. "They're about to learn that a wolf's loyalty runs deeper than any oath forced at sword point. I'll get your messages out. I still have contacts among our people, loyalists who've been waiting for a sign that the true Blackmere hasn't forgotten them." He takes the sealed letters, tucking them inside his cloak with reverent care. "Merchants who still use the old trade routes. Innkeepers who remember which houses stood against the Empire. Even a few in the garrison who wear imperial colors but keep Blackmere steel hidden beneath their bunks. But you need to play your part. Go to Cordelia. Act surprised, horrified, but ultimately loyal. Buy us time."

"And if she doesn't believe me?"

"Then we're both dead men." He moves to the door, checking the corridor. "But at least we'll die trying to save something worth saving."

I stand, straightening my jacket and trying to armor myself in princely dignity. "Matthias? Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. This could all be for nothing if-" He stops, head tilted. "Smoke."

I join him at the window and see it: black columns rising from the lower city. Not cooking fires. Something's burning.

"They're not waiting for Blackmere," Matthias says grimly. "They're starting here, with anyone they think might have connections to your homeland."

Blackmere merchants. Traders who maintain routes between the kingdoms. People whose only crime is having been born in the wrong place. The smoke carries the acrid scent of burning wool; they're torching the warehouse district where Blackmere traders store their goods. By nightfall, any evidence of trade between our kingdoms will be ash.

"They're moving fast," I observe, voice steady despite the rage building in my chest. "Faster than usual."

"They're scared." Matthias's assessment is clinical, professional. "This uprising has them rattled. Good. Fear makes them sloppy, and sloppy makes them vulnerable."

"Go," I say, my voice hardening with resolve. "Get those messages out before they lock down the city."

He nods and moves toward the door, then pauses. "Your Highness? Whatever happens next, your grandfather would be proud. You're becoming the prince Blackmere needs, not the one the Empire tried to make you."

The words hit harder than any blow, and I have to swallow past the sudden tightness in my throat. "Just keep yourself safe, old wolf."

"Ha. I've survived twenty years of imperial service. I can handle a few more days." But his hand goes to his sword hilt. It’s a gesture I recognize from childhood, one that means he's preparing for a fight he might not walk away from.

He slips out, leaving me alone with the weight of what I'm about to do. I take one last look at the intelligence report, at my parents' names marked for potential "containment," at Melianthe listed as a surveillance target. Each name on these lists represents a life, a family, a future the Empire is prepared to destroy for the crime of remembering who they used to be.

The walk to Cordelia's chambers feels like walking to my own execution. Every guard I pass might be the one ordered to arrest me. Every servant might be noting my movements for later reports. The palace corridors, once merely formal, now feel like a predator's gullet, slowly swallowing me whole.

I force myself to move with the casual arrogance expected of an imperial prince, nodding to courtiers who bow as I pass. Behind their respectful facades, I wonder who among them is cataloging my behavior for Cordelia's files. The Empire's greatest strength has always been its ability to turn subjects into informants, to make every citizen a potential spy.

A portrait of Emperor Domitian catches my eye. The man who conquered half the known world and declared it peace. His painted eyes seem to follow me, and I remember being eight years old, standing before this same portrait while an imperial tutor explained how the Emperor had "liberated" Blackmere from centuries of backward tradition. Even then, something in me had rebelled at the word "liberated" to describe what I'd seen in my father's eyes.

I pass a group of imperial soldiers in the corridor, their conversation dying as I approach. One of them - young, nervous, with the kind of fresh-faced eagerness that comes from believing imperial propaganda - actually takes a step back. They know something. Maybe not the specifics, but they know blood is coming. The older ones have the look of men who've done this before, in other kingdoms, to other people who made the mistake of remembering their own names.

The eastern conference chamber door is guarded by two of Cordelia's personal soldiers. They don't challenge me, but their eyes track my movement like predators watching prey.

Inside, the room has been transformed into a command center. Maps of Blackmere cover every surface, marked with red symbols I recognize as military targets. My childhood home reduced to strategic objectives.

"Cassian!" Cordelia's voice rings out with false warmth. "Perfect timing. We've just received the most distressing news from your homeland."

She's watching my face, cataloguing every micro-expression. This is a test, and failing it means more than just my death. It means my parents, my people, everyone I'm trying to protect.

"Distressing news?" I move closer to the maps, letting genuine horror show as I recognize familiar landmarks marked for destruction. "What's happened?"

"I'm afraid there's been an uprising. Quite serious, from the reports." She gestures to a chair positioned where everyone can observe my reactions. "Lord Commander Marcellus has requested emergency authorization to restore order."

"An uprising?" I sink into the chair, not having to feign shock. "But my father... he's maintained peace for fifteen years. Who would-"

"Extremists, apparently. Malcontents who refuse to accept the prosperity imperial rule has brought." She produces a list, different from the one Matthias showed me, sanitized for my consumption. "I'm afraid some names might be familiar to you."

I scan the list, letting my hands shake slightly. "Lord Garrett... but he's served my family for decades. And Master Reid - these must be mistakes."

"I'm afraid not. We have detailed intelligence confirming their involvement in seditious activities." She leans forward, sympathy painted on her face like makeup. "I know this must be difficult. To learn that people you trusted have betrayed not just the Empire, but your father's efforts to maintain stability."

"My parents? Are they safe?"

"For now. Though I'm concerned about the influence these extremists might have on them. Your mother, particularly, has maintained close ties with some of the named conspirators."

The threat is elegant in its subtlety. Cooperate, or watch your parents suffer for crimes of association.

"What can I do?" I ask, letting desperation color my voice. "There must be some way to minimize the damage, to protect the innocent-"

"Your concern does you credit." She pats my hand, the gesture somehow more menacing than comforting. "In fact, I have a proposition. Your unique position - trusted by both sides - could be invaluable in preventing unnecessary bloodshed."

Here it comes. The offer that will damn me either way.

"We need someone to serve as liaison. To help Lord Commander Marcellus distinguish between true threats and those who've simply been misled." She smiles. "Who better than the prince who knows these people personally?"

Help them create more accurate death lists. Use my knowledge to ensure their massacre is efficient.

"Of course," I hear myself say. "Whatever prevents unnecessary suffering."

"Excellent! I knew we could count on your pragmatism." She gestures to one of her aides. "We'll need detailed information about Blackmere's noble families, their loyalties, their connections. And..." She pauses, as if the thought just occurred to her. "Any communications between Blackmere resistance and other territories. Ravencrest, particularly."

"Ravencrest?" I frown, playing innocent. "Why would Blackmere rebels have connections here?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised how these extremist networks spread. Like a disease, really, infecting healthy kingdoms with delusions of independence." Her eyes are sharp now, watching for any tell. "You haven't noticed any unusual activity? Messages from home? Visitors who might be using trade as cover for more sinister purposes?"

"Nothing beyond normal correspondence with my parents." The lie comes smoothly, even as I think of the messages Matthias is carrying. "Though if you're concerned about security, perhaps I should review any future communications before-"

"No need for such measures yet." But her smile suggests otherwise. "We trust your judgment, Cassian. Your loyalty to the greater good has never been in question."

The meeting continues for another hour, each minute an agony of performance. I provide just enough information to seem cooperative while mentally cataloguing every piece of intelligence they reveal. Troop movements. Supply lines. Weaknesses in their strategy that might give Blackmere's defenders a chance.

When I finally emerge, the sun has climbed higher and the smoke plumes have multiplied. The purge has begun here, even as they prepare to crush my homeland.

I need to warn Melianthe. Need to tell her about Blackmere, about the suspicions linking her to my kingdom's rebellion, about the danger closing in from all sides. But first, I need to survive the next seventy-two hours without revealing that I've already chosen a side.

My parents' lives depend on my performance. My homeland's survival hangs on messages that may or may not reach them in time. And somewhere in this palace, a princess I've come to care for more than I should is walking unknowingly into the Empire's crosshairs.

The rebellion hasn't started; it's been burning all along, in places like Blackmere where people refuse to forget who they were. Now I have to decide whether to watch it burn out or help it spread.

As I walk back to my chambers, I pass a window overlooking the palace gardens where Melianthe often walks. She's there now, surrounded by ladies-in-waiting but somehow still alone, unaware that she's been marked as a potential enemy of the state.

Time to stop being the Empire's prince and start being the man my people need me to be. Even if it costs me everything.

Especially then.