The Returned Prince

The Returned Prince Chapter 8: Unmasking Shadows

The morning after the masquerade arrived with a chill that clung to the air. The sunlight filtered through the high windows of my chambers, but its warmth did little to ease the tension coiled in my chest. Duke Raventhal's challenge played over and over in my mind. A missing shipment, stolen on its way to the eastern provinces. It sounded simple enough, but I knew better. In Krasyl, nothing was ever simple.

I had summoned Kieran and Elara to my private study. They arrived promptly, their expressions as sharp as ever. Kieran lounged against the wall, his arms crossed, while Elara stood by the window, her gaze distant but alert.

"I need answers," I said without preamble, pacing the length of the room. "Raventhal's test could make or break this alliance. If I can solve this problem, he'll support me. But if I fail…"

"You'll be dismissed as a child playing at politics," Kieran finished, a smirk tugging at his lips. "High stakes for a stolen shipment, don't you think?"

I shot him a sharp look, and he held up his hands in mock surrender. "Relax, Your Highness. I'll help you. But first, tell me—what do you know about this shipment?"

"Not much," I admitted. "It was meant for the eastern provinces. Supplies for the garrisons stationed near the border. But it vanished before reaching its destination."

Kieran nodded thoughtfully. "Supplies for the garrisons, you say? That's not just any shipment. Whoever took it knew what they were doing. If those garrisons are left under-equipped, the eastern border becomes vulnerable. And if the eastern border falls…"

"The empire cracks open," I finished grimly.

Elara turned from the window, her expression as calm and unreadable as ever. "Do you have a list of who was responsible for overseeing the shipment?"

I shook my head. "Not yet. But I can get one. The Emperor's logistics council handles such matters. I'll have to tread carefully, though. If they catch wind of my involvement, it could raise questions I'm not ready to answer."

"Then don't go through official channels," Elara said smoothly. "There's a merchant named Osrik who operates near the docks. He has ties to every major trade route in Krasyl and beyond. If the shipment passed through the capital, he'll know about it."

I frowned. "And why would he help me?"

Elara's lips curved into a faint smile. "Because Osrik values coin above loyalty, and you have the means to make his cooperation worthwhile."

Kieran chuckled. "You're learning quickly, Prince. Money talks, and in Osrik's case, it practically sings."

I considered her suggestion. It was risky, dealing with someone like Osrik. But time wasn't on my side, and I needed leads. "Fine," I said. "I'll speak to him. Kieran, I want you to come with me. Elara, see if you can gather any information on your own. Focus on the council members overseeing the eastern supply chain. If there's corruption involved, I want to know."

They both nodded, and we set the plan into motion.

The docks were a far cry from the opulence of the court. The air was thick with the smell of salt and fish, and the shouts of merchants haggling over prices rang out over the clatter of wagon wheels on cobblestone.

Osrik's establishment was tucked away in a narrow alley, marked only by a faded wooden sign bearing the image of a ship. Inside, the air was dim and heavy with the scent of smoke and old wood. Osrik himself was seated behind a large desk piled with ledgers and scrolls. He was a stout man with a balding head and a face that seemed permanently fixed in a sly grin.

"Prince Aurelian," he said as I entered, his tone dripping with mock surprise. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

I didn't bother with pleasantries. "I'm looking for information about a missing shipment. Supplies bound for the eastern provinces."

Osrik leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. "Ah, the eastern shipment. Yes, I've heard rumors. A tragic loss, really. But information, as I'm sure you know, comes at a price."

I pulled a small pouch from my cloak and set it on the desk with a satisfying clink. "This should cover it."

Osrik opened the pouch, his eyes gleaming as he inspected the gold inside. "Very generous, Your Highness. Very well. The shipment was intercepted before it left the city. The culprits knew the exact route it would take and struck in the dead of night."

"Who?" I pressed.

Osrik shrugged. "That, I cannot say for certain. But there have been whispers. A mercenary group operating in the shadows. They call themselves the Black Talon. They've been active in Krasyl for months now, taking jobs no one else will touch."

"Who hired them?"

Osrik spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "That, I do not know. But if you're looking for the Black Talon, they have a safehouse in the eastern district. A tavern called the Broken Blade."

I nodded, already turning to leave. "Your information had better be accurate, Osrik. If I find you've lied…"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Your Highness," he said with a sly smile.

The Broken Blade was as unwelcoming as its name suggested. The dimly lit tavern reeked of ale and unwashed bodies, and its patrons were the sort who carried blades openly and spoke in low, hushed tones.

Kieran and I entered cautiously, our eyes scanning the room. It didn't take long to spot them—a group of men seated at a corner table, their mismatched armor marking them as mercenaries.

"Black Talon," Kieran muttered under his breath. "This should be fun."

"Let's keep it quiet," I said. "We're here for answers, not a fight."

As we approached the table, one of the men looked up, his hand drifting to the hilt of his blade. "What do you want?"

I fixed him with a cold stare. "Information about the eastern shipment. You stole it. I want to know who hired you."

The man's expression darkened, and the others at the table tensed. "You've got the wrong people, friend. We don't know anything about that."

Kieran leaned in, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't waste our time. Talk, or we'll make you."

For a moment, the tension hung heavy in the air. Then, with a growl, the man stood, his hand on his blade. "You've made a mistake, boy."

Before he could draw, I slammed a dagger into the table, the blade quivering an inch from his hand. The room fell silent.

"You don't want to test me," I said, my voice like ice. "Now, tell me who hired you, or the next blade won't miss."

The man hesitated, sweat beading on his brow. Finally, he spat, "It was a man from the court. Didn't give his name, but he wore the crest of House Meravon."

House Meravon. One of the Emperor's closest allies. The implications were staggering.

"Thank you," I said, pulling the dagger free. "You've been most helpful."

As we left the tavern, my mind raced. House Meravon's involvement in this theft wasn't just treason—it was a declaration of war.

The stakes had risen, and so had the danger. But one thing was clear: I was no longer just playing the game. I was changing it.