Silk & Sabotage

Part 1: The Arrival of the Stranger

Two years ago – Auriel, City of Lina Loas

The rain came early that season. Not the soft drizzle that whispered against rooftops in the morning, but the kind of rain that rattled windows, carved gullies into the cobblestone streets, and seemed to signal something shifting in the air.

From the eastern tower of the Veyra Palace, Mia stood silently behind the tall glass, one hand loosely curled around the railing. A storm always left the city unsettled. And today, it mirrored the gnawing tension beneath her skin.

There was an unusual influx of guests at the palace. Preparations for the Festival of Unity meant open borders, which Mia already found reckless, even if politically necessary. Lina Loas had managed to keep fragile peace with its neighboring rival, the Republic of Rica, but peace was never just peace. It was always a waiting room for war.

She had combed through the guest list earlier that morning. Ambassadors, advisors, scholars, envoys from ally nations — all their names meant something.

Except one.

Kael Venric.

No diplomatic record. No educational history. His papers were immaculate — and that was the problem. Clean to the point of sterility. Not a single fold or stain in the story he presented. Everything about him reeked of careful construction.

He was listed as an envoy from an offshore neutral settlement called Veyanti Isles — the sort of forgotten place politicians liked to name-drop when pretending to be worldly. A man of minor importance, whose quiet presence shouldn't have stirred anything.

And yet… Mia's instincts pricked the moment she saw his profile. It wasn't his credentials. It was the photograph.

Dark, almost wavy hair cropped shorter on the sides. Sharp features — the kind sculpted by both privilege and discipline. But it was the eyes. Steel-gray. Direct. Unapologetic. Even in stillness, they stared through the lens like they knew someone was watching from the other side.

She had stared at that image longer than she should have.

That evening, he arrived.

---

The palace gates groaned open as the dark sedan rolled into the inner courtyard. Mia watched from the shadows of the upper corridor, her security badge tucked into her coat pocket. She wasn't meant to be there, but protocol never stopped her when instinct overruled order.

Kael Venric stepped out alone.

No guards. No luggage besides a single brown leather case.

His suit was navy, well-fitted but not expensive. His movements were fluid, almost feline — a kind of grace she recognized from watching combat drills. He didn't look around nervously like other foreign guests. Instead, he took in the palace as if it were an old place he was finally returning to.

He walked like someone who had already studied the layout.

The guards greeted him with formality. He nodded once, expression unreadable, and entered without fuss. He passed beneath her corridor without ever looking up. Still, Mia held her breath.

For a man who didn't belong here, he moved with unsettling comfort.

---

Later that night, Mia reviewed his file again.

No criminal record. No intelligence flags. No war affiliations. An advisor on foreign trade and cultural exchange. He had studied anthropology, supposedly, in Nyrand — a neutral academic center on the continent's edge. She traced his papers back to their original scan dates. Everything was perfect. Too perfect.

She clicked open the live feed from the security cam in the East Wing.

Room 37.

Kael had discarded his jacket and was now at the window, sleeves rolled up, lighting a cigarette. He didn't smoke like someone addicted — it was slow, rhythmic. Deliberate. A ritual.

The smoke curled around his face as he leaned against the window frame. He didn't seem like a man trying to hide. But that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.

Mia didn't like enigmas that looked like art.

Especially not when they were assigned to rooms one floor below hers.

---

The next morning, she met him.

Officially, at least.

The Veyra Palace hosted a diplomatic brunch in the main gardens. Tents were strung with golden silks, and jasmine filled the air, masking the musk of wet stone from the previous night's rain. Political pawns in polished clothes drank citrus wine and exchanged harmless insults disguised as compliments.

Mia hated these events.

She wore the ceremonial white of the Veyra bloodline — high-collared, with a diagonal sash in navy and gold. Her heels were precise. Her posture, commanding. People noticed when she entered a room — and they should. She was the General's daughter, the next in line to lead their security council, and the hidden fist behind half their peace treaties.

She was shaking hands with an elderly ambassador when she saw him.

Kael was near the far tent, speaking to one of the junior linguists. He was dressed simply again — charcoal shirt, sleeves half rolled, no tie. Understated. He caught her gaze mid-sentence.

And didn't look away.

Mia excused herself smoothly, then made her way over. He turned before she could speak.

"You don't like events like these," he said.

The first words he ever said to her. Not "hello." Not "pleasure to meet you." Just observation. A strange kind of intimacy from a man who shouldn't know her.

Mia arched a brow. "And you're not very good at introductions."

"I thought the palace had enough of those."

"Yet here you are, introducing yourself without permission."

He smiled, faintly. "Kael Venric. From Veyanti Isles, though I assume you already know."

"I like to know who's under my roof."

His gaze flickered briefly, as if acknowledging the warning. But he didn't retreat. "And here I was thinking it was your father's roof."

Mia's smile didn't reach her eyes. "My father leads the army. I decide who stays close to it."

He tilted his head. "So I passed your test?"

"Not yet."

He laughed softly, almost to himself. "You're sharper than I expected."

"People tend to expect me to smile and serve tea."

"I didn't."

That gave her pause. For a moment, their eyes locked. Something unspoken flickered between them — not attraction, not yet, but a recognition. A matching of pace. Of intellect.

Mia broke the tension. "If you're here for the festival, enjoy the fireworks. Just don't light any yourself."

He nodded, one hand in his pocket. "Noted."

---

Over the next few days, he became a presence.

Not loud. Not overtly charming. But there.

He appeared at meetings he wasn't formally invited to, always with a plausible excuse. He walked the palace halls with a slow, observant pace, as if memorizing walls. He asked innocuous questions that didn't feel so innocent in hindsight — about customs, security schedules, blind spots in protocol.

Mia noticed everything. She told herself it was because she was suspicious.

But the truth was murkier.

He was magnetic in the way danger often was. He spoke sparingly but never hesitated. His laughter was rare, but when it came, it was real. He moved like he belonged in a different time — like an ancient myth who'd slipped into the wrong century.

One evening, she found him in the royal library.

It was nearly midnight. Most guests were asleep. Mia, restless, had gone down to retrieve a report she'd left behind — only to find Kael sitting in the dim reading alcove, thumbing through a book on Lina Loas' military history.

He looked up, startled for once. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I could ask you the same."

"Reading relaxes me."

"Invasions and airstrikes help you sleep?"

"I like to understand the people I'm visiting."

Mia stepped closer, folding her arms. "And what have you understood about us so far?"

He looked at her, and for the first time, the mask slipped just enough. There was something in his eyes — not desire, but depth. Calculation mixed with curiosity. His voice dropped slightly.

"You build walls high, but keep the windows open. You pretend to hide everything, yet dare people to look."

Mia's breath caught for half a second. Not because he was wrong. But because it was too accurate. Too personal. And she hated that he saw through her so easily.

She turned away. "Goodnight, Mr. Venric."

He didn't stop her. But his eyes followed her until she disappeared into the shadows.

---

Back in her room, she opened his file again.

It didn't matter how many times she read it — the story never changed. And yet the man did.

He was a riddle. A man who knew exactly how much to give, how much to hold back. And she knew people like that never just were. They wanted something. Mino—no, Kael—was playing a game.

The question was: Did he think she was a pawn?

Because if so, he had underestimated her.

But if he didn't—if he knew she could be a queen or a threat—then why was he still standing so close to the fire?

Mia stared at the security feed once again. Kael was at his desk, scribbling something onto a notepad before tearing the page out and burning it with the end of his cigarette.

Whatever he had written, he hadn't intended for it to last.

Neither, perhaps, did he.