The First Increment

Kael knew the silence in the High Cave wasn't peace; it was a pressurized chamber. Every nerve-wracking minute was an installment in the ten-year price. While Jerrick dealt with the internal erosion, Kael bore the burden of external legitimacy. He was the walking, breathing evidence that the Treaty was holding, that the Royal Bloodline was secure, and that the Crown still possessed its most potent defense—a fully powered Shadow Guard.

The Guard’s Calculus

His vigilance had to be flawless, but not threatening. He had to be strong enough to deter an opportunistic guard, but contained enough to prove the Queen's commitment to the truce. It was a tightrope walk performed on a granite floor.
Kael spent his days running a constant, silent threat assessment. He knew the shifts by the scrape of the Exiles’ boots, the smell of their rough tobacco, and the subtle, telling gaps in their conversation. The Exiles were not a cohesive unit. The older guards held a grudging respect for the Queen's desperate play; the younger ones carried the sharp, arrogant scent of bloodlust and resentment.
He was waiting for the younger ones. They would be the first to test the boundaries.
His sword, Lyra's Cry, lay across his lap, always in his hand, never sheathed. Its smooth, obsidian grip was the only truly familiar sensation in the alien cold of the High Cave. He had cleaned the blade a hundred times, polishing away the memory of the blood he hadn't been able to prevent. The sword had become an anchor for his grief, a tangible point of focus that kept the icy clarity in his mind.

The Queen’s Gambit

The Queen saw Kael's grief and his hyper-vigilance, and she did not try to soothe it. She leveraged it.
One afternoon, a new, cocky guard named Jevan—fresh-faced and smelling of cheap ale—stopped at the mouth of the cave, leaning on his spear. He looked past Kael, directly at the Queen, a lazy, insulting grin spreading across his face.
“Your Majesty,” Jevan drawled, his voice pitched to carry. “We’ve been discussing the old days. Did your Captain truly command the Shadow Guard to burn the whole South Passage to keep a few hundred of our people out? Seems… wasteful, even for a Royal.”
Kael felt the familiar, cold surge of killing intent. He gripped his sword, his gaze locking onto the guard's throat.
Before Kael could move, the Queen spoke, her voice calm and remarkably gentle. "Captain Jerrick acted to preserve the integrity of the capital, Guard. He did his duty. Perhaps you forget that we are here now because we agreed to stop fighting."
She then shifted her attention to Kael. Her gaze was direct and sharp, a signal that only he would recognize. Patience. Watch me.
"Kael," she said, her voice dropping to an intimate, conversational tone. "I still need the maps of the North Vein. The ones showing the structural weak points. You know, the ones Theron's father used to shore up the old mining tunnels before the first war?"
Kael understood immediately. The Queen was not talking about maps.
"Yes, my Queen," Kael replied, his voice a low, steady rumble. "I remember the markings. They're not on paper, they're… patterns of erosion."
"Ah, yes," she murmured, a satisfied smile touching her lips. "Those patterns. Describe the ones around the main eastern support strut. In detail, Kael. In great detail."

Drawing the Lines

For the next half hour, the Queen kept Kael talking. He didn't speak of geography or stone. He spoke in the coded language of Shadow Guards:
"The Erosion near the Strut" became a detailed recounting of the Exile Guard rotation schedule and their specific patrol paths outside the High Cave.

"The Deep Fracture" became the exact location of the Exiles' main ammunition cache.

"The North Vein Weak Points" became a comprehensive list of the Exile Council's political rivals and known personal feuds—the leverage points they could use later.
As Kael spoke, the Queen nodded thoughtfully, occasionally correcting a detail as if they were discussing dusty parchment. She was not only using him as an information relay, she was using his visibility as a distraction. The Exiles saw the Queen talking to her Guard, openly discussing ‘old maps,’ and they believed their Treaty was respected. They did not see the meticulous, granular intelligence being transferred right under their noses.
Guard Jevan eventually left, bored by the technical discussion and disappointed by the lack of a scene.
When the cave fell silent again, Kael turned to Jerrick, his expression a question. Jerrick was still in meditative stillness, but his eyes were open, his gaze fixed on the cold Seal on his arm.
"She does not ask you to rest, Kael," Jerrick said, his voice quiet. "She asks you to keep running the network. You are the only one who can."
Kael finally sheathed Lyra's Cry. He had been played by his own Queen, but the move was a masterful one. It was the first tangible proof that their captivity was not just a cost, but a covert operation. He had paid his increment of the price for the day. He settled back, his new mission clear: observe, translate, and relay. He was the Queen's active sensor, and the Exiles hadn't even noticed the surveillance net had been thrown over them.
But the constant surveillance was beginning to chip away at Kael, too. He was not just watching the guards; he was watching the Queen's face, straining to decipher her next coded command, always wondering how far she was willing to push their fragile truce, and how close she would take them to the edge of the Red Protocol.