Chapter 123: THE LIMIT

DIANA’S POV

Secretary Pellor reached the lower diplomatic gate before Blackharrow stopped him.

Diana saw the argument from the covered passage while returning from Household Relief with Master Marlon. Pellor stood beside a Southern courier carriage with one travel case at his feet, while two Blackharrow guards blocked the open gate.

"I am accompanying a diplomatic courier to the lower relay," Pellor said. "I am not leaving Blackharrow."

"The temporary preservation order restricts delegation personnel who handled the affected transport records from leaving the secured Citadel perimeter until the movement audit is complete," the guard captain replied.

"I am a transport secretary. Of course I handled them."

Exactly.

Access made him relevant without making him guilty.

Diana started down the stair.

Master Marlon looked at her.

"Your Grace."

She raised the slate.

I AM WALKING.

"Toward a security dispute."

STILL WALKING.

He sighed and followed.

The senior Valence commissioner arrived from the opposite passage at nearly the same time as Daric.

"Blackharrow has decided I am under arrest," Pellor said.

"No," Daric replied.

"I am being prevented from leaving."

"For another hour, if the movement audit remains on schedule."

The commissioner looked at Daric.

"Nothing places Secretary Pellor inside the warehouse."

"Correct."

"Your witness cannot identify him."

"Correct."

"He had access to the route documents."

"So did several dozen people."

The commissioner paused, apparently dissatisfied by Daric’s refusal to make the argument more dramatic.

Footsteps crossed the lower court behind Diana.

Raigoro arrived with Blackharrow’s treaty lawyer.

"What is the legal basis?"

"The treaty permits a temporary preservation restriction on relevant delegation personnel after a crime inside protected facilities while immediate witness and movement accounting is completed," the lawyer said. "It does not establish individual detention."

Raigoro looked toward Daric.

"Grounds to hold Pellor individually?"

"No."

"Anything beyond access and opportunity?"

"No."

Raigoro turned toward Pellor.

"Then you are not under individual detention."

Pellor glanced toward the open gate.

"May I leave?"

"When the movement audit is complete."

"And if it finds nothing?"

"The restriction ends."

The commissioner studied Raigoro.

"You still suspect him."

"Yes."

Raigoro gave the answer without qualification.

"Suspicion does not expand my authority."

Diana stopped looking at Pellor.

For days, she had been measuring Raigoro’s restraint toward her and finding reasons to distrust what it meant. She could explain it as guilt, controlled anger, or an exception he made because she was his wife.

Pellor gave her another measure.

Raigoro believed the man might have helped sabotage Blackharrow’s defenses and still stopped exactly where the evidence required him to stop.

His restraint had nothing to do with trusting Pellor. Raigoro simply refused to treat power as permission.

The movement audit finished before midday.

Nothing placed Pellor inside the warehouse. His recorded movements matched closely enough that Command had no legal basis for treating his attempted relay trip as flight.

The restriction ended.

Daric showed no disappointment.

"One fewer possibility," he said.

Diana looked at him.

Clearing Pellor had narrowed the investigation. Evidence had removed one possibility instead of merely making suspicion louder.

Pellor collected his travel case and returned to the diplomatic wing looking offended enough to suggest Blackharrow had personally invented procedure.

Master Marlon watched him go.

"Will he complain formally?"

Daric folded the completed movement sheet.

"I would be disappointed if he didn’t."

By late afternoon, the guest wing had begun preparing for departure.

Servants moved travel cases through the corridor while temporary office seals disappeared from doors. Valence clerks argued quietly over document chests, and Blackharrow staff counted everything that would remain behind.

Diana was crossing the guest court when Lord Cassian Rovel stepped away from the window.

"Your Grace."

She stopped.

"I owe you an apology."

Diana wrote:

FOR THE REHEARSAL?

"For considerably more than the rehearsal."

She waited.

"I knew who you were when I arrived."

Diana already knew.

She had seen recognition cross his face before he buried it beneath Selena’s title.

She wrote:

AND YOU CALLED ME SELENA.

"Yes."

WHY?

"Because that was what Valence required."

Rovel paused, then shook his head.

"No. That is an excuse."

Diana looked at him.

"Because that was what Valence required, and I chose to obey."

Better.

The correction made the answer no kinder, only more accurate.

She wrote:

YOU DID NOTHING.

"Yes."

FOR YEARS.

"Yes."

Rovel offered nothing about ministers, royal orders, or the dangers of questioning a king.

"I watched your place disappear," he said. "I told myself I had no authority to change it."

Diana pressed the chalk harder against the slate.

I WAS STILL THERE.

Rovel took a moment before answering.

"Yes."

The ugliest part had always been the way people spoke of Diana disappearing as though she had performed the act herself.

She had remained inside the palace, eating, sleeping, and growing older behind doors other people controlled.

"When I saw you here," Rovel said quietly, "I told myself the same thing again."

Diana wrote:

AND YOU KNEW BETTER THIS TIME.

"Yes."

Rovel offered no excuse and let the silence stand.

There was another question Diana had not expected to ask him.

IS SELENA WELL?

Rovel looked surprised.

"Yes."

Diana waited.

He seemed to understand that one word was insufficient.

"She was well when I left Valence."

Physically, then.

DO YOU SEE HER?

"Not often."

Diana paused over the slate.

Selena had once been difficult to avoid. Banquets had been arranged around her. Foreign princes crossed kingdoms to meet her. Portrait sittings, riding parties, music evenings, and formal dinners had filled her public life.

Valence had built that life around Selena.

Hearing that she was rarely seen now was new.

WHY?

Rovel considered the question.

"I do not know everything King Odran or Queen Maerissa has decided."

At least he had learned to separate knowledge from assumption.

"Princess Selena has not made public appearances since your marriage."

Well, two Princess Selenas could hardly move through royal courts at the same time.

Valence had many useful words for women who needed to disappear without technically disappearing. Ill, resting, private, unavailable. Diana had worn several of them herself.

IS SHE SAFE?

Rovel took longer to answer.

"As far as I know."

Diana looked up.

He left the answer as it was.

"I have no evidence that she is in danger," he said.

Better. He was still separating what he knew from what he could only assume.

Diana looked down at the slate.

She remained angry with Selena. Her sister had known Diana would be sent north in her place. Selena had been afraid, and she had allowed it anyway.

Both were true.

Diana was beginning to understand that being the favored daughter had protected Selena from some things without giving her complete freedom.

She wrote:

IF YOU SEE HER...

Then stopped.

Rovel waited.

What message could Diana send?

Selena already knew she was alive. Diana could say she was safe, but she was unsure whether Selena would understand what safety meant here.

Forgiveness was worse.

Diana did not forgive her.

She erased the unfinished sentence.

Rovel watched the chalk move.

"I am sorry," he said.

Diana looked at him for a long moment.

Forgiveness would have been convenient.

She did not owe him convenience.

Her chalk moved one final time.

DO BETTER WITH THE NEXT THING YOU KNOW.

Rovel read it and inclined his head.

"I will."

Diana walked on.

Behind her, Valence servants continued carrying cases toward the departure stair.

Rovel’s apology left nineteen years untouched. Her title remained gone, and his silence remained his own choice.

Tomorrow, he would return to Valence.

Whatever he learned next would give him another choice.