Enslaved by the Crown: The Weakest Slave Has the Strongest Ability

”Careful.”

”Yes, my Lady.”

Ennessa acknowledged the bowing guards with a tight nod as she entered her mother’s chambers. Three attendants were busy adjusting dark blue fabric across an unfinished gown before a full-length mirror.

”You’re late,” her mother said without turning. She dismissed the attendants with a wave. ”I’ll be occupied for most of the afternoon. The royal tailor arrives at noon, and I need your measurements before then.”

Ennessa blinked. ”Today?”

”Today,” her mother said with an apologetic smile. ”Dresses tend to ignore our plans.”

Ennessa let out a quiet breath. ”I’ll be here before noon.”

Leaving the chambers, Ennessa turned toward the library tower. If she was going to be trapped with tailors all afternoon, she would steal a few quiet minutes in the archive first.

She pulled her silver keycard from her sleeve, pressed it to the crystal, and pushed the door open....

***

The soft click of the brass latch sounded like a thunderclap in the silent archive.

Eldrin’s pulse spiked. ’He had seconds.

Instincts drilled into him at Novaryn took over. He shoved the March log into the lower desk drawer, swept his hand across the wood to erase any disturbed dust, and melted into the deep shadow behind a heavy display cabinet beside the wall. He held his breath, pressing his back flat against the cold stone.

The heavy door creaked open. Footsteps crossed the carpet, accompanied by the faint scent of crushed lavender.

’Ennessa.’

Through the narrow gap beside the cabinet, Eldrin watched her walk to the central oak desk. She paused, her eyes scanning the quiet room. Her hand reached down, retrieved her personal notebook from the desk drawer, and tucked it beneath her arm.

She turned and left. The door closed behind her with a soft, final click.

Silence returned to the room.

Eldrin waited, counting long seconds until his heart stopped hammering. Slowly, he stepped out from behind the cabinet.

”...That was close.”

His pulse hadn’t fully settled, but the room was quiet. She hadn’t seen him.

He had learned nothing useful only more questions and staying any longer was an invitation to disaster. Slipping Master Rowan’s card into his tunic, he walked to the exit, pressed the release plate, and stepped into the staircase.

No one was there. Eldrin let out a quiet breath.

He turned toward the steps....

A shadow moved.

Before Eldrin could react, a foot hooked cleanly behind his ankle. A sharp downward force struck his knee, sweeping his legs out from under him.

He hit the floor hard, the air exploding from his lungs. Before he could roll, a knee pressed firmly into the small of his back, pinning him flat. A cold, narrow length of steel—a silver letter opener—pressed tightly against the side of his neck.

”Move,” a quiet, icy voice whispered, ”and I’ll drive this through your throat.”

Eldrin went rigid. Ennessa stood over him, holding the blade with practiced leverage. Her eyes locked onto his with absolute, dangerous composure.

”I knew someone was in there,” she said softly. Her gaze drifted down to his tunic, where the edge of the keycard peeked out. ”A servant... using a master’s keycard to break into the third floor.”

Panic surged in Eldrin’s chest. Everything was collapsing.

Desperate, he reached inward, clawing for the warmth beneath his sternum. The Silver Tongue.

Let me go. Step back.

He pushed the command with all his strength.

Nothing. The warmth flickered like a dying ember and vanished beneath a wave of sheer panic.

’Damn it!’ The realization hit him with bitter clarity the Silver Tongue required absolute composure, an undeniable authority an opponent would unconsciously accept. A frightened boy pinned beneath a blade projected no authority at all.

”Who sent you?” Ennessa demanded, the tip of the blade pricking his skin just enough to sting. ”Was it House Vane? Or one of my father’s stewards?”

Eldrin stopped reaching for the useless magic. He let his shoulders slump into the cold stone floor, looking up at her with raw, unvarnished exhaustion.

”Nobody sent me,” Eldrin rasped, his voice trembling faintly. ”I came alone.”