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Evidence

Dakota pressed against the cool stone of the shadowed alcove, his eyes fixed on the Dauphin's every move. The Prince strode through the grand corridor, his entourage following close behind.

More guards? Dakota thought as he watched the Dauphin's scanning right and left, up and down.

The Dauphin paused and leaned close to an aide, nodding. Their voices were hushed but urgent.

Something had changed, and Dakota could sense it. The air tasted different, heavy with unspoken threats.

Time to disappear, Dakota concluded, melting away with a silence born of urgency. The chase was on, and Dakota knew the game had changed. He wouldn't be backed into a corner—not here, not tonight.

"Patterns are dangerous," he muttered to himself, repeating the mantra so his movements would be unpredictable. He doubled back, slipped through servants' quarters, and moved with purpose. A door left ajar here, a window unlatched there-breadcrumbs for those who dared follow.

Like mist, he reminded himself. Be like mist.

The paranoia of the prince had birthed a silent army, one that crept behind tapestries and alcoves.

"Let them tail," Dakota said, a smirk playing on his lips. Welcoming this challenge, his brain was already racing with countermeasures.

He ducked into an alcove and pressed flat against the wall. The smell of old stone and wax filled his nostrils as he watched the dancing of torchlight that presaged his pursuers.

Lost them.

"Trust is thin. He may have more accomplices," the Dauphin said, the words slicing through the crack beneath the door.

"Indeed, my lord. Henri's days within these walls are numbered," replied a voice, oozing with loyalty and menace.

"His ruse ends. And when it does—the gallows await."

"Good! But we need to get him red-handed." said the Dauphin, the finality of it ran a shiver down Dakota's back. "Find him, I know he is spying on us."

Dakota's breath quickened as he slipped through a tapestry that disguised a narrow serving passage. "Think," he muttered to himself, fingertips brushing against the cold stone as he negotiated the labyrinthine corridors with an urgency that didn't leave any room for mistakes. The Dauphin's private chambers beckoned. Dakota knew the rumors all too well— the Dauphin was conspiring to usurp the crown. Maybe he had incriminating evidence in his private chambers?

His mind rushed, building a scheme out of memory and whisps of words overheard in passing. He was aware of the danger, of the treacherous dance upon the razor's edge. But it was a dance he was signed up for, and he was not about to buckle now.

He retreated, his eyes scanning for and finally finding the hidden nook. From it, he pulled out a little, black device—a gift from an ally he had long forgotten. Tonight, it would serve its purpose.

"Timing is everything," Dakota reminded himself. He set the device, a distraction.

The moon hung heavy outside, a quiet witness to the budding treachery within these palace walls. Dakota waited for the switch of guards, the momentary lapse was all he needed.

He set the timer, then ran away. "Three. two. one." he counted, and then a click emanated from the device, followed by a muffled thud—his cue.

Guards scrambled, orders barked into the disrupted night. Dakota moved.

Dakota reached into the folds of his clothes and drew out a set of slender lockpicks. His hands moved with precision, the tools extensions of his will. A satisfying click rewarded his efforts, its sound sweeter than any melody.

He slipped inside, the opulence of the chamber in a bright contrast to the grimness of the task at hand. Quickly he told himself, his eyes scanning the room for the desk that harbored his fate. The air was thick with tension, but Dakota was undeterred. He knew full well that this night would bring one of two possible outcomes: victory or demise.

He approached the desk, the centerpiece of authority. Its surface was pristine—the documents were stacked with military precision. Dakota flipped through them, quickly, not wanting to upset their order. Each whispered promises of alliances and decrees, but none held the condemnation he looked for.

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Time was a luxury he could ill afford.

His hands stopped over an inlay on the edge of the desk-intricate, a facade. The pressure was applied in just the right spot, and a soft click sounded almost inaudible. A drawer opened with a soft hiss, its contents bathed in the soft light of treachery.

Careful Dakota cautioned himself. His fingers twitched, prepared to draw back at the first hint of a trap. There could be poison, blades, or any manner of deadly surprise. But the desk yielded its secrets without a fight. He skimmed them, searching. Words leaped out-codes, meetings, plans. Pieces of a puzzle only he could complete. He needed proof, something irrefutable.

"Where are you?" he growled, urgency scratching his control

Dakota's fingers danced down the grain of the desk, searching. A twitch here, a push there hidden catches that only those with secrets worth interring would ever know existed. The panel slid open noiselessly, revealing a cavity that pulsed with promising ruin. He reached inside, the chill kiss of parchment against skin promising salvation or damnation.

"Got you," he breathed.

The letters were crisp, the ink fresh. Names, dates, and places all danced before his eyes, proof that the Dauphin had conspired against the crown.

He pocketed the documents quickly, the significance of them heavy against his chest. This was it, his mission teetering on the edge of triumph and disaster.

Then deliberate, unhurried, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. Dakota's head snapped up. Senses flared. The Dauphin was returning. Every step a measured beat, a countdown on the window of escape.

"Time to vanish," Dakota whispered to himself.

He slid into the darkness, the proof of the Dauphin's betrayal held close to his pounding heart. He was a fox in the den with the hounds at the door, and the chase was hot.

The cadence of his breath came quick and shallow. Footsteps, closer now, unwanted rhythm in the otherwise silent chamber. His eyes darted, seeking refuge-a slice of shadow, a sliver of chance. There was an alcove, concealed behind a heavy tapestry to the right of the hearth, its edges kissed by diffused light. The space was tight, the air stale, but it provided concealment. He stilled each part of himself, muscles tense, a statue draped in the darkness. The door creaked open. The Dauphin entered. His voice was low and cut through the tension.

"Keep the guards alert," he ordered. "I'll not have him slip through our fingers."

"Of course, Your Grace," said the advisor, his tone obedient, the rustle of fabric accompanying his bow. "Your instincts are most astute. He's here, somewhere, I'm certain of it."

"Instincts be damned," the Dauphin spat. "Just find him!"

"Henri is a poison on Versailles," growled the Dauphin. "I feel his presence, like a shroud over my court. He's clever, but no one moves through these walls without stirring the air."

Dakota's fist clenched on the proof tucked into his vest. They spoke of him as a ghost, yet he'd never felt more solid, more alive with danger.

"Then we shall tighten the noose," the advisor assured. "He cannot hide forever."

"See that we do," said the Dauphin. "And when we find him, it will be swift. No trial, no spectacle. Just the swift justice of the hangman."

"Very good, Your Grace."

Dakota's mind was racing. The words were a stark portent toward his possible fate. Time now was the enemy, each second one step toward discovery or escape. The alcove was a sanctuary for a moment, but sanctuaries can turn into tombs with just one turn of fate. Dakota's muscles coiled, tense. The Dauphin's footsteps faded, a diminishing echo in the cavernous hall beyond the chamber door. Waiting,

Now.

He pulled the door open, just a crack, enough to see through. He knew the rotation of the guards, the patterns of their patrol's orchestrated dance which he had learned to navigate with deft precision. Dakota dissolved into the shadows.

The evidence was pressed tightly and securely against his chest. It was the proof he needed to leverage his survival. But it was more than proof—it was the power to unmask and also protect his most important treasure—Celine.