The Messenge (Iva and Nick) novel Chapter 440

Melissandre I

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The night had swallowed the city beneath a blanket of darkness, but Caleb Adama had never felt

more exposed.

The city was familiar, every crooked alley and ancient building etched into his memory, yet something about it felt wrong tonight, as though he were walking through a world that had been carefully arranged to conceal a terrible secret.

Perhaps it was because he knew too much.

He knew things that had not happened yet, remembered people who had not yet, become

strangers, and carried the weight of a future that might no longer exist. Every interaction with va

reminded him that he was the only one who remembered what they had lost, while every glimpse

of the palace stirred a suspicion he could no longer ignore.

But first, he needs to deal with the immediate threat: someone was messing with the royal family.

The sudden changes in behaviour, the strange decisions made by people who had once been wise and cautious, the inexplicable hostility between members of the court, and the way certain. memories seemed to disappear whenever anyone questioned the king’s latest orders.

Back then, Caleb had blamed politics, ambition, and the usual games played by those who wanted

power.

Now, with the knowledge he had carried back from the future, he knew the truth.

Someone was manipulating them.

She held his gaze, perhaps searching for the arrogance of a prince accustomed to having his

commands obeyed.

Whatever she found in his expression made her abandon the argument.

“Very well.”

She selected a dark glass bottle and placed it on the table, then reached for a leather-bound book

whose edges had been worn smooth by years of use.

“But if your suspicions are correct, Caleb, you must be careful about whom you trust. A person under a sufficiently powerful enchantment may not even realise that anything has changed. And if

the spell has been designed to protect itself, attempting to break it without understanding its

nature could make the situation worse.”

“I know.”

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“No,” she replied, her voice suddenly sharp. “You suspect. That is not the same thing as knowing.”

Galeb said nothing.

Because, in truth, she was right.

He knew the future he remembered. He knew the consequences of certain choices. But he did not

yet know which parts of that future remained intact, which had been altered by his return, whether the force that had brought him back had changed more than he could see.

Someone was making them believe that their own thoughts were their own.

Finally reaching to his destination, he raised his hand and knocked three times.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

The door opened before Caleb could knock again.

Melisandre stood on the other side, her hair gathered into a loose braid, her dark eyes reflecting

the strange blue flames that burned in the lamps behind her. She wore a long charcoal dress embroidered with symbols Caleb recognised from ancient magical texts, and a thin silver chain rested against her throat.

For a moment, the witch simply stared at him.

Then her expression softened into a knowing smile.

“Well, this is an unexpected pleasure.” She stepped aside, allowing him to enter. “How can I help His Highness tonight?”

Caleb crossed the threshold without answering.

The familiar scent of dried herbs, burning incense, and old parchment surrounded him. Bundles of plants hung from the ceiling, glass bottles covered the shelves, and several candles floated above a circular table at the centre of the room. Somewhere deeper inside the house, water bubbled in a vessel, releasing a faint mist that curled along the floor.

Normally, Caleb would have taken a moment to study the room, perhaps even teased Melisandre about her habit of making every visit feel like an entrance into a forbidden chapter of an ancient

spellbook.

Tonight, he did neither.

Melisandre’s smile faded.

She had known Caleb since he was young enough to believe that his royal blood made him invincible. She had watched him grow into a warrior who rarely admitted fear and a prince who

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preferred to solve his problems with his own hands rather than ask for help.

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She knew the difference between the expression he wore when he was angry and the one he wore when he had already decided that someone was going to pay for what they had done.

The look in his eyes tonight was something else entirely.

It was the expression of a man who had seen a terrible truth and had come to the conclusion that

time was running out.

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

Caleb walked towards the table.

“I came here for two reasons.”

Melisandre folded her arms.

“Only two? I must be losing my touch.”

“Please, Melisandre.”

The words stopped her.

There was no impatience in his voice, no trace of the dry humour she had expected. Instead, he spoke with such grave certainty that the witch straightened, her attention sharpening.

“Tell me what you need.”

Caleb planted both hands on the edge of the table and leaned forward.

“First, I need a potion. Something that can reveal whether a person has been placed under a spell, whether their mind is being manipulated, and whether something has been introduced into their body to make them more susceptible to magical influence.”

Melisandre did not move.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet crackle of the blue flames.

Then she lowered her arms.

“That is a very specific request.”

“Because the problem is very specific.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The royal family. Actually, the entire Court.”

Her face changed.

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for Not dramatically, not in the way an inexperienced observer might have expected, but enough Caleb to notice. The colour seemed to drain from her expression, and her gaze shifted instinctively towards the windows, as though she feared someone might be listening from the darkness

outside.

“The royal family?” she repeated.

“Yes.”

“Caleb, do you understand what you are accusing someone of doing?”

“I’m not making an accusation. I’m telling you what I know.”

“And how, exactly, do you know this?”

He stared at her.

There were so many answers he could have given that he almost laughed at the absurdity of choosing among them. He could tell her that he had lived through the consequences, that he had watched events unfold without understanding the invisible hand guiding them, or that he had returned from a future in which too many things had gone terribly wrong.

But he could not afford to reveal everything before he understood what the amber stone had done.

Not even to Melisandre.

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