Two days had passed since Edmund’s banquet.

  The music, laughter, and candlelight had faded into memory, and in their place came the quieter rhythm of the aftermath.

  Aurelith had returned to its familiar pulse.

  Outside the palace grounds, townsfolk worked in steady, practiced motions, taking down long silk draperies, gathering flower garlands now wilted under the sun, and stacking tables onto carts for the return to their guildhalls. Children darted between adults carrying bunches of fallen petals, while merchants reclaimed rented benches and lantern poles with the brisk efficiency of those who had handled a hundred feasts before.

  Within the palace, the atmosphere mirrored the scene outside.

  Busy, but softened by order and familiarity.

  Palace staff swept confetti from stairwells, polished marble floors still dulled by night’s procession of shoes and wiped down pillars smudged by guests leaning upon them throughout the long celebration. Maids moved along the walls, carefully removing silk banners. In the guest wing, attendants helped dignitaries pack their belongings, tightening straps on heavy trunks and ensuring every ambassador departed with the dignity their position required.

  King Renault, however, had business apart from ceremony.

  He walked the quieter eastern corridor and stopped before a pair of slightly ajar oak doors, the temporary chambers assigned to Odilon.

  Renault knocked once.

  The door creaked wider.

  “Majesty,” Odilon greeted with an amused chuckle as he straightened his cloak. “Please, come in.”

  Renault stepped inside.

  The room was a scholar’s storm of activity. Half-packed satchels, scrolls sprawled across the bed, inkpots uncorked, and a leather-bound tome open to a page marked with dozens of notes in Odilon’s sharp hand. Despite the chaos, everything felt intentionally arranged in Odilon’s particular brand of disorder.

  “If there is room,” Odilon gestured, “do sit.”

  Renault found a cleared chair beside a stack of rolled maps.

  “What a night that was,” Odilon said as he tightened a strap on his satchel. “And your son—Hemera’s light—he truly put the Count in his place.”

  Despite the man’s cheerful tone, Renault’s expression remained troubled.

  “If only earning the ire of nobles came without… repercussions,” the king murmured.

  Odilon’s smile dimmed. “There is that,” he agreed quietly.

  Renault exhaled. “And whatever he intends to tell King Baldwin once he returns to Cervolna.”

  Odilon shrugged with practiced nonchalance.

  “Worrying over the Count will not change what he has already decided.”

  A faint smile broke through Renault’s concern. “You’re right.”

  But Odilon’s tone shifted as he set aside a stack of scrolls.

  “Now… about Serena.”

  He paused, carefully and respectfully.

  “And the place you asked me to revisit.”

  The air cooled.

  Renault fell silent. Though he had been the one to make the request, the mere mention of that place sent a familiar chill up his spine.

  “I accept your request,” he said quietly.

  “I will return to that place. Examine what we could not make sense of before. See if anything new can be learned.”

  Renault lowered his head slightly, pure gratitude softening his posture.

  “You have my deepest thanks, Odilon. I don’t know how to properly repay you.”

  “Accept my higher rates,” Odilon replied instantly, his grin returning. “And we’re settled.”

  Renault huffed a reluctant laugh. “You never miss a chance, do you?”

  The two spoke for a while longer before a knock came.

  “Enter,” Renault called.

  A butler stepped inside and bowed.

  “Sire. Count Nicolas is here… requesting an audience.”

  Renault and Odilon exchanged a glance. A silent, mutual concern.

  Odilon tilted his head. “I wonder what he wants now.”

  Renault rose, shifting into the calm, steady dignity expected of a king preparing for an uncertain conversation.

  “I must go and meet him.”

  “And I,” Odilon replied, “will finish packing for my departure.”

  Renault clasped Odilon’s forearm in friendship, not formality.

  “We may not see each other again today. Safe travels, Odilon.”

  “And may the gods watch over you, Majesty.”

  Renault turned toward the butler.

  “Take me to him.”

  He stepped into the corridor, then paused as Odilon’s voice cut through the air.

  “Majesty.”

  Renault turned.

  Odilon had taken a step closer, his expression stripped of humor, his voice lowered to something grave and steady.

  “The blade,” he said.

  “Please. Remember to keep it with you.”

  Silence fell.

  Renault studied him, reading everything that went unspoken. He hadn’t thought about that blade in years, yet the weight of it felt suddenly very close.

  Then he nodded once, firmly.

  “I will,” the king responded before taking his leave.

  After a long walk through the bustling palace, Renault finally reached the drawing room.

  The doors were already open.

  Inside, Minister Horace stood near the window with his hands clasped behind his back, the late-afternoon light catching the silver threads in his sleeves. Count Nicolas sat quietly on one of the upholstered chairs, posture straight despite the faint weariness shadowing his eyes. The moment Renault entered, the Count rose and bowed deeply.

  “Your Majesty. Thank you for granting me this audience.”

  “Count Nicolas,” Renault replied with a courteous incline of his head, “I thank you for calling upon me before your departure.”

  A brief silence followed, formal, measured, but not hostile. The air settled between them with the faint tension of unresolved matters.

  Nicolas was the first to break it.

  “Allow me to begin by apologizing for my conduct during the banquet,” he said, voice steady but subdued. “I… let my emotions get the better of me.”

  Renault’s expression softened a fraction.

  “And I must offer my own apology. I allowed emotion to guide my words as well. If anything I said caused offense, it was not my intention.”

  Nicolas dipped his head slightly at the gesture.

  “Please extend my apologies to Prince Edmund, should I not have the chance to see him before I leave.”

  “I will do so,” Renault assured. “Thank you, Count Nicolas.”

  Though a faint residue of tension remained within the king, something in the Count’s sincerity eased a tightness that had lingered since the banquet.

  Nicolas inhaled quietly, as though bracing himself, and when he spoke again, his tone carried a restrained earnestness.

  “Speaking of His Highness… I must confess I was impressed by his character. His conviction, his devotion, to stand for his friend regardless of expectation… it was commendable. I have seen far too many royals cast aside those dear to them simply to preserve their image.”

  A thin, almost wistful smile curved Renault’s lip.

  “The fault is mine, I fear. I granted him too much freedom. He has never been fond of aristocratic traditions. Hence his disregard for custom when faced with conflict.”

  Nicolas nodded slowly, a faint respect rising in his expression.

  “I see. You have my respect for that, Majesty. For allowing him to appreciate a simpler life.”

  Renault sighed gently.

  “It is among his greatest joys to be with those he cherishes.”

  “Truly, a bliss all of us would wish to have,” Nicolas said softly, before his tone shifted, lower, more solemn.

  “But if I may, Your Majesty… those born into our station must often walk a different path.”

  Renault’s gaze grew more attentive, though he said nothing, granting the Count his voice.

  “I agree with your statement that evening,” Nicolas continued. “That our conduct is a form of respect, and that it shouldn’t come at the cost of another’s.”

  “But… in our lives,” Nicolas continued. “There are bonds we must set aside, beliefs we must temper. Not out of cruelty or indifference, but because our actions shape alliances, economies, and the very fate of our realms.”

  He exhaled a quiet, weary sigh that carried the weight of duty learned too early.

  “We are not common people, Your Majesty. Our words, our gestures, carry weight far beyond our own desires.”

  The room stilled. Even the faint rustle of curtains seemed to pause, as though the air itself listened.

  “I see your point, Count Nicolas,” Renault finally replied.

  “I have considered continuing Edmund’s education in etiquette in the coming days, at least for his daily engagements.”

  “A most wise decision,” Nicolas said with a small nod.

  Nicolas shifted in his seat, posture straightening as a more formal calm settled over him.

  “Now… if I may, the second matter I wished to bring forward.”

  “Please.”

  “The trade agreement I mentioned during the banquet…”

  His voice stopped, only for a heartbeat, but just long enough for Renault to notice the faint raggedness in his breathing.

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  “…it concerns Dur—”

  He caught himself.

  A tiny stutter.

  A ghost of a name he did not dare speak aloud.

  “—Calyssia,” Nicolas finished.

  Renault narrowed his eyes slightly, leaning forward.

  “Calyssia, Count Nicolas?”

  “Yes, Majesty.” Nicolas regained his composure, though his shoulders remained tense. “I believe it would be greatly beneficial if we renegotiate and reopen the old trade routes with the Confederated States.”

  Renault gave him his full attention.

  “The current path through Fornalés is too long, too costly,” Nicolas continued. “By contrast, the route through Calyssia is considerably shorter. If we can reach a favorable agreement, it would greatly reduce commodity prices and enrich all parties involved.”

  Renault brought his hands together, fingers steepled before his lips.

  “I agree. Its territories lie directly between Aurelith and Cervolna. Reopening the old routes would cut travel time considerably.”

  He paused, voice softening with caution.

  “But… those states…”

  A silence settled over them again. Not the cold, formal silence from earlier, but one filled with something waiting, something weighted.

  Nicolas drew in a slow, steadying breath.

  “I took the path through them on my way here,” he said at last.

  Renault went still.

  Nicolas’s voice shifted, quiet, earnest, heavy with memory.

  “How… disheartening.”

  He shook his head slowly, as though even recalling it pained him.

  “The poverty. Children begging. Men fighting over scraps. I saw a man chase a boy barefoot through the mud—for a single piece of bread.”

  He looked up, eyes dimmed.

  “Bread, Majesty. Even the most basic of essentials… out of reach.”

  He pressed his lips into a thin line before continuing.

  “People slumped against alley walls, drowning in opiates, walking as though trapped in a dream. Criminals ruling the night. Lawless, hopeless.”

  A breath.

  A tremor.

  “And Eostre.”

  Renault’s expression tightened, barely, but noticeably.

  Nicolas lowered his gaze, and with it, his voice.

  “I stopped by our—”

  A crack threaded through his next words, barely perceptible, but unmistakable.

  “—the ruins of the old capital. To see it reduced to this…”

  His throat tightened.

  “…once the crown jewel of Ambria… now nothing but broken stone and dust.”

  His voice faltered once.

  He straightened almost immediately, fighting the tremor, willing composure back into his posture.

  But the emotion remained lodged in his throat, unspoken yet painfully visible.

  He turned his gaze away, blinking rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall.

  Renault watched him in silence, then spoke gently.

  “I can only imagine,” the king murmured.

  “This isn’t simply about lowering trade costs… is it, Count Nicolas?”

  A breath.

  Nicolas’s eyes drifted toward the window, to the sunlight falling across the distant fields.

  “No, Majesty,” he said at last.

  His voice was barely above a whisper.

  “It is not.”

  He exhaled, the sound thin and unsteady.

  “I want to give them another chance,” he continued, his gaze unfocused, as though seeing a world that existed only in memory.

  “To rise again. To see a brighter day… even if only once more.”

  The words hung in the air, the kind nobles were never meant to reveal.

  A long silence followed.

  Nicolas remained turned toward the window for a moment longer, collecting the scattered pieces of his composure, before he finally looked back at Renault.

  “…Forgive me,” he murmured. “I once again let my emotions get the better of me.”

  A faint, strained smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, more an apology than amusement.

  “I have spoken far too much.”

  “That is quite all right, Count Nicolas. Truly,” Renault reassured, his voice warm and steady.

  Some of the tension loosened from Nicolas’s shoulders.

  “Thank you, Majesty,” he murmured.

  He glanced toward the clock mounted above the mantelpiece, noting the time with a small, resigned breath.

  “I believe I must take my leave,” he said. “I shall depart within the hour.”

  He bowed with quiet solemnity.

  Not the perfunctory courtesy of nobility, but something deeper, almost reverent.

  “I vow to tell King Baldwin of the warm treatment I received here, and of the grace shown by Your Majesty and His Highness.”

  Renault rose, returning the gesture with equal sincerity.

  “We are honored by your presence, Count Nicolas.

  We look forward to meeting you again.”

  Nicolas bowed once more, deeper this time, then turned and left the chamber, his footsteps fading down the corridor.

  A soft silence settled over the room before Minister Horace stepped closer.

  “I did not expect the Count to bow with such weight,” Horace admitted quietly.

  Renault’s gaze remained fixed on the doorway where Nicolas’s silhouette had disappeared.

  “Perhaps grief makes us all relinquish a little pride,” he said softly.

  “Even so,” Horace continued. “But I think I understand now… why he came here.”

  Renault finally tore his eyes from the empty doorway and glanced toward the window, where sunlight lay warm across the fields of Aurelith.

  “We all hold something dear,” he said.

  “Whether commoner, noble, or king… we are human first.

  The Count is no different.”

  Then, gathering himself, Renault straightened his posture.

  “I’ll be heading to Idun’s. See to palace matters for the next hour or two, Horace.”

  “Of course, Majesty,” the minister replied, bowing.

  Renault left the drawing room and made his way down the corridor, his footsteps echoing softly against marble and polished wood. As he rounded the stairwell, a young man came into view, two years older than Edmund, dressed in a crisp red doublet, white trousers, and brown boots.

  The boy’s short brown hair was neatly combed back from his brow, and the moment he noticed the king, he stopped and bowed with practiced precision.

  “Greetings, Your Majesty.”

  Renault slowed, offering a gentle nod as he approached.

  “Tristan. A pleasure to see you. What brings you to the palace today?”

  The young man lifted his head. His brown eyes caught the afternoon light with a quiet steadiness.

  “My father recently finished sharpening General Grenier’s sword,” Tristan explained. “I’m here to return it, Sire.”

  “I see,” Renault said, a faint smile touching his lips. “How is Humphrey faring?”

  “My father is doing well, Majesty. He sends his regards.”

  Renault studied him — the straight posture, the respectful tone, and the subtle confidence of someone raised around heat, steel, and discipline.

  “You’re well-versed in the sword, aren’t you, Tristan?”

  Tristan hesitated only long enough to remain humble.

  “I still have much to learn, Majesty… but I’m familiar with some forms and techniques.”

  “Good,” Renault said, nodding in approval. “After you deliver the sword, wait for me in my drawing room. I’ll have an attendant inform Horace.”

  Tristan bowed slightly. “At once, Majesty. May I ask… for what purpose?”

  Renault’s voice gentled, but carried intention.

  “There is someone I would like you to share your knowledge with and learn alongside.”

  Tristan blinked, head tilting just so.

  “Share…?”

  “I will explain when I return from my errand,” Renault replied.

  “Of course, Sire. I shall head for your drawing room after delivering General Grenier’s sword.”

  “Good lad,” Renault said softly.

  The two parted ways shortly after. Tristan continued toward the armory, while Renault proceeded down the corridor, where the sound of distant brooms and gathering servants faded behind him.

  He stepped outside into the quiet lane that bordered the palace grounds. Midafternoon air still carried the faint scent of wilted festival garlands, roses, lilies, and saffron-threaded ribbons, the last remnants of Edmund’s celebration.

  Renault crossed the path leading toward Idun’s home. At the door, he raised a hand and knocked softly.

  A few seconds later, the door creaked open.

  “Majesty…” Serena whispered, eyes widening in surprise. “Greetings. I didn’t know… you were visiting today. Mother Idun… isn’t here.”

  Renault offered a warm, reassuring smile.

  “That’s quite all right, Serena. This visit is unannounced. May I come in?”

  Serena stepped aside at once, almost too quickly.

  “Y-yes… of course.”

  She guided him inside the small, cozy home, the scent of dried herbs and warm linen lingering in the air. She hurried to pull out a wooden chair for him, her movements delicate but nervous.

  “May I get you anything? Water? Tea?” she asked, hands fidgeting lightly against her skirt.

  “That’s fine, Serena. Thank you,” Renault replied. He motioned to the seat across from him.

  “Please, sit.”

  Serena hesitated only a moment before lowering herself onto the chair opposite him. Her hands folded tightly on her lap, her posture small but attentive.

  “Actually…” Renault continued, “I came to see you.”

  Serena froze. Her fingers pressed together, knuckles pale.

  “If… if this is about the banquet…”

  Renault immediately shook his head.

  “No. I’m not here to scold you.”

  Some of the tension eased from her shoulders, though her gaze remained cautious.

  “You saved my son’s life, Serena,” the king said softly. “You’ve shown him kindness, honesty… and a level of care that is rare in our world.”

  He paused then, as though weighing his next words with great care.

  “And because of that… I wanted to ask whether you would like to hone your power further.”

  Serena blinked.

  “Hone… my power?”

  Renault leaned forward slightly, his voice gentling into something earnest and weighty.

  “Learn to fight.

  Learn to defend.

  Learn to protect Edmund.”

  Serena’s breath hitched, not in fear, but in something deeper.

  Renault let his eyes wander briefly around the humble home, the woven blankets, the simple cooking pot, the herbs drying by the window, then back to the girl before him.

  “You have great potential. My mages all agree,” he said quietly.

  “And when my son becomes king… when I am no longer here… I want him surrounded by people he can trust.”

  His gaze held hers, steady and sincere.

  “People who stand beside him not because he is king.

  Not because of titles or politics…

  but because they truly care for him.”

  Serena’s golden eyes shimmered faintly as if holding something fragile and precious. She drew a small breath, her hands twisting lightly together.

  Renault saw her silence and mistook it for reluctance.

  “I know the Alvarynn customs forbid violence… and I understand if you would rather decline my—”

  “I accept!” Serena blurted, the words bursting out before she could stop them.

  Renault blinked, genuinely stunned.

  He straightened slightly, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

  A soft chuckle escaped him. “I thought you might want time to think it over, perhaps discuss it with Idun first.”

  Serena shook her head at once.

  “Please,” she said, her voice unwavering beneath the tenderness.

  “I want to train. I want to learn more… to protect His Highness.”

  The words came out without hesitation, but with quiet certainty.

  Renault regarded her for a long moment, the corner of his mouth lifting with something like amused disbelief, but also pride.

  “I’m glad you accepted so happily,” he said. “Truly. Thank you, Serena.”

  He rose from the chair, smoothing the front of his coat.

  “But… do tell Idun when she returns,” he added gently.

  “I wouldn’t want her to be upset or feel left out of something so important to you.”

  Serena nodded immediately.

  “I will… I promise.”

  Renault gave a warm nod before stepping toward the door.

  “Thank you again, Serena. May the rest of your day be peaceful.”

  He closed the door behind him in a quiet and careful manner, almost reverent.

  A short while later, the door creaked open again.

  Leif stepped inside, sleeves still damp from watering and cleaning the palace gardens. He shut the door with his elbow, shaking droplets from his wrists.

  “I’m back,” he said, setting down a small basket of herbs. “Is Mother still out?”

  Serena nodded. “King Renault was here, though.”

  Leif froze mid-movement.

  “He… he wasn’t upset about the banquet, was he?” he asked, voice tight with worry.

  Serena shook her head quickly, almost too quickly.

  “No. He didn’t come to scold me.”

  She hesitated, fingers tightening.

  “He… he asked if I wanted to train.”

  Leif blinked.

  “Train? Train what—?”

  Serena swallowed.

  “My power,” she whispered. “To fight.

  To protect His Highness.”

  “I accepted.”

  Leif’s eyes widened, shock flaring into alarm.

  “What!? Why did you accept!?”

  Serena’s shoulders folded inward, her gaze dropping to the wooden floorboards.

  Leif took a step closer, voice rising despite himself.

  “Serena! We don’t fight! We’re not allowed to fight!”

  Serena’s voice trembled, but didn’t break.

  “I know… but… I want to help the king… to keep Edmund safe.”

  Leif dragged both hands through his hair, pacing once across the small room.

  “You already do!” he burst out.

  “You’re learning to be the healer they can trust. The palace needs you for that! Edmund needs you for that!”

  He stopped right in front of her, chest rising and falling, breath uneven.

  “You don’t need to raise a sword or throw lightning to help him.”

  Serena finally lifted her gaze. Her eyes were steadier than he had ever seen. There was something new there.

  Resolve.

  Before Leif could speak again, the door opened quietly.

  Idun stepped inside, brushing dust from her sleeves. Her voice was calm, but unmistakably firm.

  “Leif, why do you sound angry?”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Why are you raising your voice at Serena? I could hear you from a hundred paces.”

  Leif stiffened at once, guilt flickering across his face.

  Serena lowered her gaze, hands twisting nervously against one another.

  They explained everything.

  Renault’s visit, his offer, and Serena’s acceptance.

  When they finished, Leif exhaled with frustrated helplessness.

  “Mother, you can’t let her. It’s not safe.”

  Idun stepped forward.

  She knelt before Serena and gently lifted her chin, asking her to meet her eyes.

  “Serena…” her voice softened, “do you truly want to learn how to fight, dear?”

  Serena’s eyes widened, then sparkled.

  She nodded once. Firmly.

  Leif’s voice cracked.

  “Mother…?”

  Idun smiled at Serena with quiet pride.

  “If that is your choice,” she said, “then I can only pray you do well.”

  Serena blinked, stunned.

  “You’re… letting me?”

  Idun nodded without hesitation.

  “You may start as soon as the king allows you to.”

  Serena surged forward and embraced her, arms tightening around Idun’s waist.

  “Thank you… Mother Idun.”

  Idun stroked her hair, warm and reassuring.

  Leif, still tense, stepped closer.

  “Mother… why?” he asked, voice thin with worry. “Why did you let her? She might get hurt.”

  Idun rose slowly. Her expression was calm, the kind of certainty that settled a room.

  “She has grown, Leif,” she said.

  “And if this is what she wants… it is not my place to stop her.”

  “But—” Leif started.

  Idun placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “Understand this, Leif,” she said.

  “I can guide you both only for so long. There comes a time when I must let go of your hands… and let you walk your journeys on your own.”

  Leif’s gaze fell to the floor. His lips pressed into a thin, troubled line.

  Idun squeezed his shoulder lightly.

  “And you as well, son,” she continued.

  “If one day you choose to do something other than tending the palace gardens… then whenever that day comes… I will support your decision fully.”

  Leif swallowed. A little of the tension bled from his shoulders.

  Idun gently placed a hand over Serena’s shoulder, bringing both children closer.

  A small, protective circle.

  “The Creator blessed us with life to cherish, and wisdom to see it fulfilled,” she said with a voice as warm as a hearth flame.

  “I will not rob either of you of those gifts.”

  Leif looked at her. Then at Serena.

  His guilt softened into something tender.

  “I’m sorry… for raising my voice,” he murmured.

  Serena squeezed his fingers, smiling small and shy.

  “And I’m sorry… for not speaking to you and Mother first.”

  Their hands tightened around each other.

  A quiet, earnest reconciliation.

  Idun smiled, the kind of smile that cleared every shadow from the room.

  “Good,” she said.

  “Now, who wants to help me prepare dinner?”

  Both Leif and Serena shot their hands up at once.

  Idun laughed, shaking her head.

  And together, hand in hand, the two children followed her toward the hearth…

  …and in that small, humble moment, they had already taken the first steps of a far greater journey.