Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 502. Old Family Melody
She smiled faintly. "You recognized it?"
"Not really."
"An old family melody," she said lightly.
"A strange one."
"Our bloodlines carry strange things."
There.
A test.
Angel caught it immediately.
But he did not bite.
"Every kingdom says that about itself."
Deflection.
Smooth.
Seraphine almost laughed internally.
He really was difficult.
And she wanted him more because of it.
Not simply physically.
No.
She wanted to unravel him.
To understand what sat behind those calm eyes.
To see whether the darkness inside him matched the ancient thing sleeping inside her own bloodline.
"Your wife is fortunate," she said softly.
Angel's gaze shifted back toward the courtyard.
"I would say I am."
The answer came instantly.
No hesitation.
Seraphine's smile dimmed almost invisibly.
Rose.
Always Rose.
A complication.
Still…
Complications could be solved.
She stepped slightly closer.
Not enough to scandalize.
Enough to test.
"Euphorion seems very loyal to its queen."
"It is."
"And you?"
Angel finally looked at her again. "I am also loyal to her."
Simple words.
Absolute certainty.
Seraphine felt an unfamiliar irritation flicker through her.
Not jealousy exactly.
More like frustration.
Because certainty was harder to manipulate than desire.
A distant bell rang somewhere in the castle.
Breakfast preparations.
The moment was ending.
Seraphine stepped back gracefully. "I should allow you to prepare for the day."
Angel inclined his head slightly. "And I should thank you for the song."
Her eyes sharpened. "You liked it?"
Angel's expression remained unreadable. "It reminded me of something."
That answer sent a faint chill down her spine.
Because it confirmed what she already suspected.
She smiled softly. "Perhaps I'll sing again sometime."
Angel opened the door for her.
"Perhaps."
She stepped into the corridor.
But before leaving fully, she glanced back one last time.
And for the first time in many years…
Seraphine felt genuinely challenged.
Not by politics.
Not by war.
By a man she could neither read nor predict completely.
And gods help her… She wanted more.
Seraphine walked down the corridor with slow, graceful steps, her expression serene once more. Any servant who crossed her path would see nothing unusual. Only a composed queen returning from a polite morning conversation.
But inside her mind, thoughts coiled tightly.
Angel.
The way he looked at her without flinching.
The way he answered questions like he had already accepted every consequence attached to his decisions.
No excuses.
No insecurity.
No need to prove himself.
It irritated her.
And fascinated her.
By the time she disappeared down the western corridor, Angel had already shut the door behind her.
He stood still for a moment.
Listening.
The guest chamber fell quiet again except for the distant sounds of the castle waking fully. Servants moving carts. Armor clinking below in the courtyard. Somewhere farther away, bells rang softly for the morning meal.
Angel exhaled slowly.
Then he moved.
Not hurried.
Never hurried.
He crossed the room calmly and closed the balcony doors first. The glass clicked softly into place. Then the side windows. Then the inner chamber door.
His gaze swept the corners of the room carefully.
The shadows.
He could feel them now if he focused. Tiny disturbances. Watching points. Seraphine's little eyes hidden in darkness.
Nothing.
Either she had withdrawn them or positioned them farther away after their conversation.
Angel raised one hand slightly.
The air bent.
Not loudly. Not violently.
A single distortion rippled around him like heat over stone.
And then…
He vanished and reappeared in Roric's room.
Roric sat at his desk with his journal open again.
Morning light spilled across the pages, illuminating the uneven lines of his writing. He had been documenting everything since waking. Symptoms. Thoughts. Emotional shifts. Moments of clarity.
Anything that might help him later if the fog returned.
His hand paused briefly over the parchment.
He could think clearly.
No pressure behind his eyes.
No strange second-guessing every thought.
No invisible whisper twisting his instincts.
Just himself.
Or at least… closer to himself.
He dipped the pen again.
Then a voice came quietly from behind him.
"Did you sleep well, Roric?"
Roric jolted violently.
His chair scraped sharply against the floor as he stood and spun around.
Angel stood there.
Calm.
Hands loosely behind his back like he had always belonged in the room.
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