Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 479. The Obedient Son
Rose laughed softly. Warm. Harmless. Dangerous.
"I assure you, we do not need a parade or armored escorts. A simple walk through your markets would be more than enough."
Angel finally spoke, voice low, smooth as polished obsidian.
"I am curious about your smithing districts," he said casually. "Pontus steel is famous even in Euphorion."
Darius hesitated.
He disliked being cornered into agreeing.
Roric could see it. The slight narrowing of his father's eyes. The silent calculations running behind them. Refuse, and he insulted his guests. Agree, and he risked losing control over the narrative.
Seraphine placed her hand lightly over Darius's wrist. A subtle gesture. Comforting. Guiding. Manipulating.
Roric's stomach twisted.
"I suppose," Darius finally said, exhaling slowly, "a brief visit could be arranged."
Rose's smile brightened slightly. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Jane exhaled quietly, relief flickering across her features before she quickly masked it with polite composure.
Roric sat still.
This was it.
His chance.
If they left the palace, he could approach them. Escort them. Speak to Rose about the tonic. Ask Angel what he knew. Confirm whether his mind was being poisoned or if he was simply losing himself.
He could offer to guide them. It was logical. Expected even. He was the crown prince. Escorting royal guests was protocol.
The words hovered in his throat.
Offer it.
Say it.
He opened his mouth slightly…
And stopped.
Seraphine's gaze brushed him. Not long. Just enough.
It felt like frost sliding down his spine.
Not here.
If he volunteered too eagerly, she would question it. She would watch him more closely. Perhaps insist he drink the tonic before he left. Perhaps insist on sending additional guards. Perhaps cancel the trip entirely.
He lowered his gaze again, playing the part he had perfected.
The obedient son.
The silent prince.
He reached for bread, breaking it slowly, letting crumbs scatter across his plate as he listened to the rest of the conversation drift into safer topics. Weather patterns. Shipping delays. Harvest yields. Mundane things that filled space while power moved underneath like tectonic plates grinding together.
Angel occasionally responded with short, polite remarks. Rose asked gentle questions that revealed more about Pontus infrastructure than any formal report would. Jane spoke only when directly addressed, her voice soft, careful.
Roric stayed silent.
Inside, his thoughts raced.
Wait.
After breakfast. When they leave the hall. When Seraphine's attention splits. When Darius turns toward court matters. That would be his moment.
He could approach Angel under the guise of protocol. Escorting visiting monarchs was expected. No suspicion. No alarm.
He inhaled slowly, steadying himself.
He would do it.
Not as a desperate man seeking help.
As a prince fulfilling duty.
That was safer.
That was believable.
He glanced once toward Jane.
She wasn't looking at him. Her eyes stayed focused on her plate, fingers nervously folding her napkin into smaller and smaller shapes. But he saw the faint tremble in her hands. The way she stiffened whenever Seraphine spoke. The way her shoulders relaxed slightly whenever Rose did.
Another crack formed in his chest.
Run, Jane.
The old instinct whispered again.
But another voice rose now, clearer.
Stay.
Let me fix this.
Let me try.
He clenched his jaw subtly and forced his expression into neutral calm.
Darius stood eventually, signaling the end of the meal.
"Well," the king said, wiping his hands with a cloth, "I trust Pontus will prove entertaining to our guests."
Servants moved quickly, clearing dishes, opening doors, preparing for the day's rituals.
Seraphine rose beside him, her silks whispering softly against marble. Her eyes passed over Roric again, searching, measuring, probing for weakness or deviation.
He kept his expression dull. Slightly tired. Slightly detached. The same mask he had worn for years.
She nodded faintly, satisfied.
Angel rose slowly. Rose followed. Jane stood last, hesitating a fraction before stepping away from her chair.
The royal party began to disperse toward the exit hall.
Roric followed behind, careful to maintain distance. Close enough to be present. Far enough to appear respectful.
The corridor outside filled with morning light streaming through high stained windows, scattering color across polished floors. The castle stirred fully awake now. Guards saluted. Courtiers bowed. Servants rushed with scrolls and trays.
Seraphine turned toward Darius, murmuring something about council preparations. The king nodded, already distracted, barking orders toward an approaching attendant.
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