The armoury was empty when Seren found him.
Kael sat on a wooden bench, his back against the wall, a sword across his knees. Not sharpening. Not cleaning. Just holding it. His eyes stared at nothing.
The torches had burned low. The hour was late. Everyone else was asleep—Aeron in his study, Theron in their chambers, the palace settled into the quiet of midnight.
But Kael had slipped away.
Seren closed the door behind her. "You're brooding."
"I'm thinking."
"Same thing, with you."
He didn't smile. That was how she knew something was wrong.
She crossed the armoury and sat beside him on the bench. The sword lay between them, cold and still.
"Talk to me," she said.
Kael was silent for a long moment. His hands rested on the blade, his knuckles white.
"I'm afraid," he said finally. "Of the bond."
Seren's heart clenched. "Afraid how?"
