Chapter Text
I wasn’t in the mood for politics.
The summons from Calldyr arrived sealed in gold wax, stamped with the insignia of Navarre’s high command—a gathering of all dukes, a forum. Necessary. Unavoidable.
I would’ve given anything to ignore it.
Not because I feared what would be said. Not even because I dreaded the looks exchanged behind closed doors, where truth was buried beneath layers of protocol and pride. No. I simply didn’t want to leave Aretia. Not now. Not when my son needed me.
Xaden hadn’t spoken much in the last three days. Not since Talia left.
It wasn’t a surprise. We both knew the marriage was built on obligation, not affection. She was brilliant, fierce, and devoted mother. Fit to any quiet domestic life. I respected that. I even admired her for it. But the boy didn’t understand contracts or political alignments. He only understood that his mother was gone. And she hadn’t said goodbye.
I strapped my cloak tighter around my shoulders as I stepped out of the keep, boots crunching against the gravel. The wind bit hard this morning, carrying the scent of iron and pine from the cliffs. I glanced toward the gates and froze.
Xaden stood there, arms wrapped around himself, too small for the weight he carried in silence.
Gods, he looked like broken.
Hair like a midnight storm. Eyes like tempered steel—guarded and watchful. He didn’t move as I approached, only blinked slowly like he was forcing himself to stand still.
I squatted down, lowering myself until we were eye to eye.
“I’ll be back soon, son,” I said softly. “I’ll bring you something from Calldyr. Maybe those sweet buns you liked from the baker’s square.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink.
“Just come back, Dad,” he murmured, voice flat but quiet. “Don’t forget about me.”
My heart clenched. I reached up and brushed his hair back, fingers lingering at the crown of his head. So damn small. So damn brave. He didn’t even cry when she left.
“I will,” I promised him. “Every time.”
He gave a stiff nod, stepping back as Garrick appeared behind him, waiting to take him inside.
I mounted my horse in silence.
As the gates of Aretia faded behind me and the long road to Calldyr stretched out like a trial ahead, I carried only two things in my chest, the steady ache of a father’s guilt and the rising certainty that this kingdom would burn if the truth about the Venin stayed buried much longer.
And I’d tear down the walls of Calldyr myself if that’s what it took to make them see.
***
Calldyr welcomed us with trumpets and polished boots—the kind of pageantry that made my skin itch.
A line of advisors and high-ranking generals waited at the stone courtyard, sun gleaming off their medals and expectation thick in the air. At the front, King Tauri stood flanked by his wife, Queen Ysolde, and behind them—like a pair of watchful blades—General Melgren and General Sorrengail.
The sight of Sorrengail brought a weight to my chest. She was one of the few minds in Navarre sharp enough to change the tide… if she could be convinced to see the truth.
“Duke Riorson,” King Tauri said, voice measured and public.
“Your Majesty,” I replied with a polite bow. “Your Grace.”
Sorrengail nodded once, expression unreadable as always, though her gaze lingered on me for a beat too long. Melgren, stiff as stone beside her, gave a curt nod. I returned both gestures and moved along with the other dukes as we were escorted inside.
As soon as the grand doors closed behind us, I let out a quiet sigh. I should’ve brought Xaden. Gods, I should’ve.
The boy was barely holding himself together, and now I’d left him to do it alone.
After we freshened up, we were seated for lunch in the Hall of Pillars with the rest of the dukes, the king and queen seated at the long center table, speaking of border tariffs and trade routes like the world wasn’t unraveling just outside their maps.
I tried to engage. I really did.
But while they discussed merchant fleets, I thought of Poromiel—its villages torn apart, its skies blackened by things no one here even believed were real.
Tavis leaned toward me. “They’re rearranging the deck chairs on a sinking ship,” he muttered low.
I didn’t disagree.
When lunch ended, King Tauri stood. “There will be a banquet this evening in your honor. The Forum convenes tomorrow morning. Until then, enjoy your free time.”
I nodded stiffly and turned for our assigned quarters, Tavis close behind.
Once the door shut behind us, I unfastened my cloak with a growl of frustration. “They’re too comfortable, Tavis. Too blind. How can they talk about court politics when the Venin are eating through the continent like rot?”
Tavis folded his arms. “Because admitting it would mean doing something. And none of them want the kind of war that truth demands.”
I turned to the window, which had been left slightly ajar, the wind pushing the curtain with a whisper. Then—rustle.
I froze.
I raised my hand. Tavis went quiet.
Stepping closer, I opened the window fully and leaned out, eyes scanning the thick branches of the tall tree just outside.
There, balanced on a limb like she belonged to it, was a child. Book in hand, brown hair braided down her back—but the tips shimmered silver in the sunlight.
She looked at me with those clear, confident eyes and said, “Hello.”
I blinked, straightened. “Hello,” I answered, curious despite myself. Whose child is this? Who would let a small child climb a tree this tall and read?
“I’m Violet,” she said, like a queen introducing herself. “What’s your name?”
“Fen,” I replied slowly. “What are you doing in a tree?”
“This is my spot.” She said it like it was sacred.
I raised a brow. “Are you mad?” she asked.
“No.”
She tilted her head. “You were shouting.”
“I was… making a point,” I said, gesturing to Tavis behind me. “To my friend here.”
She leaned forward to look past me. “Hi, Fen’s friend.”
Tavis waved, smiling. “Hey.”
“Did you hear what we were arguing about?” I asked. Would Tauri send a child as a spy?
Violet shook her head. “I just heard yelling, but I didn’t listen. I was reading.”
She lifted her book—The History of Navarre: Volume III. Far too advanced for her age and far too big for a child her size.
“You read that for fun?” Tavis said, impressed.
She shrugged. “It’s interesting. Sometimes the scribes skip stuff. I like finding what’s missing.”
That made my brows lift higher. Clever girl.
“Did we disturb you?” Tavis added, more gently.
She thought about it. “A little.”
“We apologize,” I said, then asked, “How old are you?”
“Eight,” she said proudly. “You?”
“Thirty-five.”
She nodded as if measuring something. Then a boy’s voice called from below, “Violet!”
She gasped. “That’s my best friend—Dain! I have to go. Bye Fen. Bye Fen’s friend!”
“Be careful climbing down,” I called quickly.
“I am careful,” she said matter-of-factly, already halfway down. I watched her until her small feet hit the ground, and only then exhaled.
She beamed up at me, waving. “See you later, Fen!”
Then she took off, shouting Dain’s name with joy in her voice like the world hadn’t darkened at all.
I stood there a long moment, staring after her.
“There’s something different about that one,” Tavis murmured behind me.
“Yeah, she is clever for an eight year old.” I said quietly. “If I ever had a daughter… I’d want her to be just like her.”
And I meant it.