Dark Moon Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 503. Do You Trust Me?
Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 503. Do You Trust Me?
Roric stared.
“Y-Your Majesty—”
His pulse hammered instantly.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
Angel’s lips curved faintly.
“Don’t worry about the details.”
Roric swallowed hard.
He still didn’t understand how Angel had entered without a sound. Teleportation? Impossible. That was an ancient spell barely mentioned in forgotten texts, something no living magic user truly mastered. And this castle was protected by the royal magic barrier. Only the king’s bloodline and… his stepmother should have been able to use spells here.
Angel stepped slightly closer.
“Did you get the tonic?”
The question snapped Roric back to focus immediately.
“Yes.”
He moved quickly toward the writing desk, opening the hidden compartment beneath it. His fingers retrieved the waxed pouch carefully.
“I managed to hide some,” he said quietly.
Angel’s gaze sharpened slightly with approval.
Roric handed him the pouch and quickly explained everything from the night before.
Seraphine bringing the tonic personally.
Her insistence on watching him drink.
The fake cough.
The hidden sleeve.
The ink basin.
As he spoke, Angel listened without interruption.
Only his eyes moved occasionally, calculating.
“And she sensed something again,” Roric finished quietly. “Her wards.”
Angel nodded once. “She spoke to the shadows after leaving your room.”
Roric frowned slightly.
“You know?”
“I felt them.”
That answer sent another faint chill through Roric.
Angel examined the waxed pouch carefully before setting it onto the table.
“How do you feel this morning?” he asked.
Roric blinked once.
Then answered honestly.
“Better.”
The word came out immediately.
“Clearer.”
He looked down at his own hands for a second.
“I could think better.”
Angel watched him silently.
Roric exhaled slowly.
“It’s strange,” he admitted quietly. “I didn’t realize how bad it was until it stopped.”
The morning light shifted slightly across the room as clouds passed overhead.
Roric rubbed lightly at his temple.
“I used to wake up tired even after sleeping,” he murmured. “Everything felt… heavy. Thoughts took effort.”
He looked toward the journal.
“Now it’s quiet.”
Angel’s gaze flicked briefly toward the open pages.
“And your emotions?”
Roric hesitated.
“Still confused.”
Honest again.
Angel respected that.
“But not distorted,” Roric continued quietly. “Before… it felt like my mind kept pushing me somewhere. Toward anger. Suspicion.”
Jane.
He did not say her name aloud.
He didn’t need to.
Angel understood. “She damaged your instincts,” Angel said calmly.
Roric’s jaw tightened faintly.
“Do you think it’s permanent?”
The question hung heavier than either of them wanted.
Angel answered carefully.
“No.”
Hope flickered instantly across Roric’s face before he suppressed it.
“But,” Angel continued, “the longer influence remains, the deeper habits form.”
Roric looked away slightly. “So even if the magic fades…”
“You still need to untangle what became natural.”
Silence settled.
Not cruel.
Just truthful.
Roric sank slowly back into his chair. “I almost killed her once.”
The confession came quietly.
Angel remained still.
Roric’s fingers curled against the armrest.
“There was a moment where I genuinely believed Jane’s death would solve everything.”
His throat tightened.
“And now I don’t even know if that thought belonged to me.”
Angel’s expression did not soften outwardly, but his voice lowered slightly. “The fact you question it now matters.”
Roric let out a shaky breath.
“It doesn’t erase it.”
“No.”
Angel stepped toward the balcony slightly, gaze shifting toward the castle grounds beyond.
“But it means you’re fighting back.”
Roric stared at him silently.
There was no judgment in Angel’s tone.
No pity either.
Just acknowledgment.
And somehow that felt heavier.
Angel glanced back toward him.
“Rose will examine the sample today.”
Roric nodded quickly.
“She’ll know for sure?”
“She’ll know enough.”
Roric’s pulse quickened again.
The truth.
Actual proof.
It suddenly felt terrifying now that it was close.
“What happens if she confirms it?” he asked quietly.
Angel’s eyes darkened slightly.
“Then you can stop pretending this is only politics.”
The words settled coldly into the room.
Roric looked down at the journal again.
His handwriting from older pages suddenly looked unfamiliar.
Stiff.
Disconnected.
Like another man trying to imitate him.
Angel moved toward the door.
Roric looked up immediately.
“You’re leaving already?”
Angel paused.
“For now.”
Roric hesitated.
Then quietly asked the question pressing hardest against his chest.
“Do you trust me?”
Angel looked at him for several seconds.
Long enough that Roric almost regretted asking.
Then…
“That should be my question. Do you trust me?”
Roric felt something tighten painfully in his throat.