Dark Moon Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 504. Trust I
Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 504. Trust I
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Quieter.
Morning light spilled across the desk and illuminated the open journal pages, but Roric barely noticed it now. His attention stayed fixed on Angel.
A foreign king.
A man he had only known for days.
And yet somehow… he felt easier speaking to him than to most people inside this castle.
Roric exhaled slowly.
“You are a king from a foreign land,” Angel said calmly. “Yet you entrusted this to me.”
His gaze flicked briefly toward the hidden pouch containing the tonic sample.
Roric looked down for a second before answering.
“I have to trust you.”
The honesty came out rougher than intended.
“I don’t really have a choice.”
He gave a faint humorless laugh under his breath.
“Besides… my sister believes you.”
Jane.
Even now, the thought of her brought conflict inside him. But it no longer felt poisoned. No longer twisted into blind hostility.
Just painful.
Roric lifted his eyes again.
“So I could only…” his voice lowered slightly, “try.”
The word lingered heavily between them.
Angel watched him in silence for a moment.
Then he said quietly, “Then I hope this helps you.”
Roric frowned faintly.
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
Angel tilted his head slightly.
“What question?”
“Why do you trust me?”
The room fell silent again.
Angel looked toward the balcony doors briefly before answering.
“Because,” he said calmly, “I was once in a similar position.”
Roric blinked.
Angel’s expression did not change.
“Only worse.”
Something about the way he said it made Roric’s chest tighten unexpectedly.
No dramatics.
No self-pity.
Just fact.
Angel stepped toward the desk slowly.
“I recognize your frustration,” he continued quietly. “And I know what desperation looks like.”
His eyes shifted toward Roric again.
“Especially the kind people never say out loud.”
Roric went speechless.
Because that was exactly it.
Not just fear.
Not confusion.
Desperation.
The kind that made someone reach for help even when pride screamed against it.
The kind that made a prince secretly hide tonic samples like a criminal in his own home.
Roric swallowed hard.
“…Thank you.”
Angel immediately shook his head once.
“Don’t thank me yet.”
He reached the desk and glanced down at the open journal.
Roric stiffened instinctively for a second before relaxing again.
Angel wasn’t mocking him.
He was reading.
Quietly.
The handwriting from this morning was noticeably cleaner than older entries. Straighter lines. More coherent structure. Less scattered corrections.
Angel skimmed a few sentences.
‘The headache lessened significantly after avoiding the tonic.’
‘Thought process feels clearer.’
‘Emotional instability reduced.’
Angel placed one hand lightly against the edge of the desk.
“You’re writing better already,” he said calmly.
Roric looked away slightly.
“I noticed.”
The room felt heavier suddenly.
Angel closed the journal gently.
“Keep writing this.”
Roric looked back at him.
“You might need it someday,” Angel continued.
“Why?”
“In case the fog returns.”
The bluntness of it made Roric’s stomach twist.
Angel’s tone softened slightly after a second.
“Or in case you begin doubting yourself again.”
Roric stared at the journal silently.
He understood immediately.
Proof.
Evidence for himself.
A map leading back to clarity if he lost it again.
“I will,” he said quietly.
A sharp knock suddenly echoed through the chamber.
Both men turned toward the door instantly.
Roric’s pulse jumped.
The servant’s voice came carefully from outside.
“Your Highness? Breakfast is ready.”
Roric straightened immediately.
“I’m coming.”
Footsteps retreated down the corridor.
Silence returned.
Roric exhaled slowly through his nose.
And then reality hit him.
The problem.
How exactly was he supposed to explain Angel leaving his room?
His heart immediately started pounding again.
If anyone saw…
If Seraphine sensed movement…
Roric turned quickly toward Angel.
“Your Majesty—”
But the words stopped halfway.
Because Angel was gone.
Roric froze.
The room was empty.
Completely empty.
The journal still rested on the desk.
The chair remained slightly pulled back from where Angel had stood.
But the tonic sample…
Gone.
The waxed pouch had vanished with him.
Roric’s eyes widened.
“What…”
He looked around the room immediately.
Behind the curtains.
Near the wardrobe.
The balcony.
Nothing.
No sound.
No footsteps.
No door opening.
No magic flare.
Just… absence.
Roric’s pulse thundered in his ears now.
His mind raced wildly.
He stepped toward the center of the room slowly, staring at the empty space where Angel had been seconds ago.
“Wait…”
Teleportation?
No.
Impossible.