Dark Moon Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 510. Patterns III

Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 510. Patterns III

Angel closed his eyes for a single breath.

Focus.

The power condensed.

Then the darkness folded around him.

When Edwin, Allan, and Cley straightened again, the space before the desk was empty.

Only faint black sparks drifted in the air, fading like ash.

Cley stared at the spot where Angel had vanished. Then he slowly turned to Edwin. “Please make the cure fast.”

Edwin looked down at the sealed sample, face grim. “I intend to.”

Cley walked to the window and stared toward the distant eastern sky, where Pontus lay beyond mountains, rivers, and politics sharp enough to cut kingdoms apart. His voice came quieter now. “He’s overusing it.” Cley’s fingers tightened around the curtain. “We better make sure he has something worth coming back with.”

Edwin held the vial up to the light.

Inside, the dark residue pulsed faintly.

As if something inside it knew it had been taken from its mistress.

As if it was waiting.

The old alchemist’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, we will,” he murmured.

Then he turned toward his tools.

“And may the gods pity whoever made this.”

Meanwhile, Rose and Jane were waiting in the chamber. Not theirs, but his chamber in Pontus.

Angel’s chamber.

The room felt strangely too big without him in it.

Rose sat near the low table by the window, posture composed, fingers lightly curled around a cup of tea that had gone lukewarm some time ago. Jane sat across from her, both hands folded on her lap, trying very hard not to look at the empty space in the middle of the room every few seconds.

Trying and failing.

The servant had come half an hour ago.

A young maid with polite eyes and nervous shoulders. She had knocked softly, then announced that breakfast was ready and His Majesty of Euphorion was expected in the dining hall.

Rose had answered from inside the room before the silence could become suspicious.

“His Majesty is preparing. We will arrive shortly.”

The maid had hesitated, probably wondering why the queen was answering from the king’s chamber, but she did not dare ask. Servants in royal castles learned early that questions had weight, and some weight could crush necks.

So she bowed and left.

After that, Rose and Jane remained there.

Not because they wanted to.

Because they had to.

If Angel’s room stayed silent too long, people would suspect something. If Rose and Jane emerged without him, Seraphine might start counting seconds. If they both stayed, then it looked simple.

A husband and wife delaying breakfast.

Maybe private conversation.

Maybe intimacy.

Maybe foreign royalty being difficult.

All much better than the truth.

Jane’s gaze flicked to the middle of the room again. “He will come back soon, right?”

Her voice was soft.

Rose looked at her over the rim of the cup. The steam had disappeared long ago, but she still held it like the warmth remained. “I don’t know.”

Jane’s lips pressed together.

That was not the answer she wanted.

Rose knew that. But comforting lies were still lies.

Jane looked toward the closed balcony doors. Sunlight slipped through the gaps between the curtains, laying thin golden lines across the carpet. Outside, the castle was fully awake now. Voices drifted faintly from below. Guards changing posts. Servants moving trays. Someone laughing too loudly in a distant hall, then immediately silencing themselves.

“What if…” Jane started, then stopped.

Rose waited.

Jane’s fingers tightened in her lap. “What if he couldn’t come back due to something?”

Rose exhaled softly through her nose. “Then we’ll need to hang out more and pretend he’s still here.”

Jane turned to her slowly.

Rose’s tone was calm, almost casual, but Jane could hear what sat behind it.

Calculation.

“We delay breakfast,” Rose continued. “We say he received a private report and will join later. If anyone insists, I become offended. If Seraphine pushes too hard, I make it a queen’s dignity problem instead of a missing king problem.”

Jane stared at her. “You’re very good at that.”

Rose’s smile was faint. “At being offended?”

“At hiding panic.”

Rose lowered the cup. “I’m not panicking.”

Jane looked at her carefully.

Rose amended, “I’m managing concern.”

Despite herself, Jane almost smiled.

Almost.

But the worry returned quickly.

She looked down again.

“This is my family’s problem,” she said quietly. “Yet I ended up dragging him into it. And you.”

Rose’s expression softened.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“No,” Rose said, firmer now. “It’s not.”