Dark Moon Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 512. Patterns V

Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 512. Patterns V

Jane sank slowly into the chair across from him.

Old.

That explained too much and not enough.

Her stepmother’s strange influence. Her patience. The way shadows sometimes seemed to listen near her.

Rose looked at Angel again. “And you came back immediately after hearing that.”

“I needed to return before breakfast became suspicious.”

Rose’s expression sharpened with restrained anger. “You could have waited and sent a message.”

“Longer delay creates more questions.”

“And collapsing here would create fewer?”

“I didn’t collapse.”

“You staggered.”

“Briefly.”

Jane looked between them, suddenly feeling like she was watching a married couple argue over the safest way to jump off a cliff.

Rose inhaled slowly, clearly trying not to scold him too loudly. Then she reached for the tea and pushed it into his hand. “Drink.”

Angel looked at the cup. “It’s cold.”

“Drink.”

He drank.

Jane stared.

Somehow, seeing the terrifying King of Euphorion obediently drink cold tea because his wife told him to made the room feel less unbearable.

Only a little.

Rose sat beside him, still watching his face carefully.

“We need to go to breakfast soon,” she said.

Angel nodded. “Yes.”

Jane’s voice came softly. “Can you walk?”

Angel looked at her. “I crossed kingdoms this morning.”

Rose said flatly, “That was not an answer.”

Angel paused. Then said, “Yes.”

Rose clearly did not like that answer either, but accepted it for now.

Jane looked down at her hands. “So now we know.”

Angel’s gaze settled on her. “Yes.”

The confirmation should have felt like victory.

It didn’t.

It felt like standing at the edge of a cliff and finally seeing how deep the fall was.

Rose reached across the table and touched Jane’s hand gently.

“We know,” she said. “And now we can act.”

Jane swallowed. “And Roric?”

Angel’s voice was quiet but certain. “We save him first.”

Jane’s eyes burned, but she blinked quickly.

The breakfast bells rang again in the distance.

A reminder.

Masks needed to return.

Angel stood slowly. This time, he did not stagger.

Rose stood with him, but stayed close.

Jane rose as well, smoothing her dress with trembling hands until the trembling stopped.

At the door, Angel paused.

His face had already become unreadable again.

Kingly.

Calm.

Rose looked equally composed beside him.

Jane inhaled once.

Then rebuilt her own mask.

Lost.

Gentle.

Confused.

The three of them stepped out together.

Angel walked in the middle, steady now, face restored to that unreadable calm that made even silence feel like strategy. Rose stayed at his side, close enough that anyone with eyes could see she belonged there, but not so close that it looked like she supported him. Jane followed half a step behind, her mask already returned.

Soft confusion.

Quiet fragility.

The lost princess who remembered nothing.

By the time they reached the dining hall, the scent of breakfast had already filled the corridor. Warm bread, butter, roasted meat, berry preserve, black tea, and the faint saltiness of cured fish laid out in Pontus style. The servants outside the hall bowed as the doors opened.

Conversation paused.

Just for a second.

Not dramatically. Not enough to become insulting.

But enough.

Angel felt the room notice.

Darius was already seated at the head of the table, one hand wrapped around his cup, his face composed but tight around the mouth.

Seraphine sat beside him, pale silk flowing around her like morning mist, her smile perfectly arranged.

Roric was there too, seated further down, posture formal, expression calm.

Too calm, perhaps.

Angel’s gaze brushed over him only once.

A quick assessment.

Roric looked clearer.

Good.

Jane’s eyes flickered toward him before dropping again. She moved to her seat quietly, like someone trying not to occupy too much space.

“Ah,” Darius said, voice warm enough for guests, sharp enough beneath. “There you are. I was beginning to wonder if something happened.”

Angel took his seat without rushing. “Not really.”

Rose sat beside him with graceful ease.

Angel reached for his cup, glanced at the tea, and decided the castle apparently believed bitterness was a personality trait.

“We only talked about what we might do today,” he continued. “Mostly simple matters.”

Darius’s brows lifted faintly.

“Simple matters?”

Rose smiled before Angel could answer. “We thought about going around the capital again.”