Dark Moon Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 514. Questions
Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 514. Questions
Seraphine turned back to Angel.
“Do you prefer crowded gatherings, Your Majesty? Or quieter conversation?”
Angel cut his bread slowly. “I prefer useful conversation.”
Seraphine chuckled softly. “Then I shall make sure the gathering is useful.”
Rose smiled. “How thoughtful.”
The two women looked at each other.
Warm smiles.
Cold eyes.
The table suddenly felt much sharper.
Darius either did not notice or chose not to.
He reached for fruit and spoke to Angel again.
“And your duties in Euphorion? You can remain here without issue?”
The question was casual on the surface.
But there was the hook.
How long can you stay?
How much does your kingdom need you?
How vulnerable is your absence?
Angel met his gaze calmly. “Euphorion functions well.”
That answer irritated Darius visibly.
Just barely.
A king who could leave and still have his court operate smoothly.
Yes.
That would bother him.
Seraphine lowered her gaze to hide the faint amusement in her eyes.
Roric, meanwhile, felt the sentence land in his own chest differently.
Euphorion functions well.
A court that worked without constantly protecting the king’s pride.
A kingdom where competence did not need to hide.
He wondered what that felt like.
He wondered if Pontus could ever become that.
Then shame followed.
Because if Roric had been clearer these past years, maybe he could have helped build something better.
The fog had stolen time from him.
Years.
He gripped his fork a little tighter before forcing his hand to relax.
Rose’s gaze flickered toward him once.
Only once.
Enough to remind him he was seen.
Breakfast continued.
Polite topics returned.
Weather. Harbor trade. The quality of Pontus steel. The seasonal festivals held near the central plaza. Seraphine described the afternoon tea guest list with an elegant voice, naming duchesses and noble daughters as if placing chess pieces onto a board.
Angel listened.
Rose listened harder.
Jane pretended to listen with fragile curiosity.
Roric ate slowly and kept his mask intact.
Darius watched Angel whenever he thought no one noticed.
But everyone important noticed.
His displeasure grew with every polite exchange, every subtle sign that Seraphine was drawing Angel further into Pontus social circles despite his reluctance.
And Seraphine?
She enjoyed it.
Not openly.
Never openly.
But her eyes held that faint shimmer of someone who had found a game worth playing.
By the end of breakfast, the plan had formed.
A second outing in the capital.
An afternoon tea with nobles.
More eyes.
More masks.
More chances for Seraphine to test Angel.
And more chances for Angel to let her.
Because now he needed to know just how deep her connection to the old darkness went.
As servants cleared the plates, Seraphine stood gracefully. “I will prepare the invitations.”
Darius looked like he wanted to object again.
He did not.
Angel stood as well. “We look forward to it.”
Rose rose beside him and slipped her hand lightly around his arm.
Jane lowered her gaze, hiding her face.
Roric watched them all quietly.
The morning sun poured through the dining hall windows, bright and golden.
But none of them felt warm.
Not really.
Because beneath the polite breakfast, beneath tea and bread and gentle smiles, everyone at that table had chosen a role.
Darius chose pride.
Seraphine chose pursuit.
Rose chose protection.
Jane chose disguise.
Roric chose resistance.
And Angel?
Angel chose patience.
For now.
The second outing began less like a stroll and more like a parade pretending not to be one.
Yesterday, they had walked through the capital like foreign nobles with too much curiosity and too little schedule. Simple cloaks. No formal escort. No shining emblems. No announcement cutting through the streets before their arrival.
Today was different.
Today, the carriage waiting at the castle entrance bore polished metalwork and carefully understated Pontus banners. Not royal enough to be called a procession, but too deliberate to be casual. Four guards rode ahead. Four behind. The chief guard himself followed at Angel’s right flank once they entered the city, armor polished so brightly the morning sun flashed against it every few steps.
Roric was not there.
That alone told Angel everything.
Darius had not allowed him.
Seraphine had probably agreed.
No, worse. She had probably suggested it first with that soft, reasonable voice of hers. Something about Roric needing rest, perhaps. Something about headaches. Something about protocol being handled by proper guards.