Dark Moon Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 528. Kings I

Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 528. Kings I

“King Darius has arrived!” The announcement cut through the tea court like a blade through silk.

Every cup paused.

Every fan stopped mid-flutter.

Every whisper died so quickly the music suddenly sounded too loud, too cheerful, too unaware of the shift in the air.

Even Seraphine turned. Her gaze moved toward the garden entrance with a faint narrowing in her eyes, her smile held in place by sheer discipline.

Darius never attended these kinds of events.

Kings, in general, did not.

Afternoon teas were for queens, princesses, duchesses, noble daughters, and women who could destroy an enemy lineage using compliments, pastries, and seating arrangements. Men attended only when they wanted to be noticed, courted, or weaponized by their mothers.

A king attending personally?

That was not normal.

That was a signal.

Angel stood among the noblewomen, cup in hand, expression calm. If anything, he looked faintly relieved that the women surrounding him had finally stopped trying to drown him in perfume and strategic admiration.

Rose stood a few steps away beside Jane, her smile soft, eyes alert.

Jane lowered her gaze immediately, letting her confused mask settle back over her face like a veil. But inside, her thoughts sharpened.

Father?

Here?

Why?

The answer came the moment Darius entered.

He wore dark royal blue, his coat embroidered with silver waves and the Pontus crest at his shoulder. His crown was not the heavy ceremonial one, only a lighter circlet, but it still looked painfully deliberate. Like he had decided halfway through resentment that if everyone wanted to look at a king, then they could look at their own.

His eyes swept the tea court.

The nobles bowed immediately.

“Your Majesty.”

“King Darius.”

“What an honor.”

They lowered their heads, but Angel watched the rhythm of it.

Darius noticed that too. His gaze moved across the clusters of noblewomen, then to Angel, then to Rose, then to Jane.

For half a heartbeat, Angel saw it.

The reason.

Darius had been watching from somewhere distant. Perhaps a balcony. Perhaps a shaded upper terrace. He had seen his nobles swarm Angel. Seen the women hover too close. Seen men try to catch Rose’s favor. Seen the entire court orbit around Euphorion’s presence like Pontus itself had forgotten where its sun was supposed to be.

And he had not liked it. Not at all.

“Please,” Darius said, voice warm enough to function as public manners. “Do not let me interrupt.”

Everyone immediately behaved as though nothing had been interrupted, which only made it more obvious that everything had been.

Seraphine stepped forward first. “My king,” she said smoothly, bowing her head with perfect grace. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Angel almost admired her audacity.

Darius looked at her. There was a conversation there without words.

Why are they the center?

Why am I seeing my nobles admire another king in my own courtyard?

Seraphine’s smile answered nothing.

Or perhaps it answered everything.

“I thought,” Darius said, his gaze drifting toward Angel, “I should greet our guests properly.”

Angel inclined his head. “Your Majesty.”

“King Angelus.”

Darius walked closer. The nobles parted instantly, creating a path as if the ground itself had remembered its ruler too late.

Angel did not move toward him. He waited.

That alone made Darius’ jaw tighten almost imperceptibly.

Darius stopped before Angel with a smile that had no softness in it. “I heard the outing ended earlier than expected,” he said.

Angel nodded once. “We saw enough.”

A dangerous answer.

Short. Polite. Impossible to interpret safely.

Darius’ eyes flickered.  “Enough of the capital?”

“Enough of what Pontus wanted us to see.”

The tea court went quiet again.

Not fully. People still pretended to breathe. But every nearby noble suddenly became fascinated with either their cup, their gloves, or the tragedy of existing too close to honesty.

Rose lowered her gaze to hide the faint curve of her mouth.

Darius gave a short laugh. “Direct.”

“I was answering the question.”

“Yes,” Darius said. “I suppose you were.”

Seraphine’s gaze slid toward Angel with interest.

He had not insulted Darius directly. He had only refused the performance.

That was becoming an annoying habit of his.

Darius turned toward Rose next. “Queen Rose. I hope Pontus hospitality has not tired you.”