Dark Moon Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 529. Kings II

Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 529. Kings II

Rose smiled gently. “Not at all. It has been… educational.”

The pause before educational was delicate enough to stab.

Darius’ eyes narrowed faintly, but he smiled. “Good.”

Then his gaze shifted to Jane.

Jane immediately lowered her eyes further. “Your Majesty,” she said softly.

Darius looked at her for a moment too long.

A flicker of something passed over his face. Not affection exactly. Not guilt either. Something uncomfortable. Then it vanished.

“Jane,” he replied. “You look well today.”

“I think so,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. I still don’t remember much.”

Darius gave a shallow nod. “Take your time.”

Kind words.

Cold delivery.

Jane smiled faintly, fragile and polite.

The nobles around them seemed to take that as permission to resume breathing. The musicians shifted into a softer melody, and servants quickly moved to offer King Darius tea as if the solution to political tension was always porcelain.

Darius accepted a cup, but did not drink.

He remained standing.

A king occupying the center because he feared someone else already had.

And the effect was immediate.

The nobles recalculated again.

Those who had been too openly admiring Angel stepped back. Women who had hovered near him suddenly remembered Darius existed. Men who had attempted to angle toward Rose now bowed toward their own king with nervous reverence.

Darius looked more satisfied.

Angel understood it clearly.

This was not about hospitality.

This was possession.

His court.

His castle.

His attention.

His kingdom.

A neighbor king should not be more admired here. Not under Darius’ roof.

Seraphine’s smile remained pleasant, but internally she clicked her tongue.

Darius had interfered too early.

The noblewomen had been useful. Not successful, but useful. They revealed Angel’s limits, Rose’s defenses, Jane’s potential vulnerability. The room had begun to show her new paths.

And now Darius had stomped into the tea court wearing royal insecurity and a blue coat.

Annoying.

Still, she adjusted.

“My king,” Seraphine said sweetly, “since you have joined us, perhaps you might sit with our guests. It would please the court.”

Darius looked at her.

Again, that silent tension.

She was forcing him into the very stage he hated.

If he refused, he looked petty.

If he accepted, he had to sit beside Angel and endure comparisons.

Rose almost admired Seraphine’s cruelty.

Darius smiled. “Of course.”

Servants moved quickly, rearranging seats beneath the largest canopy. A central table was prepared with frightening speed. Darius sat first, because Pontus demanded it. Seraphine sat beside him, graceful as poison poured into crystal.

Angel sat across from him.

Rose beside Angel.

Jane placed slightly to the side, not fully in the center, not fully excluded.

A perfect visual summary of her status.

Returned, but uncertain.

Useful, but not restored.

The nobles arranged around them in widening circles, pretending this was normal.

It was not.

No one drank comfortably anymore.

The tea still steamed. The pastries still glistened under afternoon sunlight. The musicians still played beneath the flowering trees, fingers moving over strings with trained gentleness. Servants still drifted between tables with porcelain trays, their faces professionally blank.

But the air had changed.

Before Darius arrived, the party had been silk warfare. Dangerous, yes, but familiar. Noblewomen flattering Angel. Young lords testing Rose. Older ladies whispering about Jane like she was an antique returned from storage with a crack in the porcelain.

Now?

Now it was a throne room without walls.

Darius sat beneath the canopy with his cup in hand, spine straight, expression arranged into royal calm. But his fingers tapped once against the porcelain.

Darius took a slow sip. “Euphorion has changed quickly under your rule,” he said, looking at Angel over the rim of his cup.

Angel inclined his head. “It had to.”

“A bold answer.”

“A practical one.”

A few nobles exchanged glances.

Darius smiled faintly. “Practical. Yes. That word suits you.”

Angel did not answer.

The silence became invitation.

Darius leaned back slightly. “Though some say your practicality is… aggressive.”

A baroness sitting nearby lowered her fan slightly. A young lord stopped chewing. One of the musicians missed half a note, then recovered quickly.

Angel looked calm.Almost bored. “Some people say many things,” he replied.

Darius chuckled.

“Yes, but in your case, many things are rather dramatic. A prince of Asteria, exiled. Then somehow returned. Then the throne of Euphorion. Then Asteria, Draconis and Zephyrus. ”

He paused, letting each name drop like a coin into a deep well.

“Quite a trail.”

The nobles went very still.

Some were excited. Shamefully excited. The way people became when they smelled scandal dressed as history.

Angel’s expression did not shift.

Rose’s fingers rested around her cup, relaxed but ready.

Seraphine watched with faint amusement. Darius was trying to claw back the room. Not with charm. He didn’t have enough. Not with grace. Seraphine had most of that between them.

So he chose reputation.

If he could not outshine Angel, he would darken him.