Dark Moon Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 541. The Cure VIII

Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 541. The Cure VIII

Memories shifted through him now, rearranging themselves into a pattern so obvious it made nausea roll through his stomach.

The headaches.

The tonic.

The fog.

Then Seraphine sitting beside him.

Whispering.

Always after the medicine.

“She started telling me things about you.”

Jane’s face paled.

Roric looked at her again.

“She told me you had been practicing dark magic while I was away.”

Jane blinked. “What?”

“She said you went astray when I was gone for battle. That you became obsessed with forbidden rituals. That you were hiding something from Father. That you had started manipulating servants.”

His mouth twisted.

“She told me you were the reason my thoughts were becoming clouded.”

Jane stared at him.

Roric’s eyes burned with shame now. “And somehow…” He laughed again, quieter this time. “I believed her.”

No proof, witnesses or spell traces.

Nothing.

He had been a commander. He had interrogated spies, uncovered false reports, compared battlefield intelligence from five different scouts before moving a single unit.

And yet when Seraphine spoke about Jane, he had accepted it.

Because the poison had already begun teaching his mind which conclusions it wanted.

“I didn’t ask for evidence,” Roric whispered. “That’s what frightens me now. I didn’t even ask.”

Jane’s grip on him loosened, not because she wanted distance, but because she looked stunned.

Roric continued before courage abandoned him. “Then she started praising me.”

Angel’s gaze sharpened faintly.

“She told me I was responsible. Strong. That Pontus needed someone like me. That Father depended on me more than he admitted.”

Praise.

Warmth.

Tonic.

Poison.

Then another story about Jane.

Again.

And again.

“She would build me up,” Roric said, “then tell me something new about you.”

Jane’s eyes lowered.

“You embarrassed the family. You were becoming unstable. You spoke badly about me. You were jealous of my position. You wanted Father dead.”

His throat tightened.

“Every time she told me something, I hated you a little more.”

Roric looked down at his hands. His voice became quieter. “And then hate turned into killing intent.”

Jane inhaled sharply.

Roric did not hide from the truth. “I wanted to kill you.”

Jane’s face went blank.

“But I also didn’t.”

That was the part that had tortured him.

The contradiction.

The unbearable madness of wanting two opposite things so fiercely that sometimes he thought his skull would split between them.

“I kept fighting it,” he said. “I didn’t understand what I was fighting. I thought maybe I was losing my mind. Some days I looked at you and felt furious for reasons I couldn’t even explain. Other days…”

His voice cracked.

“…you were just my little sister.”

Jane’s eyes shimmered.

“And that’s why I drove you out.”

Jane stared at him. Then slowly, almost cautiously, she asked, “So… that attempt was to protect me?”

Roric hesitated.

He hated that he could not answer with certainty.

Finally, he nodded.

“I think.”

Jane’s face tightened.

“My memories are still fuzzy,” he admitted. “Some of them feel complete. Others feel like I’m looking through dirty glass. But…”

He pressed one hand against his chest.

“I felt like that.”

The night returned to him in violent flashes.

Jane’s carriage.

Rain.

Horse hooves striking mud.

His hand gripping the reins so hard his fingers hurt.

Rage boiling through him.

Kill her.

Stop her.

Bring her back.

No.

Run.

Run farther.

Never return.

Please.

“On the night I chased after you…” Roric whispered, “I wanted to kill you.”

Jane’s breathing stopped.

“But I also desperately wanted you to get away from this place.”

The memory sharpened.

He had followed her carriage with murder in his skull and terror in his heart.

The closer he came, the louder the poisoned instinct screamed.

“Catch her.”

The deeper part of him screamed louder.

“Don’t.”

He remembered deliberately taking the wrong turn once.

Slowing his horse.

Then accelerating again when the tonic twisted the hesitation into fury.

He had been fighting himself mile after mile.

“That’s why I never called the full guard,” he realized aloud.

Jane blinked.

Roric’s eyes widened as another piece clicked into place. “I could have.” He almost laughed from the horror of it. “I was Crown Prince. I could have ordered every gate shut. Sent riders ahead. Blocked the eastern road before you reached it.”

He looked at Jane. “But I didn’t.” His voice broke. “I chased you myself.”

Because some piece of Roric had understood.

If he brought soldiers, Jane would not escape.

If he went alone…

Maybe she could.

Jane’s tears finally fell.