Dark Moon Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 542. The Plan I

Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 542. The Plan I

Roric looked away immediately, guilt punching deeper than any battlefield wound. “I’m sorry.”

Jane moved before he could say more. She dropped beside him and threw her arms around him.

Roric froze completely. For one stunned second, his hands hovered uselessly in the air. Then he hugged her back. Hard.

Jane buried her face against his shoulder.

Roric closed his eyes. The last time he remembered holding her like this, they had still been young enough to believe royal families protected their own.

“I thought you hated me,” Jane whispered.

Roric’s grip tightened. “So did I.”

That was perhaps the cruelest part.

Seraphine had not merely convinced him Jane was dangerous. She had made him believe the hatred was his.

Angel watched them quietly from across the room, darkness resting around him like a patient animal. No sympathy showed openly on his face. But something colder did. Calculation.

Seraphine had poisoned a prince for years, weaponized his love for his sister, and turned his own mind into a torture chamber.

That was no longer court manipulation. That was war conducted inside a human skull. And Angel had a particular dislike for people who mistook patience for permission.

Roric slowly opened his eyes over Jane’s shoulder. His gaze found Angel.

The King of Euphorion said nothing. He did not need to.

Roric understood the look immediately.

Seraphine had spent years turning Roric into a weapon. The unfortunate part for her was that the weapon had just realized who had been holding the handle.

Angel watched the siblings for another moment before leaning back against the edge of the table. His arms folded loosely across his chest, his expression almost bored, although the faint amusement lingering in his eyes suggested his mind was already several moves ahead.

He had given Roric the antidote. The prince had regained enough clarity to recognize what had been done to him. Jane was alive, and the two siblings had finally begun untangling the misunderstanding that nearly destroyed them. Unfortunately, emotional reunions did not remove dangerous queens from thrones.

"Now that you have your mind back, what's your plan, Prince Roric?"

The question landed with considerably more weight than Roric expected.

His arms loosened around Jane. "I…" He looked at Angel, then at his sister. "I'm not sure."

Angel raised an eyebrow.

Roric hated that expression.

It was the expression of a man who already knew the answer and was simply waiting to see whether someone else possessed enough intelligence to discover it.

He slowly helped Jane stand before rising himself. The lingering weakness in his legs had mostly disappeared, although his head still felt strange. Not painful anymore, exactly. More like someone had opened every window inside a room that had been locked for years.

Fresh air was wonderful.

Unfortunately, it also revealed how much filth had accumulated.

Roric glanced toward the closed door. Returning to the castle suddenly seemed much more dangerous than sneaking out of it.

Seraphine would not stop.

Why would she?

She had spent years cultivating his dependence on that damned tonic. Years feeding him lies, twisting his memories, and turning his affection for Jane into murderous hatred.

And now?

If she discovered he had recovered, she would simply try again. Another tonic. Another spell. Something stronger. Perhaps she would stop pretending to be kind altogether. Roric could almost imagine her beautiful smile as she explained that the previous medicine had become ineffective and a stronger family recipe was necessary. His stepmother had apparently turned attempted mental enslavement into a family tradition.

Then there was Jane.

The thought made his stomach tighten.

Seraphine had wanted Jane gone. She had encouraged his hatred, watched him chase his own sister out of Pontus, and never once questioned whether his behavior was becoming dangerously unstable. No. She had encouraged it.

If Jane remained within reach, Seraphine could simply arrange another incident. A sudden illness. An assassination conveniently blamed on foreign agents. Or worse, she could manipulate Roric into becoming the murderer again.

His jaw tightened.

Doing nothing was suicide. Not necessarily immediate death, which somehow made it worse. Seraphine preferred slow destruction. She would let her victims smile, eat, sleep, and thank her while she quietly dismantled everything that made them themselves.

So what could he do?

Expose her?

To whom?

His father?

Roric nearly laughed.