Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 422. Uneasy
The morning came too fast.
Dawn spilled across the sky in broken strokes—gold bleeding into violet, then fading into a lazy gray that clung to the windows like frost that forgot to melt. The castle stirred with its usual slow, heavy rhythm. Footsteps echoed down the hallways. Servants whispered half-sentences about reports, shipments, patrols. The scent of roasted grains and spiced root tea wafted faintly from the lower kitchens.
But something was… off.
Something low-pitched. Unspoken. Heavy.
Angel sat behind the darkwood desk in his study. His fingers hovered over parchment, quill resting idle between them. The ink on the tip had dried.
The paper remained blank.
Books were stacked around him, opened but unread. Reports from the border, troop movements, a list of pending alliances from the southern marshland tribes—all laid out neatly like a scholar's pride. But Angel's eyes were distant. Too still. Too unfocused.
He wasn't reading.
Or rather… he was reading something else.
"...You're doing it again," Cley muttered from the far side of the room, glancing up from his own documents. His voice was casual, but there was tension tucked beneath it. Like someone poking the edge of a bruise. "That far-off look. I know that look."
Angel didn't respond right away. He blinked. Once. Slowly. Like dragging his vision back from a deeper plane.
"I'm fine," he said.
Liar.
"You're using it again, aren't you?" Cley said, standing now. "Your Evil Eye. You've been zoning out since before breakfast. I'm not an idiot, Your Majesty."
There was a pause. Angel leaned back in his chair and finally looked at him. His gaze wasn't cold—it rarely ever was with Cley—but it was tired. Frustrated. Like a blade that had been honed too many times.
"Then stop asking questions you already know the answer to," Angel said quietly.
Cley exhaled. Loud. "Why? What are you looking at? Who?"
Angel's gaze drifted toward the far window. Past the black glass. Past the wind. Past the wall that separated kingdoms and memories alike.
He didn't answer.
Instead, Angel stood. His hands braced against the windowpane. Outside, the castle grounds spread out like a frozen painting—crisp, bright, clean. Guards patrolled as usual. Gardeners trimmed the hedges. A group of young knights were training in the lower court, their swords flashing silver against the pale light.
But Angel wasn't seeing any of it.
His gaze pierced further. Past the castle walls. Past the forests. His mind tethered to a specific place.
A narrow cliff road in the far northwest, where the sun was hitting the stones just right.
He could feel it. That particular warmth. That sense.
"She's getting closer," he whispered.
Cley blinked. "She?"
Angel turned away. Didn't answer. Again.
"Are you going to tell her you've been watching?" Cley pressed. "Or are you just going to stare out the window like a haunted statue until she knocks on the front gate?"
"I'm not watching her," Angel replied, voice dry. "I'm watching what follows her."
That shut Cley up.
For a second.
Then. "What kind of threat?"
Angel didn't move. "I don't know yet."
But the edge in his tone said enough.
He had sensed something days ago. Something wrong. Something that coiled around her trail like smoke. He couldn't name it. Couldn't define it. But the mountains had whispered. And Angel always listened when they did.
He couldn't afford not to.
Across the room, Rose stood at the window. Again.
Not quite pressed against it. But close enough.
Her office was tidy, as always. The scent of fresh ink and parchment mingled with dried rosewood from the incense burner beside her desk. A map of the surrounding territories lay unrolled on the table, weighed down at the corners with small carved figurines. The eastern mines. The border checkpoints. The shrine lands.
And the gate.
Her gaze flicked to it. Again.
Claire noticed.
"You've checked the gate three times in the last hour," Claire said from where she stood organizing documents. "Did something happen?"
Rose didn't look at her. "No."
Claire tilted her head slightly. "Are you… expecting someone, Your Majesty?"
A long pause.
Then—finally—Rose nodded. Just once.
"Yes."
Claire blinked. She set the scrolls down and moved a little closer, trying to read between the lines of her queen's expression. "Who? Do we have an important guest coming today? Should I prepare something? I didn't see anything on the court itinerary."
"No, it's not official," Rose said simply.
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