The morning air carried the scent of wet stone and trimmed hedges. Jack stepped into the outer courtyard, his boots tapping lightly against marble steps. Two weeks had passed since his awakening. Two weeks of walking on glass.
Every servant's bowed head carried unspoken judgment. Every hallway echoed with the silence of disdain. If not for Damon trailing behind him like a silent wolf, Jack might've forgotten how dangerous it could be to breathe in this estate.
The guard's voice broke the quiet. "Where are we going, my lord?"
Jack hesitated. "Somewhere I can remember who I am."
Damon didn't question further. That was one thing Jack appreciated about him—loyal silence.
They passed through the side garden gate, out toward the estate's secondary grounds. Beyond that: the old carriage trail, half-forgotten and overgrown. Rumor said it led to an abandoned orchard. What Jack really needed was space. And maybe, answers.
---
He didn't expect the voices.
Children.
He froze behind a hedgerow, peering past the trimmed foliage. Three small figures played by the pond. A girl, no older than eight, skipped stones. Her short golden hair danced with each throw. A second girl, more careful and proper, held a parasol and watched nearby. And between them, on a thick rug, lay a pale boy with silver hair and a book in hand.
His children. The triplets.
Laina. Serin. Caelum.
He had studied their names in the house registry. Memorized their birthdays, their favorite fruits. But this was the first time seeing them—truly seeing them.
A raw ache spread across his chest.
He stepped forward, barely a shift in weight. The older girl—Serin, he guessed—turned her head sharply.
Their eyes met.
She blinked, stared, then turned and whispered to her siblings.
Caelum glanced briefly, then looked away.
Laina picked up another stone.
Jack took the hint. He slowly stepped back, heart pounding.
Damon was waiting, arms crossed. "You knew that would happen."
"I had to try," Jack said.
"You've been trying," Damon replied. "That's more than the last man ever did."
---
They walked the orchard path until a shadow appeared in the trail ahead. A young servant boy—barefoot, clutching a package.
"Message from the Duke, Lord Jack," the boy said, bowing low.
Jack took the scroll and broke the wax seal with his thumb.
"You are expected to attend the next morning court. Your name is still listed among minor officials. Should you fail to appear, it will be seen as an insult."
He rolled the scroll back, eyes narrowing. "So they're finally calling me in."
Damon tilted his head. "You think they're testing you?"
"I think they're hoping I drown in front of witnesses," Jack muttered. "Let's see if I can swim."
---
The capital's court felt like a theater of masks. Noble sons whispered behind their sleeves. Ministers eyed him with thinly veiled contempt. Only a few soldiers and low-ranking officials offered mild nods.
When Jack stepped onto the polished marble floor beneath the vaulted ceiling, he didn't falter.
He bowed to the throne.
King Aldren Valorin watched him with no expression. Cold, calculating, like a general surveying a broken blade.
Jack straightened.
The king's voice rang clear. "Jack Valorin, husband to General Elsa Valorin, and minor court scribe of Rank Seven. You are assigned your first task."
A murmur ran through the hall.
Prime Minister Gairos smiled faintly. "Let us test if his pen is as sharp as his wife's blade."
Damon, standing just beyond the chamber doors, muttered under his breath, "That snake never misses a chance to jab."
Jack bowed again, hiding his clenched jaw.
The king gestured to a nearby clerk. "A border town called Merriton. The town reports failing harvests, absent tax records, and unconfirmed bandit activity. You will go, observe, and provide a solution within the next moon."
Jack blinked. "Alone?"
"You may take one guard," the king replied. "And no coin from the treasury."
Another smirk from Gairos. Jack knew what this was. A public embarrassment in the making.
Damon whispered beside him as they exited, "Gairos commands most of the civil court. He wants to be kingmaker. Your presence threatens his influence."
Jack raised a brow. "Because I'm the general's husband?"
"No," Damon said. "Because you're changing. He doesn't like things he can't predict."
Outside the court, Jack exhaled deeply.
"Well?" Damon asked.
"Merriton," Jack muttered. "Starving town, no support, full responsibility, and one month to fix it."
"A trap?"
Jack nodded. "Definitely."
Damon cracked his neck. "Should I pack your bag or dig your grave?"
Jack chuckled dryly. "Both, maybe. But let's try the bag first."
They walked back toward the Valorin estate together.
Jack's thoughts swirled like storm clouds.
They want me to fail.
But part of him—some stubborn, desperate part—wanted to succeed. Not for the court. Not even for Elsa.
For those three children by the pond who wouldn't even meet his eyes.
If he could rebuild a town, maybe he could rebuild trust too.
One broken piece at a time.