The throne room was colder than usual that morning, lit not by warmth but the pale gleam of polished marble and gold trim. The banners of the founding families hung proudly, unmoved by the breeze that filtered through the upper windows. Imperial guards lined the walls, still as statues.
When Rythe entered, flanked by Lareth, his gaze swept the room immediately. He spotted the emperor seated in his high chair, fingers drumming the lion-headed armrest. And standing near the eastern pillar—Calien.
Perfect, composed Calien, clad in soft grey and white court robes, the crest of House Marvane embroidered across his chest in silver. He turned when Rythe approached, lips curving ever so slightly in greeting. Not warmth. Familiarity. Privilege.
" Rythe," the emperor said, voice echoing softly through the hall. "And Lord Calien. I trust your return to the capital has given you time to settle."
Calien bowed deeply. "It is an honour to stand before you again."
The emperor gave a mild nod, then leaned forward. "There is unrest in the northern border provinces. Whispers of rebellion stirring near Viresth. A coalition of nobles may be considering secession—and we cannot afford that."
Rythe's brows furrowed. "Do we not have a garrison stationed there?"
"We do. But steel will not win this fight," the emperor said. "What we need now is diplomacy. Leverage. And someone they trust—or fear enough—to listen to."
His gaze shifted, deliberately, between Rythe and Calien.
"You will go together. You will represent the crown in both strength and diplomacy. One blade. One voice."
Rythe blinked. "Together?"
"Together," the emperor confirmed. "Calien has proven invaluable in the southern negotiations. And you—well, your name still silences most rooms." His voice was edged with amusement. "They won't dare misstep."
Calien glanced at Rythe, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.
"And the omega?" Rythe asked before he could stop himself. "The one who attends me?"
The emperor waved a hand as if brushing off dust. "Leave him behind. This mission is not suitable for someone of his... situation. You'll travel lightly. Calien will see to the diplomatic aspects. You'll ensure no threats reach him."
"Of course," Calien said smoothly, stepping forward. "It will be just like old times."
Rythe gave a terse nod, jaw tight. "When do we depart?"
"Dawn," the emperor replied. "Dismissed."
As Rythe turned to leave, Calien fell into step beside him.
"You didn't look thrilled, Rythe," Calien murmured as they passed beneath the arch.
"I wasn't expecting you."
"You should have. The emperor always pairs strength with civility. It makes the right impression."
Rythe didn't respond.
Calien chuckled softly. "Still so serious."
They stepped into the corridor, their boots echoing against stone. Behind them, the doors closed with a heavy thud—sealing orders, fates, and old ghosts behind gold and glass.
From a high window in the far corridor, hidden just behind a pillar, Aurean had watched the entire exchange.
The quartermaster's room was still when Aurean entered, save for the soft flicker of lamplight and the gentle rustle of folded cloth. The silence settled over him like a cloak, heavier than usual. His hands moved methodically, gathering the pieces of Rythe's traveling gear—light armor, clean tunics, engraved vambraces polished to a sheen.
He did not speak. There was no one to speak to.
He had seen enough.
The emperor's summons. The sharp glint of satisfaction in Calien's eyes. The way Rythe's shoulders stiffened when the mission was declared—a pairing of "strength and civility." Of course. Rythe would go. He always did his duty. But it was the way Calien had walked beside him, the way Rythe said nothing in protest, that struck deeper than anything else.
He fastened the leather belts with calm precision, packing spare rations into the satchel. Even Mael and Varnak's harnesses lay neatly on the side, already checked and re-stitched where needed.
Only once did his hands still—when he came upon Rythe's cloak, the one with the royal insignia embroidered into the lining. He held it a second longer than he should have, fingers brushing over the emblem before folding it in half and placing it gently atop the pack.
He had no place in this journey.
Not anymore.
The stables were still in the hush before dawn, lanterns swinging softly in the wind. The horses were already saddled, the hounds leashed and waiting.
Rythe stood beside his mount, tightening a strap when he heard soft footsteps behind him. He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Aurean held out the satchel. "Your gear, as requested."
Rythe took it, his hand brushing against Aurean's. The contact was brief. Too brief.
"Thank you," Rythe said, voice unreadable.
Aurean stepped back. "The rations are inside. I checked the stitching on your cloak."
Rythe nodded. "Good."
They stood in silence for a moment. The kind that stretched between things unfinished. Aurean kept his gaze on the ground.
"I didn't know Calien would be assigned," Rythe offered, quietly.
"I didn't ask," Aurean replied.
Rythe flinched at the honesty in his tone.
Aurean shifted his weight. "This is your mission. Your duty. You don't need to explain it to me."
Rythe looked at him then—really looked—and for a second the air between them tightened with things unsaid.
"You'll… keep the hounds in line?"
"I'll miss them," Aurean said, still not meeting his eyes. "But they'll be loyal to you, always."
There was another pause.
Rythe hesitated, then opened his mouth as if to speak—but nothing came out.
"I should go," Aurean said, voice quieter now. "They'll be waiting for you at the gates."
Rythe didn't stop him when he turned away. Didn't call after him. The only sound that remained was the steady wind, the low rustle of saddles, and the distant howling of the hounds as they sensed the departure.
And Aurean, backlit by morning's cold grey light, walking away from the stables—alone.