The first light of dawn spilled through the tall windows of Rythe's private chambers, gilding the stone floor in gold.
But the prince sat still in its path, unmoving, as though the warmth could never reach him.
He hadn't slept.
The fire in the hearth had long since burned to ash. The silence was complete—save for the occasional call of the waking city beyond the palace walls.
And still, he remained where he was, perched on the edge of his chair, eyes fixed on the horizon.
He hadn't gone to see Aurean off.
He couldn't.
Because he knew—if he had, he would've begged him to stay.
A soft knock echoed through the room before the door opened gently.
Lareth entered.
No armor. No weapons. Just the man Rythe had come to trust beyond the reach of rank or duty.
"He's gone," Lareth said quietly, closing the door behind him.
Rythe didn't move. Only the barest flicker of his eyes acknowledged the words.
Lareth approached, resting a scroll case on the table before Rythe. "The charges are dropped. Officially. The Emperor signed it himself not long ago. Aurean's name has been cleared—fully. The court's already whispering about how clean and precise your move was. They're scrambling to find fault."
He gave a half-grim, half-impressed snort.
"They won't. Not even Kael and his vultures. Not even House Veldar. You left them no opening. You orchestrated everything so flawlessly, they can only applaud. To the world, you've done nothing more than rehabilitate a disgraced enemy of the empire and made him useful. Dismissed a scandal. Cleaned your name. Cleaned his. Secured diplomacy."
He paused, watching Rythe's stillness. Then added, quieter:
"And all while making sure no one knows just how much you care."
Rythe let out a slow breath.
"It wasn't a plan at first," he said, voice hoarse. "I didn't intend to save him. Not truly. I just… wanted it all to be over."
His gaze dropped to the rays of sunlight stretching across the table.
"But then I saw him." His voice wavered. "In the servant quarters. On the floor. Crying like the world had finally broken him. And I remembered every time I made him bleed. Every time I left him in the cold. Every time I used him."
His jaw clenched. "And the child…"
Lareth closed his eyes briefly.
Rythe shook his head. "Nothing I do will ever make up for it. Sending him away, clearing his name, giving him land, gold, peace—it's all a fraction of the debt I owe. And yet I'll still never be worthy."
There was silence between them. Until Lareth spoke, voice calm but firm.
"You may never atone for it all, Rythe. But you did something most never do." He stepped closer, folding his arms. "You stopped. You changed. You gave him freedom when you could have kept him."
Rythe looked up at him.
Lareth shrugged. "You say nothing's enough. But you gave him peace. That's more than most men with power ever bother to give the ones they've hurt."
He let the words settle. Then added, gentler, "Don't be too hard on yourself, Rythe."
The prince swallowed hard, gaze drifting once more to the horizon.
Aurean was out there now—riding toward Virelia, toward something new.
And Rythe remained, gilded in sunlight that warmed the walls but not the man.
"Peace," he repeated under his breath. "I hope he finds it."