The eastern wing of the Ardanian palace had always been stark—a stretch of stone corridors connected to the barracks and kennels, where cold drafts swept through iron-reinforced halls and the scent of steel and hounds lingered in the air.
But all of that had changed.
Since Rythe's return, things had shifted. Quietly. Steadily.
At first, it was just reinforcement—additional guard patrols, arrests of a few corrupted stewards, then a full purge of traitors in the royal court. But underneath the strategy and discipline, Rythe was building something else entirely.
His wing was no longer just an extension of the barracks—it was beginning to resemble a village nestled within the great castle.
Construction had gone on for weeks not just in his quarters but through out the empire. Masons and craftsmen worked under tight command. The land beyond the rear stone wall—lush, open fields overlooking forests and hills—had been claimed and carved with new purpose. A training ground was cleared and enhanced. The kennel was expanded to house the new fleet of war hounds brought in from the northern borders—some bred for tracking, others for battle. A smaller whelping wing was added for the houndmasters.
Fifty omega knights—once assigned to drafty, uncomfortable barracks—now had proper quarters.
Not lavish, but thoughtful.
Warm-hued stone replaced the grey. Carvings adorned lintels and archways—images of the moon, of blades, of wolves mid-howl—symbols carefully chosen to honor the omegas and their contribution to the knighthood. A garden bloomed in the inner courtyard where once there was only dirt and mud, seeded with moonleaf and cindervine, the flowers of their forgotten traditions.
Inside, tapestries lined the halls. Reading nooks were carved into corners. Gentle lighting replaced the harsh lanterns. The hearths burned brighter now.
The changes hadn't gone unnoticed.
The knights—alpha, beta, omega—were quick to joke about it.
"We live in Rythe's village now," Lareth said with a grin one evening as they sat around the fire. "I'm half expecting him to start naming streets."
"I heard he's building a bakery next," another teased, "for the omegas' delicate hearts."
They laughed, but their eyes gleamed with quiet gratitude.
Because they knew.
They knew what Rythe had done—not just expanding walls or kennels or training yards. He had created a haven in a fortress. A place for warriors of every nature to belong, to feel seen.
And Rythe? He remained his usual self. Distant but present, stern but fair.
He walked the new halls without ceremony, often flanked by Fen, or trailed by a few knights delivering reports. He never commented on the laughter or jokes. He didn't have to.
They were already his—bound not just by loyalty or command, but by the quiet acts of care that proved he was more than their general.
He was their shield
The warm glow of dusk filtered into Rythe's private chamber, painting long shadows across the polished stone floor and woven carpets. The newly refurbished space carried the scent of cedar and steel, softened only slightly by the fresh blooms from the courtyard beyond.
Rythe stood by the open window, armor removed, clad in simple dark trousers and a half-laced tunic. Fen rested nearby, his massive form curled but ever alert.
The soft creak of the door pulled Rythe's gaze.
Calien," he said, voice flat.
Calien stepped in, dressed far too finely for a casual visit—his doublet deep crimson, trimmed in black, his hair perfectly swept back. His eyes sparkled with mischief and something more ancient: entitlement.
"You've been avoiding me," Calien murmured, closing the door behind him with a deliberate click.
Rythe didn't move. "I've been busy."
Calien approached, a predatory smile dancing on his lips. "Busy since you returned from the dead? Or busy ever since the queen's banquet where we last—" he let the words trail, suggestive.
"I tried to reach you," Calien went on, circling slowly, his fingers brushing a shelf of Rythe's weapons. "But then you vanished on that so-called mission of yours. And now that you're back, it's council meeting after council meeting… arrests… knights… hounds… rebuilding. Do you not tire of pretending you're just a soldier?"
"I'm not pretending," Rythe replied calmly, turning to face him. "This is who I am."
Calien came closer, stepping into Rythe's space, his tone lower. "I miss who you were. What we had. You weren't so cold then."
Rythe's gaze never wavered. "That wasn't a 'what.' It was a mistake. One I don't intend to repeat."
Unfazed, Calien's hand rose, fingers grazing the lacing of Rythe's tunic. "You say that now, but I remember how you looked at me. Touched me. How you wanted—"
"Don't," Rythe cut in, voice like steel.
But Calien only smiled, eyes gleaming as he leaned closer, almost whispering, "You don't mean that…"
The door burst open.
"Step. Away," Astrid's voice cracked through the room like a whip.
Calien froze. Rythe didn't move, but a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped him.
Astrid strode in, red cloak trailing behind her like a banner of warning. "This is not a brothel, Calien. And my brother is not a conquest to drape over your pride."
Calien's expression faltered, the charm draining from his face. "Princess Astrid—"
"Lord Calien," she cut in sharply, "if you're so desperate for company, I'll have the hounds fetch you someone more suited. Rythe has real work to do."
Calien straightened, pride stung, and adjusted his cuffs with a forced smile. "Of course. I only came to pay respects."
He turned to Rythe, gaze lingering. "But you know where to find me. When you're done pretending."
He swept out, his boots echoing down the corridor.
Astrid turned to her brother, folding her arms. "You could've thrown him out yourself."
"I was going to," Rythe replied, turning back to the window. "I just wanted to see how far he'd go."
The training yard behind Rythe's wing was bathed in the amber light of late afternoon. Knights sparred in formation drills, war hounds resting in the shade, their heavy breathing blending with the thud of blades and grunts of exertion.
Astrid moved through them with easy grace, armor stripped to her undershirt, sweat from sparring still drying on her brow. She found Rhalia seated on the stone edge of a small fountain, sipping cool water, her sword resting at her side.
"Thought you'd still be training," Rhalia said without looking up.
"I was," Astrid replied. "Until I had to toss Calien out of Rythe's chambers."
That got Rhalia's attention. She turned sharply, eyes narrowing. "He was in Rythe's chambers?"
"Unfortunately," Astrid said, sitting beside her. "Though I doubt Rythe expected him to start pawing at him like a common whore."
Rhalia's lips thinned. "That leech."
"He thinks he can slither back into Rythe's bed just because they shared something once," Astrid muttered. "I walked in before Rythe could push him out. He was composed, but… there was a flicker. That look he gets when he's too tired to show it."
Rhalia exhaled slowly. "He won't show weakness. Not now, not with everything happening. He's still carrying too much."
Astrid nodded. "Which is why we need to start shielding him better. He won't ask."
Rhalia's gaze turned thoughtful, sharp. "You think Calien's after more than just a repeat of their past?"
"Of course he is," Astrid said. "He's ambitious. And Rythe is the storm everyone's watching—especially now that the court knows something's shifting."
"If Calien is trying to use sentiment to dig in," Rhalia murmured, "we'll make sure he never gets close enough."
Astrid glanced toward the barracks where Rythe's shadow moved among his knights, giving orders, barely pausing to rest.
"We can't let him fight everyone alone," Astrid said quietly.
Rhalia reached out and squeezed her hand, firm. "He's not alone. Not anymore."