The blue-haired girl's voice was even, but her eyes searched his face like she was trying to read a half-burned map."So it's true—you don't remember?"
Glade was already near the table, a neat stack of scrolls and books laid out like evidence in a case he'd just presented. His posture was straight, hands clasped behind his back in that soldier's calm that always hinted at control."It could be a side effect of resurrection," he said, as if he'd already explained it to her once. "Your life in exchange for your memories."
"I suspect as much," Red replied evenly. The truth was simpler—he wasn't suffering from amnesia. He simply wasn't the man they thought he was.
And he couldn't tell them that. Not yet. If the council could decide to execute a woman simply because they feared her, what would they do to a man they suspected of being someone else entirely? If the truth came out, his life would be just as expendable.
The girl stepped forward, boots planted shoulder-width apart, chin tilted high. "Then I'll reintroduce myself, Prince Al. I'm Brayl Agualeen. Your right hand."
Red remembered the name—she'd dragged Alzein out of Sylph's Valley alive. In person, she was younger than expected—late teens, wiry, each movement deliberate.
"Oh, don't give the prince any wrong ideas," Glade cut in, moving closer to Red's side. His voice carried the weight of seniority. "I'm your right hand. I've served you since childhood."
Brayl tilted her head, letting her hair catch the light. "But Prince Al here said I'm his trusted aide."
"That was after you both escaped Lord Aurum's wrath by hiding under a river."
"And after I helped him sneak off to meet the guild leader's daughter."
"Still doesn't make you the right hand."
The standoff was obvious—Glade stood like a shield, Brayl like a court mage daring him to cross the line. Both wanted his ear.
"She's a water mage," Glade said finally. "I saved her once. You granted her refuge when we were young."
Red filed the detail away. A debt chain. Always useful.He let them hold their ground a moment longer before cutting in. "What happened at Sylph's Valley?"
Brayl's shoulders locked for a fraction of a second. That was the tell.
Glade answered first, hands clasping tighter behind his back. "The king received a prophecy from the Goddess—to protect a girl hidden there. She was vital to the realm's survival. His Majesty left you behind, but you received your own prophecy—that the king would fall, and if he did, you were to save her yourself."
Brayl's tone was precise when she added, "Older members of the von Schlager line can commune with Her Light. That's why they believed you in the council earlier. Others would be condemned for saying that without proof."
Glade's jaw tightened. "It was an ambush. Maous on every side. I lost you. The king found you fighting a giant hawk Maou. I fought until I collapsed. Woke in the castle with a broken arm."
"I reached you and King Alador, but we were trapped in a wind barrier," Brayl said, eyes steady. "Me, you, the king, his three top vassals… and Mira."
The name was laid like a chess piece. Red noticed Brayl watching him for a reaction."Go on," he said.
"You don't even remember Mira, Prince Al?"
"I'm afraid not," Red replied, his voice cold and glass-smooth.
The reaction was instant—Glade's stance eased a fraction, Brayl's breath caught before she recovered. Whoever Mira was, she mattered.
Brayl's voice slowed, as if holding something back. "We fought until the king and his vassals forced us back. You took a point-blank hit. I made a water bubble and pulled you out."
Her tone carried no flourish. Either it was true, or she'd perfected sounding that way.
Red closed the space between them. "Then I owe you my life," he said, letting the words fall heavy. "For that… thank you."
Her eyes widened slightly before he pulled her into an embrace—not warmth, but measurement. She tensed, then softened. Genuine attachment. No deception there.
"Prince Al," Brayl said when they parted, "I'm just glad you're back."
From the corner of his vision, Red caught Glade's hand drift toward the pocket holding the blue detection shard. Still testing him.If suspicion was the game, then he'd play it the way the old Alzein would—reckless grin, half-truths, just enough familiarity to make Glade think nothing had changed. Give them the prince they expected, and they might stop looking for cracks.
"Where is the astral witch?" he asked.
Glade's brows drew together. "In a cell on the far side of the castle. No one goes near her without council clearance."
Two birds. One stone. Visiting her could confirm her role in his survival—and gauge how far the council could be pushed.
"Clearance or not," Red said, gaze shifting between them, "we're going. I have questions. And deep down—" a flicker of recklessness slipped in, "—I want to know what game Ardent's playing this time."
Brayl's lips twitched. Glade's smile returned, small but certain. "Now that sounds like the prince I remember."
Good, Red thought. Remember that version. It's easier to move unseen when they think they already know you.
The three left the study, boots striking polished marble in unison. Schlager Castle unfolded ahead—vaulted ceilings climbing into shadow, arches ribbed with gold leaf, saints carved into stone. Light fractured through stained glass, casting jeweled shapes across the walls.
It was part European fortress, part Vatican cathedral. Heavy buttresses braced corridors lined with silk tapestries of battles older than living memory. Every second hallway ended at a shrine or altar to Her Light. The air carried the faint, clinging weight of incense.
Servants paused as they passed—bows, curtsies, some smiling openly at the sight of their prince alive again. Red returned nods when necessary and kept walking.
Halfway to the east wing, the quiet fractured.
Old Lord Baram stood ahead, cane planted like a spear, facing two armored guards. His fury echoed down the corridor, though fatigue lined his stance.
He straightened as Red approached, leaning harder on the cane but keeping his chin high. "Prince Alzein—Ardent forbids me from speaking to Lumiaris. The Starcaller is a citizen of my hold, and I want to be sure she's safe."
"She was healing me when I woke," Red said evenly.
Baram exhaled hard, some fight leaving his shoulders. "Then I am relieved… but you must be careful now that Ardent runs the castle."
Red turned to the guards. "Move."
The one on the right didn't blink. "Lord Ardent forbids entry. Not even you, my prince. You hold no authority here."
Baram's grip whitened on his cane. "This is wrong. King Alador would never strip his son's authority so easily."
The second guard smirked faintly. "Then perhaps the old king should return from the grave to correct it."
Baram scowled, as if it were the first time someone had spoken to him that way.
Brayl tensed, stepping forward before Red's hand stopped her. His gaze locked on the guards—cold, unblinking."I will make sure Lumiaris is safe," he told Baram, voice low and iron-edged. "With whatever power I have left in this castle."
The guards didn't move. The smirking one held his gaze until Baram turned away. Cane taps faded into the cathedral hush.
Red committed both guards to memory—their faces, posture. Ardent's men, not the crown's."We'll find another way," he told his vassals quietly as they walked.
Later that night, the castle's silence felt weighted. Patrols moved in tighter loops. Ardent's soldiers weren't just guarding—they were watching him.
In his quarters, candlelight threw long shadows across the stone. Glade stood near the door, posture straight. Brayl leaned against the wall, loose but alert.
"The guards won't move for me," Red said. "Not while Ardent owns them."
Glade's lips curved faintly—not in humor, but agreement. "Then we don't use the front door. We already know the way—rotations, blind spots, patrols that slack off. We mapped them when we were young."
Brayl's brows lifted. "You two used to break into the restricted wings?"
"Regularly," Glade said. "For practice… and for fun."
Red didn't smile, but noted Glade was someone the old Alzein trusted. "We'll use those routes. If we're caught, I was alone."
Brayl studied him. "Sounds reckless."
"It is," Red said, eyes catching the candlelight. "But I need to speak to the Starcaller. One way or another."
The silence that followed wasn't disagreement. Glade straightened; Brayl's lips curved faintly.
Red didn't return it. This wasn't a thrill—it was a move in a game Ardent thought he controlled. And if the Starcaller truly had the power to trade death for life, then she wasn't just a prisoner.
She was a weapon. And tonight, he intended to claim her.