The guest annex in the servant's wing was a far cry from Miles's marble suite. It was drafty, smelled like mildew, and the bed linens were coarse—but for Tara, it was more than enough.
Krystian had returned thirty minutes after dropping her off. He wasn't empty-handed. He carried a wooden tray with a bowl of thick stew, a hunk of cheese, and most importantly—two mugs of wine.
"I had to dodge the Head Cook to get the extra wine," Krystian whispered, kicking the door shut with his heel and offering his widest, most contagious grin. "He thinks I'm a bottomless pit, which isn't technically a lie."
Tara sat huddled in the oversized cloak Krystian had given her. She watched him move with a mixture of wariness and fascination. He was like a localized sun, oblivious to the shadows lengthening in the corners of the room.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked, her voice still a bit brittle. "You don't know me. I could be a spy. Or a thief."
Krystian set the tray on the small bedside table and pulled up a rickety stool. "Maybe. But you looked like you'd seen a ghost, and you sounded desperate. But the Prince was too busy staring at yo so i decided to take matters into my own hand."
Tara took a sip of the wine. It was warm and spiced, cutting through the chill that had settled in her bones. "He is very... intense. Your Prince."
"He's a block of ice," Krystian agreed, tearing off a piece of bread. "But don't worry. I'm working on melting him down. So, Tara Thorne... That's a lot of silk for a caravan girl, isn't it?"
Tara stiffened, her hand tightening around the mug. "It was a gift. From a traveler we helped."
Krystian held up his hands, laughing. "Hey, I'm not the Prince. I don't need the 'official' version. I just want to make sure you're okay. You said you saw something in the passes? Something... not human?"
Before Tara could answer, the door swung open.
Miles stood in the threshold. He had changed out of his training gear into a formal slate-grey tunic, his posture back to its usual terrifying rigidity. His eyes immediately fell on the tray of food.
"Krystian," Miles said, his voice like winter frost. "The servant's rations are calculated by head count. You are currently consuming resources allocated for the staff."
Krystian didn't even look guilty. He just held up a piece of cheese. "She was hungry, Prince! You can't interrogate a starving person. It's bad for the data."
Miles stepped into the room, his gaze sweeping over Tara with clinical precision. He didn't see a girl; he saw a series of inconsistencies. The way she held her cup, the way she didn't flinch at his presence, the way she carried herself like she was used to being looked at.
"I have spoken with the King," Miles said, addressing Tara but looking at Krystian. "You are granted sanctuary for three days while your 'story' is verified. You will remain in this wing. You will not wander. You will not speak to the guards."
"Three days?" Krystian jumped up, his bubbly energy turning into indignant heat. "She walked through the mines, Miles! She needs more than three days to stop shaking."
The use of his first name made Miles's jaw tighten.
"The timeline is a security protocol," Miles snapped. He turned his attention to Tara. "Miss Thorne, the mines have been sealed for twenty years. If you truly came through them, you would be the first. My researchers will be speaking with you tommorow. I suggest you remember your route clearly."
Tara nodded, her expression becoming a mask of quiet, humble obedience that Krystian found strangely convincing, but Miles found deeply suspicious. "I understand, Your Highness."
Miles turned on his heel to leave, but stopped, looking back at Krystian. "And you. You have quills to sharpen. "
Krystian sighed, giving Tara a quick wink. "Duty calls. Eat the stew, Tara. It's better than it looks."
As the two men walked down the hallway, the silence was heavy. Krystian was practically bouncing with unspoken questions, while Miles looked like he was mentally rewriting his entire mission plan.
"She's lying, Krystian," Miles said quietly, once they were far enough away.
"Everyone has secrets, Prince," Krystian countered, his voice losing its bounce for a second. "Even you. Even me. Just because she's not telling you everything doesn't mean she's the enemy."
Miles stopped at the door to his study, looking down at the commoner who had become the loudest variable in his life. "In my world, the things people don't say are usually the things that kill you."
Krystian just smiled, a bright, stubborn thing. "In my world, we just call that a surprise. Now, let's go get those quills ready. I have a new joke about a Duke and a donkey that you're going to hate."
Miles felt the familiar, annoying warmth tugging at his chest. He hated surprises. But as he looked at Krystian, he realized he was starting to get used to the noise.