CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Border of Home
The heartland of Valdris was everything Orion remembered and nothing he wanted to see.
Rolling hills dotted with ancient oaks. Vineyards stretching across sunny slopes. Villages with stone walls and thatched roofs, unchanged for generations. The roads were smooth here, maintained by royal decree, and the fields were golden with the promise of harvest.
It was beautiful. Prosperous. Ordered.
It felt like a cage with pretty bars.
"You're tense," Nera observed. They had been riding through the heartland for two days now, and with each passing mile, Orion had grown more rigid in his saddle.
"I'm aware."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not particularly."
"That's fair." She guided her horse closer to his. "But I'm here when you do."
He didn't respond, but he reached over and took her hand briefly—a silent acknowledgment that meant more than words.
The problem wasn't the land itself. The problem was what it represented. Every perfect field was a testament to royal management. Every well-maintained road was a reminder of the system he'd fled. Every prosperous village was evidence that the kingdom functioned perfectly well without him—had always functioned without him, would continue to function whether he existed or not.
He had mattered so little that his absence had changed nothing.
The thought should have been liberating. Instead, it felt like a wound he'd forgotten he had, reopened by the sight of everything he'd left behind.
* * *
The signs of the succession struggle became more visible as they traveled deeper into the kingdom.
It started subtly—a banner here, a crest there, displayed more prominently than protocol demanded. But as they approached the central provinces, the division became impossible to ignore.
"Blue and gold," Nera said, nodding toward an estate they were passing. A large banner flew from its tower, displaying a rearing stallion. "That's the third we've seen this morning."
"Lord Varen's colors. He's one of Marcus's chief supporters." Orion's voice was flat. "The stallion is their house crest—added to the royal colors to show loyalty to the crown prince."
"And that one?" She pointed to another estate across the valley, where silver and black banners flew alongside flags bearing a hawk.
"House Thorne. Helena's faction. The merchant lords who've decided that a queen would be better for trade."
"And Darius?"
"Green and white. The military houses, mostly in the border regions. You'll see less of them here in the heartland—their power base is elsewhere."
Nera was quiet for a moment, taking it in. "It's like watching a war that hasn't started yet."
"That's exactly what it is. A war being fought with banners and alliances instead of swords." He shook his head. "Father kept the factions balanced when I was young. Played them against each other so no one grew too strong. But if he's truly failing..."
"The balance breaks."
"And the war stops being cold."
They passed a group of soldiers on the road—men in blue and gold, riding with the disciplined precision of professional warriors. Their commander nodded as they passed, a gesture of courtesy between travelers.
Orion nodded back, keeping his face neutral.
"Do they know who you are?" Nera asked after they'd passed.
"Probably not. Aldwin's announcement would have gone to the palace, not the road patrols." He glanced back at the soldiers, now disappearing around a bend. "But they will soon. Word spreads fast when a lost prince returns."
"Are you worried?"
"I'm..." He searched for the right word. "Cautious. These soldiers belong to Marcus's faction. If they realized who I was, they might decide to escort us to the capital. Or detain us for questioning. Or send word ahead to change our reception."
"Would Marcus do that? Interfere with your arrival?"
"The Marcus I knew wouldn't. But I haven't seen him in almost a decade." Orion's jaw tightened. "People change. Especially when crowns are involved."
* * *
The border checkpoint into the capital province was more formal than any they'd encountered.
A stone gatehouse straddled the road, manned by soldiers in royal purple—the King's own colors, neutral in the succession struggle. A line of merchants and travelers waited to pass through, their carts and wagons being inspected with methodical efficiency.
"State your business," the guard said when they reached the front of the line. He was older, weathered, with the look of a man who had seen everything and was surprised by nothing.
"We're traveling to the capital," Orion said. "To answer a summons from the King."
"Name?"
"Orion Stargrass."
The guard made a note in his ledger, then paused. His eyes lifted from the page, studying Orion's face with sudden intensity.
"Orion," he repeated slowly. "Stargrass."
"That's right."
"And your companion?"
"My wife. Nera Stargrass."
The guard's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his bearing. He set down his quill and stepped back from his post.
"Wait here," he said. "I need to speak with my captain."
He disappeared into the gatehouse. Orion felt his stomach tighten.
"That seemed significant," Nera murmured.
"He recognized the name. Or recognized me." Orion kept his voice low. "Aldwin's message mentioned we'd be coming. They have a description."
"Is that a problem?"
"Depends on their orders."
A few minutes later, the guard returned—accompanied by a tall woman in officer's armor, her graying hair pulled back in a severe braid. She moved with the authority of someone who had earned her rank through decades of service.
Her eyes found Orion immediately. Held him. Assessed him with the practiced efficiency of someone trained to evaluate threats.
Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
"Prince Orion," she said. "You've grown."
"Captain Maren." The name came back to him across years of distance. "You're still at this post?"
"Someone has to keep the riffraff out." Her smile widened. "Though I never expected to see you in my line again. Riding in from the north, no less. The King's message said you'd be coming, but I half-believed you'd change your mind."
"I considered it."
"I'll bet you did." She glanced at Nera, her assessment thorough but not unfriendly. "And this is the wife. The King is very eager to meet her."
"So I've heard."
"Well." Captain Maren stepped aside, gesturing toward the open gate. "Far be it from me to keep his majesty waiting. Welcome home, Prince Orion. The capital lies half a day's ride ahead. Try not to cause too much chaos before you get there."
"I'll do my best."
"That's what worries me." But she was still smiling as they passed through.
* * *
The capital province was the jewel of Valdris.
The land here was richer, greener, more carefully cultivated than anywhere else in the kingdom. Estates sprawled across hilltops, their gardens and orchards visible from miles away. The roads were paved with fitted stone, smooth enough that their horses' hooves barely made a sound.
And everywhere, the banners flew.
Blue and gold. Silver and black. Green and white. Purple for the crown itself. The colors wove together like a tapestry of competing ambitions, each house declaring its allegiance for all to see.
"It's worse here," Nera said. "The tension, I mean. I can feel it."
"The capital is where power lives. Everyone who wants a piece of the succession has a presence here." Orion scanned the road ahead, noting the increased military presence. "When the King was strong, he kept them all too busy to scheme. But now..."
"Now they have time."
"Time and opportunity. A sick king with no named heir is an invitation for ambition."
"Why hasn't he named an heir? If the succession is this contentious..."
"I don't know. When I left, Marcus was the obvious choice. Eldest son, groomed for the throne, supported by the traditional nobility." Orion shook his head. "Something must have changed. Something must have made Father hesitate."
"Could it be you?"
"What?"
"Could he be waiting for you?" Nera's voice was careful. "You're his son. You left without renouncing your claim. Maybe he's been hoping you'd return."
The thought hadn't occurred to him. It should have—it was the obvious explanation—but he'd been so focused on seeing his father's summons as personal, not political.
"I don't want the throne," he said firmly. "I've never wanted the throne."
"I know. But does he?"
Orion didn't answer. The question sat heavy in his chest, adding new weight to a burden he'd thought he understood.
* * *
They stopped that evening at an inn on the outskirts of the capital—the last major settlement before the city itself. The building was large, well-maintained, clearly accustomed to hosting noble travelers and their entourages.
The innkeeper recognized him.
"Prince Orion." The man bowed deeply, his face a mixture of surprise and barely concealed curiosity. "It's... it's an honor. We had no word you were coming."
"We're traveling quietly. Two rooms, please."
"Two? But surely your highness would prefer the royal suite—"
"Two regular rooms," Orion repeated. "One for us, one for our horses if you have stable space. We're not looking for ceremony."
The innkeeper seemed unsure how to process this. Royalty that didn't want royal treatment was outside his experience. But he nodded, producing two keys and leading them upstairs with continued bows.
"Word will spread," Nera said once they were alone. "By morning, everyone will know you're here."
"It was inevitable." Orion sat heavily on the bed, feeling the weight of the day settle onto his shoulders. "Once we passed Captain Maren, our arrival became official. The palace will know by now. My siblings will know."
"How do you think they'll react?"
"Marcus will be suspicious. He's always been protective of his position—not cruelly, but thoroughly. A returning brother is a complication he doesn't need."
"Even if you don't want the throne?"
"Wanting and having are different things. As long as I exist, I'm a potential threat. Or a potential ally, depending on how he sees it."
"And the others?"
"Helena will be calculating. She never does anything without considering the angles. Darius..." Orion paused, remembering his younger brother. "Darius will probably be the simplest. He's a soldier, not a politician. If he decides I'm friend, he'll be a friend. If he decides I'm enemy, he'll say it to my face."
"And Elara?"
Something softened in Orion's expression. "Elara was ten when I left. She's a woman now—I don't know who she's become. But she convinced Father to send for me. That has to mean something."
"You miss her."
"I miss all of them, in different ways." The admission surprised him. "I spent so long being angry about the cage that I forgot... they were trapped in it too. We all were."
Nera sat beside him, taking his hand. "You can love your family and still need to escape them. Those aren't contradictions."
"Aren't they?"
"No." Her voice was firm. "Love doesn't mean acceptance of harm. Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is leave—for your own sake, and for theirs."
"Speaking from experience?"
"A thousand years of it." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "The fairy court loved me. Or loved what I represented. And I loved them, in my way. But I still had to leave. Still had to find myself somewhere they couldn't define me."
"And if I had stayed? If I'd accepted the marriage, played the game?"
"Then we never would have met. And I would have wandered forever, looking for something I couldn't name." She squeezed his hand. "You made the right choice, Orion. Whatever happens tomorrow, remember that. You saved yourself. And in doing so, you saved me too."
He turned to look at her—this woman who had been a queen, who had walked away from everything just as he had, who understood in ways no one else ever could.
"I love you," he said.
"I know."
"Say it back."
"I love you too. Tomorrow and always." She kissed him softly. "Now sleep. Tomorrow, you go home."
"This isn't home."
"No. But it's where you came from. And sometimes you have to face where you came from before you can truly appreciate where you've chosen to be."
They slept wrapped around each other, while outside, the lights of the capital glittered on the horizon—a city waiting, a family waiting, a past that would no longer be ignored.
Tomorrow, Prince Orion would return.
And nothing would be simple again.
— End of Chapter Twenty-Six —