The next morning, Edmund stood before his father, voice steady as he recited the names of his guests. King Renault watched in silence. Minister Horace was beside him. Aristide and Madame Grance stood just behind Edmund, his ever-patient tutors, arms folded in mirrored anticipation. Damien presented the portrait to the prince, making certain he remembered the dignitary he was to address.

  “Earl Charles Lorraine of Montfraise.”

  “Lord Armand Montclair of Lower Lismontagne.”

  “Ambassador Justinien Gaulin of Piermont…”

  The prince spoke with confidence. No shuffle of boots, nor sigh of impatience. Finally, Damien lifted the last image, and Edmund spoke the name without hesitation. “Count Nicolas Sabran-Archambault of Charlemont, attending as a dignitary of the Kingdom of Cervolna.”

  A faint chill slid across the room at the mention of the name. Horace’s head snapped toward the king. “Your Majesty… the Count of Charlemont?”

  Renault’s posture did not shift an inch, but his jaw tightened. “It was abrupt,” he answered, voice low. “The envoy from Cervolna arrived a week ago, just before Edmund’s hunt.”

  Horace’s exhale carried disappointment and unease.

  Edmund’s brows knit, sensing the shift. “How did I do, Father?” he asked, breaking the tension.

  Renault’s stern expression immediately softened. “You spoke every name and title correctly. Well done, son.”

  “Most impressive, Your Highness,” Horace added with a nod. “A display of discipline and respect toward our guests.”

  Edmund rubbed the back of his neck, grinning. “You’ll have to thank Madame Grance and Aristide for that. They were the ones who drilled me. I’d have forgotten half of them without their help and scolding.”

  Subtle laughter rippled through the chamber.

  “My thanks to you both,” Renault said to the two. “Your efforts definitely paid off.”

  Madame Grance bowed gracefully. “It was a pleasure, Your Majesty.”

  “I am glad to be of help, Father,” Aristide followed. “And I’ll stay beside him during the banquet, just in case he slips.”

  “Aristide…” Edmund muttered, exasperated.

  “Aristide,” Renault chided gently, “show confidence in your brother. Show that you believe in him as a fellow future leader.”

  Aristide rubbed his chin, narrowing his eyes in contemplation as he lost himself in his own thoughts. “Well, I do believe in him, of course…” he reasoned, “but that doesn’t eliminate the fact that he can forget someone. And as one of his future ministers, it will be my job to—”

  Madame Grance pinched the bridge of her nose as the younger prince’s litany continued. Renault raised a hand before embarrassment overwhelmed Edmund. “That’s enough teasing,” he said, but a gentle smile followed.

  “I was just—”

  “Aristide,” three voices groaned at once.

  The king chuckled softly and dismissed them with a wave. “You’ve all earned a moment of rest before the celebration. You may go.”

  The three bowed and stepped out, with Damien following behind. Horace waited until the doors had fully shut behind the prince before stepping forward. The concern shaping his brows was no longer contained. “Sire… Count Nicolas? Of all people?”

  Renault exhaled, slow and weary, and shut his eyes for a moment. “They’ve made certain we have no time to object. He will be reaching the capital by tomorrow.”

  He rose from his chair and walked to the broad window, gaze drifting over the palace gardens where the staff tended the grounds. An image too calm for the weight in his chest.

  Horace spoke again, voice just as low. “Do you believe he personally asked King Baldwin to send him here?”

  Renault’s eyes darkened. “He most likely did. But they say the Count is a kind man, at the very least.”

  The minister’s mouth tightened. “With respect, Majesty, kindness can be the finest mask a noble wears. And considering recent events, he might be—”

  Renault lifted a hand, firm, but not unkind. “Horace, we will not speak of suspicions. Not now. Not until Edmund’s celebration has passed.”

  Horace bowed his head. “As you request, Your Majesty.”

  Outside the council room, the two princes and Madame Grance made their way down the hallway. Halfway along, the attendant paused. “Highnesses, may I head to the kitchen? I’d like to help my daughter prepare lunch.”

  “Of course, Madame Grance,” Edmund said. “Thank you for your help today.”

  She smiled and returned his bow. “You’re very welcome, Prince Edmund. I’m sure you’ll do well.”

  She lingered a moment longer, studying his face, a boy who was learning too early what it meant to carry a kingdom. Gently, she reached up and ruffled his hair. “You’ve grown into a fine young man,” she murmured. “Time does fly.”

  Her hand rested briefly against his cheek, warm, steady, and full of the affection of someone who had watched him grow. “Queen Emilie would be proud.”

  Edmund lowered his eyes, a soft smile touching his lips despite the heaviness in his heart. Madame Grance stepped back with a quiet breath, then turned to Aristide, bowing gracefully. “Prince Aristide, please, no more teasing for today.”

  Aristide bowed, returning the gesture with sincerity. Grance left after and made her way to the kitchen. After she had gone, he asked Edmund where they should head next. The older prince didn’t answer immediately. His thoughts had already drifted back to the forest, the blood on the leaves, the dying cries, the claws tearing through shields.

  Edmund swallowed, the guilt tightening around his chest. “I want to see Conrad… and the men who joined me on the hunt. I want to thank them… and apologize.”

  Without a second thought, Aristide offered to go with him. “Some of them should still be recovering at the infirmary.”

  Edmund nodded. “Let’s go, then.”

  They walked together toward the outer walkway, the doors ahead framed in sunlight. Edmund was unusually quiet. His face was calm, his thoughts too heavy for words. Aristide glanced sideways at his brother. “Don’t worry. They’re not the sort to hold a grudge. Especially not against you.”

  “They were badly injured,” Edmund responded, his voice tight. “A lot of them died. Because of me. Because I brought them with me.”

  “You and your retainers were ambushed by some deranged assassins,” his brother said firmly. “That was their doing. Not yours.”

  Edmund kept walking, gaze distant, jaw clenched. “Still… I was the one who asked them to come.”

  Aristide inhaled, then spoke again, not a single word of it wavering. “I’d follow you too,” he said. “Without hesitation.”

  Edmund stopped. Slowly, he turned, stunned. “Aristide…?”

  His younger brother held his gaze, his voice quiet but unwavering. “I mean… since I believe you’d make a great leader. If Father ever trusted me with your protection, I’d accept the risks.”

  For once, no joke followed. Aristide might have a habit of teasing him, but he was also well aware of his limits. There are times for jokes, and this was not one of them. Edmund managed a small smile at last, Aristide’s words easing the weight on his shoulders.

  Before they reached the door, footsteps echoed from the adjoining hallway. A man emerged, striking not by stature, but by immaculate presentation.

  His short salt-and-pepper hair was combed rigidly back, not a strand daring to stray. His beard was trimmed into geometric precision. He wore a vest of buttery yellow velvet beneath a doublet of pristine white silk, paired with tailored yellow breeches. Smooth white hose and polished leather court shoes gleamed with each step. Behind him followed two armored knights and an attendant carrying his yellow cape and feather-plumed hat.

  “Highnesses!” he called out, smiling so broadly his cheeks could barely contain it.

  The brothers halted in unison.

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  “Lord Odilon,” they greeted together.

  Still beaming, Odilon strode forward and clapped a hand onto each of their shoulders. “Prince Edmund, Prince Aristide, far too long! How have you been?”

  “We’re doing well, Lord Odilon,” Edmund answered politely. “And yourself?”

  “Quite well, quite well!” Odilon chimed. Then his smile dimmed as his gaze fixed on Edmund more fully. “I heard of the incident. The attack.” His brows creased with genuine concern. “I’m relieved to see you safe and sound.”

  Silence stretched between the three, weighted by things they were not meant to speak of before celebration. Odilon cleared his throat and lowered his hands. “Ah… forgive me, Prince Edmund. Your coming of age is nearly upon us, and I should not dampen the occasion with grim matters. A lapse in judgment on my part.”

  Edmund shook his head lightly, offering reassurance. “It’s all right, Lord Odilon. Truly. No offense taken.”

  Odilon exhaled and smiled again, grateful for the grace. He turned then to Aristide. “And you, Prince Aristide? How are the books I sent? You’ve devoured every page by now, I imagine?”

  Aristide’s eyes brightened instantly, his earlier solemnity replaced by boyish enthusiasm. “They’re incredible! The details on the Four Empires of Eldgard! I didn’t know anyone kept such records anymore. Where did you even find them?”

  Odilon chuckled, delighted by the reaction. “I thought they might please you. And because I knew you’d crave more, I brought a little something with me this time…”

  “But I shall keep it sealed away until after your brother’s celebration. Anticipation makes the gift sweeter, yes?”

  “Absolutely!” Aristide replied, hardly able to stand still.

  “Well then,” Odilon said, adjusting the gold embroidery at his sleeves, “it seems the two of you are off to some duty or another, and I must present myself to His Majesty. I shall look forward to the festivities.”

  He bowed with flourish and swept down the corridor.

  Edmund let out a slow breath. “He arrived early.”

  “That’s Lord Odilon for you,” Aristide replied with a shrug. “The capital holds every celebration dear, and he will never be late to one.”

  He rested his hand on the hallway door, glanced at Edmund, and offered a nod.

  “Shall we?”

  The princes crossed the open walkway, sunlight falling between the pillars in long bands of gold. When they reached the infirmary, the guard on duty bowed and opened the door for them. Inside, the smell of herbs and clean linen greeted them. Beds lined the walls, occupied by the wounded. The brave few who had survived the forest.

  Lyam rested against a pile of pillows, his arm wrapped heavily in bandages. Gualter lay on the adjacent bed, a fresh stitch running down his temple. Conrad sat beside them, dressed not in armor but in a simple linen shirt and brown trousers.

  “Prince Edmund,” Conrad greeted, rising swiftly to bow. The others followed as best their injuries allowed.

  “Please,” Edmund said, flustered, lifting both hands. “No… no need for that…”

  He stepped forward, uncertain, his gaze drifting over every face, looking for blame or bitterness. “How are you all feeling?” he asked.

  “The men are recovering well,” Conrad replied. “I have already been cleared for duty. I’m only here to check on them. They’ll need more time, but they will mend.”

  Edmund nodded, then swallowed hard. Aristide stood quietly at his back, offering silent support. The older prince opened his mouth. “Ev—everyone… I’m… I am so sorry for—”

  His eyes dropped. The words tangled and died.

  Gualter noticed his hesitation and spoke. “Highness, we’re glad to see you’re fine.”

  Edmund looked up, surprised by the warmth in their faces.

  Conrad spoke from beside him. “Everyone’s thankful to see you well recovered, Highness.”

  Edmund’s confusion flickered plain across his features. “I—I truly thought you’d be…”

  “Upset?” Conrad offered. “Angry? No. Never.”

  He stood straighter, shoulders squared with soldierly pride. “We joined you on that hunt knowing our duty,” he said. “Knowing full well the risk of not coming out alive.”

  Gualter nodded weakly. Lyam did as well.

  “That is our creed as soldiers, and as your retainers,” Conrad continued.

  Edmund’s breath caught, a tremor threatening his composure.

  “And to see you alive,” Conrad finished, voice firm with conviction, “that is our greatest pride.”

  Ease washed over the prince at last. For days he had worried for his men—about their wounds, their recovery, whether they quietly cursed his name for leading them into danger. But now, seeing their smiles and their strength returning, the weight finally lifted.

  “Thank you,” Edmund said, voice steady and earnest. “For protecting me. I would not be here without you. And I’m glad to see you recovering. If there’s anything I can do—”

  “Save us some wine and meat from your celebration?” Lyam blurted.

  Conrad turned, glare sharp enough to silence a legion.

  “What? He said anything,” Lyam muttered, shrinking slightly into his pillows.

  “Have some shame,” Gualter complained.

  “Sure! Of course I’ll save you some,” Edmund replied without hesitation.

  The room suddenly froze. Three sets of eyes stared straight at him.

  “Well… can you save some for me too?” Gualter asked quickly.

  “Me too!” Mathew called from across the beds.

  “You were all scolding me just a moment ago!” Lyam protested.

  “It’s not customary,” Gualter shot back, “but if the prince says he will—”

  And suddenly the room was alive with noise, loud and familiar. Bickering, teasing, soldiers sounding like men, not ghosts in waiting. Edmund watched in wonder.

  Laughter, bruises, stubbornness. All unchanged.

  “This is how soldiers are,” Conrad said, stepping to his side and giving his shoulder a steady pat. “Farmers till the soil, miners dig the earth… and we stand at the front. That is our place.”

  “Told you they wouldn’t hold a grudge,” Aristide whispered behind him.

  Conrad lifted his voice. “Men! The prince will take his leave now. Show your respects. You may continue your nonsense after.”

  The soldiers saluted as best they could. Edmund answered with a small bow and a grateful smile.

  Conrad walked with the princes out onto the open walkway, the infirmary’s door closing behind them. The corridor was quiet again—sunlight warm on stone, leaves whispering in the breeze. Once they were out of earshot, Conrad’s tone changed.

  “Highness… the fallen have been laid to rest.”

  Edmund stopped. His breath caught. A tremor passed through his lips once again. For a moment, only the trees dared speak.

  “Then… may we visit them?” he asked.

  Conrad hesitated, glancing down. “Prince, there is much to prepare for your celebration. I was thinking perhaps after—”

  “Please.” Edmund’s eyes didn’t waver. “I owe them that much. I’m only here to celebrate because of them. Because of you all.”

  Conrad and Aristide exchanged a glance, and the younger prince gave a resolute nod.

  “As you wish, Highness,” Conrad said, bowing his head.

  Before they could move on, he turned to Damien, who was quietly standing guard.

  “Sir Damien,” Conrad called, extending his hand. “Your weapon, if you would. I assume full charge of Prince Edmund’s protection if he leaves the palace grounds.”

  Damien unbuckled his sword without hesitation and offered it with both hands. “Sir Conrad.”

  Conrad secured the blade at his side, the motion fluid and practiced. Edmund met his eyes, gratitude and sorrow braided together in a single nod. And so, without further ceremony, the three set off toward the palace gates.

  Meanwhile, in the king’s drawing room, Odilon was finally granted an audience with Renault. Minister Horace had already returned to his duties, leaving the two men in private.

  “Your Majesty,” Odilon said with a deep, practiced bow, “my gratitude for granting me this audience.”

  “And mine for accepting both the invitation to my son’s celebration and my summons today,” Renault replied, seated at the head of the small table. He gestured to the chair at his left. “Please. Sit.”

  Odilon complied with a courteous nod, settling into the seat with the poise of a man born for courts and diplomacy.

  “How have things been with you, Odilon?” Renault asked.

  “Quite well, Renault,” the noble replied with a warm smile. “Harvests were kind this year, and there have been no accidents within the mines. As for trade,” he lifted his teacup, “I’ve secured the agreement with Lazurith that you requested.”

  “I’m grateful,” the king said with genuine relief. “Your handling of such affairs has been invaluable. I cannot thank you enough for handling our trade affairs.”

  Odilon chuckled lightly. “It’s no chore. You know I enjoy traveling and finding new faces to negotiate with.”

  His tone shifted, more cautious. “And you? I saw the princes earlier. They seemed well… despite the unpleasant… um.”

  Renault’s shoulders stiffened. “I sent men to investigate the forest. They found nothing.”

  Odilon blinked. “Nothing?”

  Renault stared into his tea, his gaze fixated on its swirling surface. “No corpses. No discarded weapons. Not a single sign that anyone ever lay there dead, as if the forest swallowed them.”

  Odilon set down his cup, expression darkening. “That is deeply concerning. Have you any clue who could have sent such people?”

  Renault shook his head. “None. Edmund and the survivors recall only that the attackers were clad head to toe in black.”

  He narrowed his eyes, his stare not leaving the tea before him. “The fact they infiltrated our kingdom at all and may still be within our borders…”

  His hand curled into a fist. “And that they brought a Draemhyr.”

  Odilon froze. His teacup rattled faintly as he set it down. “A—A Draemhyr…? I thought… everyone thought the prince was only attacked by—”

  “We wounded it,” Renault said grimly. “But it escaped deep into the forest. It still lurks somewhere in the kingdom, and I will not risk panic by spreading that news.”

  “What if it attacks a village?!” Odilon asked, unable to mask the dread behind his whisper.

  “I have stationed soldiers and mages along the forest’s edge,” Renault replied. “If it emerges, it will be met by a wall of flame and steel.”

  Odilon’s brows furrowed. “Who could have the resources to acquire such a monster? To train it? To smuggle it past the capital’s watch?”

  Renault’s fingers tightened around his cup. “That is the part that keeps me awake at night.”

  The candles crackled. Silence hung heavy, thick with suspicion, fear, and the looming question neither man dared voice.

  How many enemies hide within their own borders?

  “But there is something else I must ask of you,” Renault spoke.

  Odilon paused mid-sip. “What is it, Majesty?”

  Renault’s eyes hardened and he leaned forward. “That area in the forest… the place where we found Serena…”

  “I need you to return there.”

  The room changed. The chandelier’s crystals dimmed. The candle flames flickered into thin tongues. Even the shadows on the walls seemed to lean closer, listening.

  Odilon’s breath hitched. His hand trembled; knuckles whitened. The teacup slipped from his fingers just enough to clink against the saucer. The color drained from his face.

  “You—you want me to…” he whispered, barely a voice at all.

  “I know I’ve already asked much of you,” Renault said, quiet but unwavering. “But something happened during that attack. I want you to find something, anything that might help us understand her.”

  Silence fell. Heavy, oppressive, broken only by the pop of settling embers in the fireplace.

  “But… Renault…” Odilon muttered, his voice tight, quivering at the edges. “That place…”

  “Bring people you trust,” the king continued. “People who answer only to you, and speak only to you.”

  Odilon’s breathing accelerated.

  The king’s jaw clenched, apology flickering briefly in his eyes. “I know… I remember… what we saw back there—”

  “I am sorry, Odilon. But there is no one else I can entrust with this.”

  Odilon shut his eyes, fighting down the memories that surged like cold water flooding a broken dam. When he opened them, he forced his spine straight again.

  “May I… have time to think this over?” he asked, voice steadier now, though his hand still shook.

  “Of course,” Renault said. His tone shifted, a man asking not as king, but as a father desperate for answers. “Thank you, Odilon.”

  Odilon rose slowly, bowing with one hand pressed to his chest. “Your Majesty.”

  The nobleman walked toward the door, each step measured, restrained, carrying a burden only he and the king understood. Behind him, the truth he was asked to hunt remained buried in that forest, and the memories he had tried so long to forget had begun to stir.