Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 434. We Have Time
Angel's eyes darkened. "Then something else is watching her. Protecting her."
Rose inhaled. The air felt colder now. Or maybe it was just the realization settling into her bones.
"It's still noon," Angel added, glancing at the window. Daylight streamed through the stained glass, casting patterns of red and gold across the floor.
Rose followed his gaze. "We have time."
He nodded. "I'll give her until evening. Let her rest. After that… I'll try to read her aura. Fully."
"And if she resists?"
Angel's mouth twitched into the faintest of smirks. "Then we'll have our answer even faster."
Rose didn't smile back. She watched him with something close to concern. Not because she doubted him—but because she believed him.
Believed what he could see.
Believed what he could feel.
And believed that if Jane truly held something inside her that could resist this, then the stepmother wasn't the only piece in play anymore.
"You think it's linked to Erebus," Rose said quietly.
Angel didn't answer.
But his silence was loud enough to confirm it.
And the fire kept burning.
The shadows in the parlor had stretched longer now, though it was still early afternoon. Noonlight slanted through the tall stained-glass windows, casting warped colors over the stone floor—soft gold, bruised violet, a blood-red shimmer that danced along the edge of his boots.
Angel stood in stillness for a moment, his gaze fixed on nothing.
Maybe.
That was the only answer he could give right now.
Because deep down, even he didn't know.
"Maybe," he murmured. "I'm not sure either."
Rose turned slightly, her eyes following the tension in his voice.
"But that mountain…" Angel continued, "Erebus… it holds more secrets than we understand. It always did."
His voice dipped lower, like something ancient was cracking behind his ribs.
"The previous Dark King…" he said, jaw tight, "his power might've been stronger than any of us guessed. And when he died—when he was destroyed—he didn't just vanish."
Rose tilted her head. "You think it cursed the mountain?"
"I know it did," Angel said.
He paced forward, slow, deliberate. The light kept sliding over him, painting gold across one shoulder and pitch across the other. A monarch made of balance and violence.
"The mountain. The soil. The trees. The rain that falls there. Everything is touched by that death."
He stopped in front of her.
"And me."
Rose's brows pinched. "You are not cursed."
Angel didn't argue.
He just smiled.
A quiet, tired smile that had nothing to do with joy.
Then he stepped closer.
And pressed his palm to her cheek.
His fingers were warm from the fire, but it was more than that. His touch was… heavy. Grounding. Like it was holding not just her face, but the part of himself he didn't know how to give anyone else.
"I was cursed," he whispered.
His sharp eyes locked onto hers. Unblinking. Unrelenting.
"At least, that's how it felt. Still feels," Angel said, his voice rougher now. "Like the day my father died, something inside me was stolen—and something else was forced in." He meant the black crystal.
His thumb brushed gently over the curve of her jaw.
"But you…"
He didn't finish the sentence right away. The words choked behind his teeth like they didn't want to be spoken. But he made them.
"You make everything feel less cursed to me."
Rose's throat tightened.
"You give me meaning," Angel said. "Not just to rule. Not for war. Or revenge. Not because someone died and I survived. You… give me a reason to live. You heal me."
Her breath caught.
But she didn't cry. Not this time.
She reached up, fingers curling around his wrist where it pressed against her cheek.
"Not yet," she said quietly. "You're not healed yet."
He didn't argue. But something in his jaw twitched.
"I know there's still pain," Rose continued. "Still guilt. Still blood you taste in your mouth when no one's looking."
She leaned into his hand slightly.
"But I also know you're better. Because of me."
Her eyes lifted to meet his again.
"And that's a good start."
Angel exhaled. A long, slow breath that felt like letting go of something he'd been clenching since before the war. Since before the crown. Maybe since before her.
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