The days passed quietly in Balmount Kingdom, but beneath its stillness, unease simmered like coals beneath ash. On the outskirts, nestled behind ivy-draped stone walls, stood the Small Manor of the Frostveil Family, its slate roof shimmering under the sinking sun.
A hooded man stood at the front door, his face hidden in the shadow of his cloak, the fading light gilding the edges of his garment. His stance was relaxed, but the way his fingers tapped against his side betrayed impatience.
He knocked again, the sound flat and hollow against the heavy oak. No answer.
He sighed. "Isn't anyone home? I thought Orin would be… considering he wasn't in his office." He scratched at his jaw through the hood, voice low. "Sigh… why do I even bother with all this?"
Just as his hand lifted to knock a third time, a voice called from inside clear, feminine, but cautious. "Coming!"
He raised an eyebrow. "So… the wife is home, after all."
There was a pause, then a sharp edge to the voice. "Who is this?"
He leaned toward the door slightly, lowering his voice to something calm, disarming. "A friend of Orin's. I looked for him at his office, but his staff said he didn't come in. Thought I'd check here."
The voice from within didn't soften. "Name?"
He glanced around the quiet courtyard, gauging the silence before responding. "That, I can't really say, ma'am… not openly. I was sent from the King."
There was a long beat of hushed whispers behind the door, too quiet to make out. He tilted his head slightly, listening.
Then another voice spoke, this one unmistakably Orin's, calm, low, but alert. "Who is this?"
The hooded man smiled faintly beneath the cloth. "Oh, Orin… surely by my voice, you already know."
There was a breathless pause, followed by the scrape of the door latch. The door creaked open, and Orin appeared, his long snow-white hair brushing the shoulders of his robe, his eyes wide.
"I am sorry for the delay… My King."
The man pulled back his hood, revealing a weathered but composed face, amber eyes gleaming faintly beneath the shadow of twilight. Thorn, King of Balmount.
He stepped forward with a quiet laugh. "You make me feel like a stranger, Orin."
Orin quickly stepped aside, bowing slightly. "Forgive me, Your Majesty."
From the hallway beyond, his wife emerged. Her lavender hair shimmered faintly, her pale green eyes lowered as she bowed her head. "Forgive me as well, My King… for my poor manners."
Thorn's eyes softened as he regarded her. "No need to be afraid. I am not only a king today. I am also a friend. So, treat me as one."
She bowed again, retreating with a quiet nod, her footsteps vanishing into the halls.
Orin's stance remained formal, but his voice lowered, tinged with unease. "Your Majesty… what brings you here?"
Thorn tilted his head, lips quirking. "Is that how you greet a friend now?"
Orin hesitated, then gave a sheepish smile. "Apologies. Please… come in. It is an honor, truly. I only meant, this is sudden."
Thorn's boots crossed the threshold with a soft thud, his cloak brushing the doorway as he stepped in.
"Such questions, already?" he said, voice warm. "Let's sit first."
Orin's face reddened faintly. "Forgive me, King Thorn." He turned swiftly, his voice more composed. "This way, Your Majesty."
"Thank you," Thorn replied with quiet ease.
As they moved down the corridor, their steps muffled by thick carpets, the late light slanted across the polished wood and woven tapestries. Thorn's eyes wandered, taking in the details, his voice thoughtful. "You've kept this place well, Orin. It feels lived in. Rooted."
Orin gave a small nod, some pride slipping into his tone. "Thank you, my King. The foundation and design… much of it came from your earlier plans for the outer cities. It's all thanks to your vision."
Thorn chuckled softly. "So that's why it felt familiar. It reminds me of a place I once visited as a young man. There was a warmth to it."
Orin glanced at him, curiosity piqued. "Would Your Majesty like to speak of it?"
Thorn gave a slow wave of his hand. "Ah… just one of those quiet stories I carry. From before I became what the world needed. Back when I was louder, more careless… more free. I suppose we all leave pieces of ourselves in the past."
They stopped at a heavy oak door at the end of the hall. Orin opened it gently. "Right this way, my King."
The room was modest but scholarly. Shelves lined with thick, aged books curved toward a domed ceiling. A broad desk lay cluttered with parchment, quills, and unopened scrolls. Thorn stepped in without hesitation, his cloak brushing the doorframe.
"No need for titles now," Thorn said lightly as he took a seat on the cushioned guest chair. "Just call me Thorn."
Orin hesitated, standing behind his desk, uncertain. "My King… why must I call you by name?"
Thorn leaned back, arms resting gently on the armrests. "It is only a title, Orin. A name is no heavier than a sigh. I ask not for disrespect, only for honesty between two men."
Orin lowered his gaze, his voice soft. "I… don't know if I can."
Thorn gestured to the empty seat across from him. "Will you sit?"
Orin nodded quietly. "Yes, Your Majesty," and lowered himself into the chair, his posture still rigid.
Thorn studied him, his voice mild but perceptive. "You're tense. You always are when duty overshadows comfort."
Orin's lips twitched faintly, but he said nothing.
Thorn continued, his tone light again. "You truly won't say my name, hm?"
"I look up to you, my King. That alone makes it difficult."
Thorn nodded, accepting the weight behind the words. "Then I will not press it."
There was a pause, filled by the quiet flicker of a candle on the desk. Then Thorn's tone shifted, lowering.
"I did not send a letter of my arrival for a reason."
Orin looked up, slowly. "It must be because you didn't want eyes following you."
Thorn smiled faintly, tugging lightly at the edge of his cloak. "Yes. I've been careful, lately. This cloak… my wife picked it. She thought it made me look less threatening."
Orin allowed himself a small laugh, tension easing slightly. "The Queen has always had a good eye. It suits you."
Thorn's smile softened with a note of pride. "She is always thinking ahead. Guards the kingdom in her own way. Though she does tend to worry and lecture."
He leaned forward slightly, dropping his voice. "I imagine your wife does the same?"
Orin's chuckle was careful, quiet. "That… I would rather not confirm."
Thorn's eyes crinkled. "Keep that smile, Orin. You will need it."
The air shifted.
Orin's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, Your Majesty?"
Thorn's expression darkened, the weight of kingship settling behind his words. "I came here with a heavy matter. One I did not wish to deliver in front of the council."
Orin straightened. "Yes, my King?"
"I must suspend you from duty, Orin."
The words struck like stone.
Orin's breath caught, his voice rising. "Wait… my King, if I have failed in my role…"
Thorn lifted his hand. Calm, steady.
"This is not about failure. Your duty has never been in question. But you know what stirs beneath this kingdom. The Bloodbound Covenant is not some shadow we can sweep aside with clean hands. And to expose it… will cost us more than most are willing to pay."
Orin leaned forward, his voice tight. "But how does my removal protect anything?"
Thorn met his gaze, voice gentle but unflinching. "Because of what you've already lost."
Orin's jaw clenched. "Don't speak of my son."
Silence followed.
Thorn did not flinch. He said nothing. Let the quiet do its work.
Orin's shoulders fell, breath uneven. His voice cracked. "Forgive me… for raising my tone."
A knock broke the silence. Sharp. Sudden.
Orin stood, voice terse. "Who is that?"
His wife's voice came softly through the door. "It's me, Orin."
Orin let out a weary breath. "Come in."
The door creaked open. She stepped in with slow grace, holding a silver tray. The steam from the teapot curled in the air as she moved, calm and composed. Behind her came their daughter, Serayne. The light caught her pale hair, and her violet eyes held the kind of stillness that made even warmth feel distant. She bowed low, her voice steady but hollow. "Good day, my King."
Orin's wife placed the tray carefully on the desk, her hands moving with quiet care as she poured the tea. Orin leaned slightly toward her, his voice hushed. "Why did you bring her here?"
"She needed to greet the King," she whispered back.
Orin's brows drew tight. "Not when she looks like that."
But Thorn had already risen to his feet. His voice was warm, carrying across the room. "Serayne. My, how much you've grown."
Serayne did not move. Her head remained bowed, her silence tense and unmoving.
Thorn stepped closer, a gentleness behind his words. "Why are you still bowing your head… come now, look at me."
Her reply was quiet, stripped of life. "I am sorry, my King… I wouldn't dare."
Orin began, "Sera…" but Thorn held up a hand.
His voice did not rise, but it became more direct. "And why is that?"
Serayne answered without emotion. "It would be disrespectful."
Thorn took a small breath. "You know, child, in all my younger years, before anyone called me King… I was mocked, pushed aside, and overlooked. And now you think that showing me your face is disrespectful? You carry pain, not insult. So lift your head, Serayne. Please."
Slowly, she obeyed. Her eyes, pale and glassy, met his. They looked hollow, burdened, and worn beyond her. Thorn stared for a long moment, a deep sorrow settling in his features.
"These eyes," he murmured, reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair from her cheek. "They've seen it. The fear. The helplessness. And the moment her brother slipped away… with no way to stop it."
Her jaw trembled. Thorn's voice softened, near a whisper. "You were there when it happened. You couldn't save him. And I… I was not there to protect either of you. That is a truth I cannot erase. I failed you, Serayne. But I will not fail you again."
Her lips parted, a cry building in her throat. Then the tears broke through, her body shaking as she choked out, "My brother… my big brother is gone… and I just watched… I just stood there while he… he was suffering…"
Thorn reached forward and pulled her into an embrace. Her sobs were muffled against his cloak, her fingers gripping the fabric like it was the only solid thing in the world.
"I know," he whispered. "You did everything you could. More than most would have. And your brother… he knew. He knew you were there."
Orin's hands trembled in his lap, his expression breaking as he watched his daughter cry in the arms of a king. His wife stood frozen, one hand to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.
Time passed in silence, except for Serayne's soft cries. When they finally ceased, she was gone from the room, led away quietly. The tray of tea sat untouched.
Orin's wife bowed gently, her hands empty now. "Thank you, my King… for what you have done for my daughter."
Thorn's voice was low, measured. "It's nothing. But what I said to her… about finding the one responsible for her brother's death… was not said for comfort alone."
She bowed again, deeper this time. "Thank you, my King."
And without another word, she turned and left, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
Orin's voice was hoarse, quiet as a whisper. "Thank you, my King… I didn't know how to comfort her. Not truly. Not even once."
Thorn sat down again, the cushion creaking beneath him. His tone carried the heaviness of someone who had long walked the line between personal sacrifice and duty. "That, I cannot blame you for. But now, more than ever… what she needs is you. Not as a knight. Not as a servant of the crown. As her father."
Orin nodded slowly, then hesitated. "Is that… is that why you're suspending me?"
Thorn met his eyes. His voice did not waver. "Yes. That's why. I've spoken to my trusted friend…he's expecting you. You and your family will leave the kingdom before first light."
Orin's throat tightened. "Leave…? Will they even be safe? Will they be happy?" His voice cracked as he tried to suppress a tremor. "Why not let me face it? Why not let me fight?"
Thorn's expression hardened, his gaze steady and cool. "Fight what, Orin? A war that has already rooted itself in the hearts of men? We don't win by throwing ourselves at the fire. We win by knowing who we can still shield from it."
Orin leaned forward, desperate. "Let me join you, then. If there's any chance to help you…"
"No," Thorn cut in, not with anger, but finality. "You cannot be part of what is coming. You've already buried one child. I won't let you risk the rest of your family. That would make me no better than the ones we fight."
Orin sat back, stunned. His voice lowered to a whisper. "My King…"
Thorn's tone softened, but the weight of his words remained. "It was not an easy decision, Orin. But it's always the good ones… the dutiful, the honest, the ones who carry guilt like a second skin… that die first. And the High Chancellor knows that. He'll come for those closest to me. And you? You're too easy to use. He'll twist your loyalty until it becomes a blade."
Orin looked away, defeated. "So you're sending me to Dreadholm…"
"Yes," Thorn said. "You'll live there quietly. The Dominion's walls are not held up by corruption. They are a people bound by sacrifice. Their leaders still know what it means to bleed for the ones they love. Unlike this court. Unlike our council."
Orin's voice was nearly broken. "My King, I have never asked for anything… never. I would give everything for this kingdom."
Thorn chuckled quietly, the sound dry and tired. "I know. And that's the problem. You'd give too much. You'd give even when there's nothing left. But Orin, you're not a shield for the world. You're a father. A husband. You forget that."
He paused, letting the silence sit.
"Look at the Countess," Thorn continued. "No family. No ties. Yet she protects what she does have with selfishness dressed as pride. She'll burn cities before she lets harm come to what's hers. But you? You would die to save strangers, and leave your daughter alone to mourn another grave."
Orin slumped in his chair, staring at the cup of tea. "Even Dreadholm isn't safe from the world."
"No place is," Thorn said, steady. "But there, your family stands a chance. They'll be watched over. Protected. And when this is over… you'll return."
Orin breathed in, then nodded once. "Then I'll leave tomorrow."
Thorn smiled, brief but genuine. "Good. A team will arrive before dawn. I'll make sure everything is quiet. I'll be here to see you off myself."
Orin's voice lowered again. "Thank you, Your Majesty… but how will you stop the Covenant?"
Thorn's smile faded. His eyes dimmed, haunted. "I don't know. Not yet. All I know is I must protect the people until the time is right to strike. That's the only plan worth anything."
Orin nodded, jaw tight. "I will always serve you. Even from afar, my King."
Thorn chuckled softly, lifting the teacup. "Then you better. Because when this ends… you and I will rebuild a kingdom from the ashes."
He took a sip. His eyes widened. "Still the Countess's blend, I see."
Orin gave a small smile. "Yes. My wife always finds a way to get it fresh."
Thorn's tone lightened. "If only that Countess didn't make my life miserable."
Orin chuckled. "You really do dislike her."
Thorn grinned slyly. "Of course I do. She keeps my wife working so much that I barely see her. And don't get me started on her new rules."
Orin raised an eyebrow. "Rules?"
Thorn exhaled dramatically. "No maids. No outside flings. Says it's for my health. Can you believe it? I'm being denied everything."
Orin laughed awkwardly. "That serious, huh? Not sure if I should laugh or apologize."
Thorn leaned back with a dramatic groan. "Just comfort me. My wife says it's for my own good, but still…"
Orin gave him a playful look. "Well, it seems she knows you too well."
Thorn's voice softened again, the warmth returning. "She does. And I love her for it. I'd burn the world to keep her safe."