Vaelen stepped out of the blacksmith's forge, the iron door dragging shut behind him with a weighty clang — less like a door closing, more like a seal locking.
For a moment, the world felt hushed.
The sky, once drowned in gray, began to tear open. Shafts of sunlight broke free, pouring down in fractured brilliance, gilding the dust on the street. It felt staged, almost mocking — as if the sun had been waiting for him, and only him, to emerge.
He lingered on the threshold, the forge's heat clinging to his back, the cool air brushing his face.
A sigh escaped, quiet, almost stolen.
"Now Velza and the blacksmith are alone," he thought.
"Now I'll finally have time to dig around. All thanks to Velza's curious nature."
A pause, then a sly smirk.
"Now… let's see who's getting the prince treatment from Lyssa."
He moved through the noble district first — the houses stacked tight, walls nearly brushing each other, their balconies dripping with velvet and silver banners. Perfume clung to the air, mixing with the sweat of servants rushing between carriages. Gossip traveled faster here than footsteps.
But then the street opened.
The closeness vanished, replaced by silence. Estates spread wide like kingdoms of their own, each with a vast front yard big enough to swallow the homes he'd just passed. Marble lions crouched on stairways, fountains sang in the sunlight, hedges were trimmed into shapes so precise they felt smug.
Vaelen's jaw tightened. To these people, wealth wasn't just about gold or jewels — it was about space. The sheer distance between their walls and their neighbors' was a statement: we don't need to be close to anyone. Not even each other.
"Which house was it… yeah, the one with the big old tree."
"Let's go…"
He started off with confidence, boots steady on cobblestone.
The first estate he reached had a massive willow bending over its courtyard. He stopped, squinted.
"Nope. Wrong tree. Too droopy. Looks like it's crying."
The next mansion had an oak so wide it nearly blocked the view of the house. He tilted his head, considered it.
"Close. But no… too fat. The tree I'm looking for's got character."
Another hour dragged by. Every noble home was another monument to excess — fountains carved into angels, gates plated with gold, and lawns so wide you could lose a small army in them.
At the third estate, he spotted a massive pine towering above the roof. He smirked, walked closer—then saw the noble crest hammered into the gate.
"Of course. Wrong family. Naturally." He exhaled sharply. "Should've known the tree wasn't the only thing here that's prickly."
Carriages rolled past, horses snorting as the nobles inside eyed him like he'd wandered too close to a sacred temple.
By the time the sun shifted west, he was muttering at every estate he passed.
"Too small."
"Too neat."
"That one looks like it's been trimmed since birth. Definitely not it."
When he finally caught sight of the tree — vast, ancient, its shadow covering half the courtyard like a shroud — his jaw tightened, lips curling into a humorless grin.
"There you are," he breathed, half exhausted, half triumphant.
The house wasn't just big. It was waiting.
He stepped closer, eyes flicking to the massive old tree that loomed over the courtyard.
"Now I have to find a way to sneak in… let's climb the tree."
A faint shimmer crawled across his boots as he pressed a hand against the bark. The rough surface pulsed faintly with runes, responding to the whisper of magic he channeled through his palm. The bark shifted beneath his grip like steps forming just for him. He ascended quickly, movements sharp and precise, the faint glow tracing his path upward.
From his perch among the higher branches, he finally got a line of sight through the second-story window.
Someone was walking down the hallway — Lyssa uniform swaying with each step. Behind her trailed two maids… and a certain someone keeping pace in their shadow.
Vaelen narrowed his eyes.
"Damn these branches… can't even see properly." He shifted, trying to lean for a better angle.
"It seems they've entered a room."
He almost had a clear view when Lyssa turned her head — her gaze brushing across the window. Almost catching him.
But by the time her eyes swept past, he was already gone. Flattened against the thick trunk, the faintest grin playing at his lips.
From below, a stern voice cut through the silence.
"Your Highness."
Vaelen looked down. Velza stood there, armored, arms folded, her steel pauldron catching the sunlight like a warning.
"Have you finished eavesdropping yet?"
He gave a soft, scoffing laugh — then leapt.
His boots struck the cobblestone with barely a whisper. Dust shimmered in the air where he landed, but his balance didn't falter.
"Now I am a goner, no doubt," he muttered with a crooked smirk.
He straightened lazily, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder.
"Am I hurt?" he asked flatly, eyes flicking toward her. "Do I look like I'm hurt?"
Velza's jaw tightened. She didn't answer.
Vaelen rolled his wrists, tugging at his gloves. His voice dropped, sharp with venom.
"Anyway… what excuse for a father is he hiding behind now?" His tone turned to a hiss. "If only he'd choke on his own lies and make room for someone with a spine."
He exhaled, then added in a mock sing-song:
"Long live the King."
Velza's gaze flickered, but her reply was steady, if stiff.
"I… wouldn't know, Highness. It isn't my place."
That earned her a sharp laugh — humorless, biting.
"Oh, right. I forgot. You're just the poor little 'guardian' they shackled to my paws." His lips curled faintly, muttering almost to himself: "That fool."
Her head dipped — only slightly. Shame flickered in the movement.
Vaelen smirked faintly, but his expression shifted as his eyes lifted back toward the high window.
There — Nia was gazing down at him, her face framed by the glass.
His smirk faded into something quieter. He placed a hand over his chest, fingers curled like a shield across his heart, while the other swept outward in a slow, deliberate arc. With the poise of a seasoned performer, he bowed low toward her — a silent gesture of honor meant for her eyes alone.
When he rose, the softness was gone, replaced once more by steel. He turned sharply.
"Enough of this. Let's move."