The gardens of Winterbell Palace were unusually quiet this evening, dew clinging to the roses like whispers waiting to bloom.
Khalid Caelum stood alone, his gold eyes turned skyward.
Five years.
Five years since he betrayed the kingdom he once bled for.
The kingdom that bled for him.
Elaris.
He'd buried Caelan with his own hands or so the world believed.
And now, Khalid wore the Wolf Sigil of Winterbell on his shoulder, a title he never asked for: Duke of the West.
To some, a hero.
To others, a tamed blade.
But never… free.
"You're quiet tonight," a voice said behind him.
Khalid turned, half-expecting Elior's ever-sharp gaze or another courtier playing at politics. But no this voice was colder. Smoother.
It was Prince Flynn.
He approached with practiced ease, white hair almost silver in the starlight, violet eyes unreadable. There was something haunting about him lately. Like a ghost that remembered more than it should.
"My apologies, Your Highness," Khalid said with a bow. "I was lost in thought."
Flynn hummed. "Dangerous, for a man in your position."
A flicker of tension moved through Khalid's jaw. "Should I be worried?"
Flynn offered a small smile. "Should you?"
He walked past Khalid, pausing only once to pluck a white rose from the bush beside them.
"You served the crown well in battle," Flynn said quietly, examining the flower. "But loyalty… it isn't always born of love. Sometimes it's born of guilt."
Khalid said nothing.
Flynn's tone didn't accuse, but every word felt like it peeled back a layer of skin.
Then, just as suddenly, the prince turned, all ice and elegance. "Rest well, Duke Caelum. The kingdom still needs its hound."
As the prince disappeared into the palace halls, Khalid stood motionless, the word echoing in his ears.
Hound.
Not knight. Not savior.
A blade on a leash.
He looked down at the rose in his hand.
His fingers had trembled. Just slightly.
For five years, he thought the past had been buried with Caelan's corpse.
But lately, Flynn's eyes looked too familiar.
Too knowing.
And tonight, in the distance, Khalid had seen something strange a scroll tucked beneath Flynn's cloak. Old parchment. The kind kept deep beneath the palace.
And the prince's subtle slip mentioning "guilt", when no one had ever spoken the word aloud.
Had he remembered something?
Or… was it something more?
Khalid clenched his fist.
If the past was clawing its way back, he needed to prepare.
Because if the truth ever surfaced
He would lose everything.
Even the forgiveness he had never truly earned.
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