A week later.
Thorwin had grown familiar with the castle.
Not out of interest, nor from any sudden fondness for its vast halls or carefully arranged corridors, but because he had been dragged through nearly every corner of it by the young prince. Day after day, Arthas had insisted on showing him something new. The training yards, the armory, the outer walls, even the quieter passages where servants moved unseen. There was no escaping it. Wherever Thorwin went, Arthas followed—or more often, led. And so, familiarity came.
Arthas had become a constant presence at his side, second only to Cedric and Falstad. The prince carried an energy that rarely dimmed, a restless eagerness that pulled Thorwin along whether he wished it or not. It was… exhausting. At times unbearable. Yet, there was something in it that Thorwin could not bring himself to reject entirely. There was no malice in the boy. No pretense. Only a straightforward desire to be close; to learn, to spar, to talk, to exist alongside him.
And then there was Jaina.
Her time was no longer his alone.
Since their arrival, she had grown closer to Princess Calia, their companionship blooming quickly into something easy and natural. They spent long hours together, often disappearing into rooms where laughter and hushed voices slipped through closed doors. Conversations that stretched on endlessly—gossip, stories, things Thorwin neither understood nor had the patience for.
He found himself… left out. And yet, he could not bring himself to resent it. If anything, he felt relief. There had been moments, back in Kul Tiras, where he wondered if he had taken too much of her time. If his presence had quietly pushed away opportunities she should have had—to form friendships, to belong among others her age. Seeing her now; smiling, laughing, at ease, it eased something within him he had not fully acknowledged before. Even if it left him with Arthas.
Today, however, was different. Both Calia and Jaina would be joining them. The palace gardens had been chosen as their destination, a place far removed from the rigid structure of halls and courtly expectations. Open air. Space. Something lighter. It had been Arthas' idea, of course. A compromise, born from his earlier disappointment.
He had asked for a spar.
Thorwin had refused.
Immediately.
Without hesitation.
The answer had come too quickly, too firmly—enough to catch even Arthas off guard. But Thorwin had not wavered. He knew better now. Knew what could happen if he allowed himself to lose focus, even for a moment. The whispers… they did not come "with warning. And when they did, they took more than just his attention. They took control. The thought alone was enough. He would not risk it. Not here. Not with a prince.
The consequences would be far greater than a simple mistake. It would not only shatter whatever fragile trust had begun to form between them—it would ripple outward, reaching beyond the castle walls, touching alliances, kingdoms, and everything his name carried with it.
So instead—
He agreed to this gathering.
"Fascinating," he remarked softly, the word slipping from his lips as though carried by the gentle breeze itself. His eyes wandered; no, drank, in every detail of the flourishing fauna that surrounded him. Petals of every hue swayed in quiet harmony, kissed by the golden touch of sunlight, while the scent of blooming flowers lingered richly in the air. It stirred something deep within him, something tender and almost aching. Mother would have loved it here. She had always adored gardens, spending countless afternoons wandering the quiet paths of Stonewind Keep, her laughter light as the wind through the hedges.
How he wished she could see this now.
The thought settled heavily in his chest, bittersweet and unrelenting. The Palace Garden was no mere ornament to its name; it lived, breathed, and thrived with an almost enchanted vitality. It stretched endlessly before him, vast and meticulously kept, yet wild in its beauty. At its heart stood a grand maze of sculpted topiary, its winding paths both inviting and secretive, as though guarding stories long forgotten. Birds sang from unseen branches, their melodies weaving into the constant hum of insects hidden among the leaves. Together, they formed a quiet symphony that filled the air; a living, breathing chorus of nature itself.
Thorwin paused, allowing the moment to settle within him. For a fleeting instant, the world felt still. Whole.
Then, as his gaze drifted once more across the expanse of green, something caught his eye, three figures, seated beneath the shelter of a great tree. Their silhouettes shifted with the light, partially veiled by the dancing shadows of leaves. He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, curiosity pulling him forward.
"Thorwin!"
The call rang out;bright, eager, unmistakably youthful.
Arthas, he thought at once.
He began to approach, his steps measured yet drawn by the familiarity of the voice. As he neared, the figures took form, their features sharpening into recognition. Jaina sat poised with her usual quiet grace, her golden hair catching the sunlight like strands of spun silk. Beside her, Calia held herself with gentle composure, her presence warm yet dignified. And there, closest to Jaina, was Arthas, animated, smiling, utterly at ease.
They were seated upon a large silk blanket, its fabric spread neatly over the grass like a small island of luxury amidst nature. An assortment of delicacies lay arranged before them; fruits, pastries, and sweets of all kinds, their colors as vibrant as the garden itself. It was a simple gathering, yet one touched with unmistakable care. There was even space left—deliberately so—for him.
And yet…
As Thorwin's gaze lingered, something stirred within him.
A quiet, unwelcome sensation tugged at his chest.
His eyes fell upon Arthas, seated just beside Jaina; close, comfortable, as though such proximity was the most natural thing in the world. There was laughter between them, an ease that seemed effortless. And in that single, unguarded moment, something within Thorwin tightened.
It was subtle. Almost imperceptible.
But it was there.
Something… painful.
"There you go again, staring absentmindedly, Thorwin."
Arthas' voice cut cleanly through the haze of his thoughts, sharp enough to pull him back, yet light enough to betray no real concern. In that single moment, Thorwin felt everything within him tighten—the ache, the quiet unrest, the fragile thoughts he had not wished to confront. And just as quickly, he buried it all.
It was almost instinctive.
Within a heartbeat, his expression shifted. The faint tension in his features dissolved, replaced by a practiced ease—a smile, warm and effortless to any untrained eye. He inclined his head in greeting toward Jaina and Calia, his voice steady, composed, betraying nothing of the storm he had just silenced. Then, with measured calm, he took his place beside Arthas, settling into the gathering as though he had never been elsewhere at all.
The prince, however, seemed to not mind it.
Arthas spoke with boundless enthusiasm, his words flowing freely as he recounted one feat after another; hunts, lessons, small victories inflated with youthful pride. There was a certain charm to it, undeniably so, though it carried the unmistakable eagerness of a boy seeking approval. Or perhaps… something more. He laughed easily, gestured broadly, his eyes often drifting toward Jaina as though silently asking to be seen, to be admired.
It was almost endearing.
Almost.
Jaina's laughter rang out now and again, light and genuine, weaving together with Calia's softer amusement. The sound should have been pleasant, should have eased something within him, but instead, it only seemed to press further against that quiet ache in his chest. Each shared glance, each moment of ease between them, fed that unnamed feeling he could neither grasp nor cast aside.
And so, Thorwin did what he had always done.
He turned to the one refuge that required no explanation.
He ate.
Piece after piece, slow and methodical, his movements controlled, deliberate. To any observer, it would seem nothing more than quiet enjoyment, perhaps even politeness. But in truth, it was something else entirely. A distraction. A shield. Something to occupy his hands, his thoughts, his gaze, anything to keep that growing discomfort at bay.
He would continue, he told himself. Continue until it passed. Until whatever this was… ceased to matter.
Unbeknownst to him, he was not as unseen as he believed. Jaina watched. Not openly, not in a way that would draw attention; but carefully, quietly, with a familiarity that spoke of years. Her gaze lingered on him more often than it should have, catching the subtle rhythm of his movements, the way his focus shifted, not truly on the food, but somewhere distant, unreachable.
She knew this.
She had seen it before, countless times, in the halls of Kul Tiras when noble scions gathered in their polished circles of courtesy and pretense. Thorwin had always been the same;present, composed, even engaging… yet never fully there. He would eat just as he was now, absentmindedly yet with such precision that none could call it strange. His replies would remain sharp, timely, almost flawless. No one ever noticed.
No one, except her. Tides… She knew what this meant. Or at least, she believed she did. And yet, knowing did little to ease the quiet sting settling within her chest.
There was something about it—something deeply unsettling.
He was not enjoying this.
Not truly.
And though she could not quite name why, the realization hurt more than she cared to admit. Hurt that he would retreat into himself… and hurt, perhaps most of all, that he would do so even in her presence.
Her fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of her dress, the faintest tremor betraying her composure. For a fleeting moment, tears threatened to rise; unwelcome, unbidden. But Jaina Proudmoore was not so easily overcome. She steadied herself. She would not break over something so small. And so, she smiled when expected, laughed at whatever joke Arthas threw, and carried herself as though nothing had changed at all.
Until the day faded.
And night came.
The palace, once alive with warmth and quiet chatter, settled into stillness. Shadows stretched long across the halls, illuminated only by the soft glow of lantern light. Within her chamber, Jaina sat in silence, the events of the afternoon replaying themselves with stubborn persistence.
Ignore him, she told herself. Until the morrow.
It was the sensible choice. The composed choice. And yet… Sleep would not come. No matter how she turned, no matter how she closed her eyes, her thoughts returned to him; to the quiet distance in his gaze, to the careful way he had hidden himself behind practiced ease. It lingered, relentless, refusing to be dismissed.
Many had said she possessed her father's stubbornness. Tonight, it proved true. With a quiet exhale, she rose from her bed, reaching for a small lamp to light her way. The flame flickered to life, casting a gentle glow that danced along the walls of her chamber. Without another moment of hesitation, she stepped into the corridor beyond.
The palace halls stretched before her, vast and silent, adorned with towering statues and grand paintings that watched her passage with unmoving eyes. Each step echoed softly against the polished floors, her presence a lone disturbance in the sleeping estate.
She did not falter. Not once. Until at last, she stood before a familiar door. Thorwin's chamber. And there, beneath the quiet flicker of her lamp, she paused. The flame trembled ever so slightly, its glow casting soft, wavering shadows along the carved wood before her. For a fleeting moment, she simply stood there, her breath slow, her thoughts gathering and unraveling all at once. Then, with a quiet sigh that barely stirred the silence, she raised her hand… and knocked. She knew he was not asleep. He rarely was.
"Who's there?" came a hushed voice from the other side, low and cautious, yet unmistakably his.
Jaina stepped closer, her forehead resting lightly against the cool surface of the door, as though seeking steadiness from it. Her voice, when she spoke, was softer than the night itself.
"It's me, Thorwin."
Silence followed.
A brief pause, but one that lingered just long enough to be felt. Then came the quiet sound of movement, the shifting of metal as locks were undone one by one, each click echoing faintly through the stillness. Then the door opened and before he could even utter a word, she stepped past him.
Her movements were calm, deliberate, though not without purpose. She crossed the threshold and made her way toward the center of the room, the soft light of her lamp revealing the familiar order of his space, the careful neatness that spoke so much of who he was.
"It's late."
Thorwin's voice came from behind her, accompanied by the low creak of the door as it closed. There was no sharpness in it, no real reproach;only quiet observation.
But she did not turn. Instead, her gaze wandered. Slowly, thoughtfully, as though memorizing the room anew. It drifted across the shelves, the scattered pages, until it finally settled upon the study table; littered with books, notes, and ink, all bearing the marks of long hours spent in solitude.
For a moment… she hesitated.
A part of her wished to say nothing at all. To simply leave, reassured by his presence, knowing he was well, and spare herself whatever this confrontation might become. But she had not come this far for silence.
"Still studying this late?" she asked at last, her voice composed, though quieter than before.
"Yeah." He smiled. But it was not the kind of smile she had known. It was restrained—carefully measured, as though held back by something unseen. As he spoke, he moved toward the study, gathering the scattered books into a neater pile, his hands steady, almost too steady. "I missed quite a lot of time reading economics—"
The words were casual. Almost light. Yet, to Jaina, they felt heavier than they should have. It hurt… seeing him like this.
"—with Arthas dragging me from morning until sunset."
There it was again, that familiar thread of quiet humor, laced beneath his words. For a brief moment, an image flickered in her mind; Arthas, insistent and relentless, pulling him along without pause. It almost drew a smile from her.
Almost. But she held it back. Not yet. Not before she had said what she came to say. Her fingers curled slightly at her side, steadying herself as she lifted her gaze toward him.
"Thorwin," she called again, her voice softer this time; fragile, as though it might break if pressed any further.
For a moment, the words refused to come. They lingered at the edge of her lips, heavy with hesitation, tangled in doubt. She drew in a quiet breath, steadying herself, before finally pushing through the silence.
"When we were in the garden… with Arthas and Calia…"
She faltered, her gaze lowering briefly, as if searching for the right way to say what she feared might change everything.
"You were doing that thing again… that thing you do when you're bored of everyone around you."
Thorwin shifted slightly, his lips parting as though to respond, but nothing came. The thoughts in his mind, so often sharp and precise, now seemed scattered beyond reach. And so, he remained silent, allowing her to continue, even as something within him tightened with each passing second.
"Even though you were talking…" she went on, her voice wavering despite her efforts to steady it, "I couldn't help but feel like you were ignoring me."
Her chest rose and fell unevenly. Then, quietly, she said "I… was hurt." The confession came undone with the first tear. It slipped down her cheek before she could stop it, followed by another, and another, until the fragile composure she had so carefully maintained began to unravel. Her hands rose instinctively, brushing against her eyes in a futile attempt to hold back what could no longer be contained.
But it was no use.
A soft sob escaped her, and soon after, she found herself weeping, her head lowered, her shoulders trembling ever so slightly as she stood before him, vulnerable in a way she had never allowed herself to be.
Thorwin's breath caught.
For a moment, he simply stood there, watching her, stricken, unmoving. Then, as though compelled by something deeper than thought, he stepped forward. His arms lifted, reaching toward her… only to falter midway. Doubt. Uncertainty. It all flickered across him in that brief pause. But then, he chose.
Gently, he closed the distance between them and drew her into an embrace.
Careful. Hesitant.
Yet real.
His head rested lightly against hers, his hold firm enough to steady, but soft enough not to overwhelm. For a moment, he said nothing, only held her, as though that alone might be enough to mend what had been broken.
"Sorry," he whispered at last, his voice low, almost lost against her hair. "I was just…"
The words trailed off.
She felt it; the hesitation in him, the unfinished thought.
Slowly, she pulled back, though not completely. Her hands remained lightly against him as she lifted her tear-streaked face to meet his gaze. Her eyes, reddened and glistening, searched his with quiet insistence.
"Tell me why," she said.
It was not a demand.
It was something softer… yet far more difficult to refuse.
"I…" He faltered. A faint flush crept across his cheeks, subtle yet unmistakable. His gaze shifted briefly, as though the truth itself was something he struggled to face, let alone speak aloud. "It hurts… seeing you laugh at Arthas' jokes."
The words came slowly, unevenly, as though each one had to be forced free.
"It's childish, I know it is. I shouldn't feel that way…" he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost self-critical. "But I did. And I didn't know what to do with it."
He exhaled softly, his shoulders lowering just a fraction. "So… I thought it would be better if I kept to myself."
Silence followed.
Jaina stared at him, utterly still.
Flabbergasted.
This was the first time Thorwin had ever confessed something like this.
By the tides… she had never once heard of him being jealous.
Not once.
Ever since he had returned from that distant kingdom, there had always been a quiet distance about him—something unseen, yet ever-present. He spoke when spoken to, answered when required, and carried himself with a composure far beyond his years. But never… never like this.
He would speak of his thoughts, yes—but only in fragments. Only in passing.
Sometimes, when the memory of his mother surfaced, his voice would soften, and for a fleeting moment, the walls he built around himself would thin. Other times, he would allude to the horrors he had endured; never directly, never in detail, always stopping short, as though the weight of those memories was not something he wished her to bear. I would not dirty your ears with such things, he would say. And that would be the end of it. And as the two years after his return passed, a quiet thought had begun to take root within her, one she had never dared to voice aloud. That perhaps… he only showed her what he thought she wanted to see. A version of himself, carefully shaped. Carefully controlled.
But this… this was different. This was honest. And then, like a quiet tide returning to shore, a realization came to her. In these recent days, these fleeting, fragile moments they had shared,Thorwin had begun to change. No… not change. But return. Return to who he once was. The boy who spoke of grand dreams with shining eyes, the one who wished to become a knight, to stand fearless against monsters, to carve his name into stories not yet written. The boy who laughed freely, who did not weigh every word, who did not hide behind silence.
He was still there. Not lost. Not gone. Only buried… and now, slowly, finding his way back. Something in her softened. The tension she had carried, the quiet ache she had tried so hard to ignore, melted into something warmer, something gentler, yet far more profound. A small, incredulous smile found its way to her lips.
Before he could even react, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a sudden, unguarded embrace. There was no hesitation in it, no restraint;only sincerity, only warmth. As though she refused to let that part of him slip away again.
"Silly," she whispered softly, her voice brushing against him like a quiet breeze.