"Again," Conrad ordered.
Arthur stood in the center of the training grounds, sweat dripping from his nose. In his hand, the Sword of Bellona was dark and heavy. On his shoulder, the tiny, chibi-form of the Devil yawned, cleaning her claws.
"You're too tense," Bellona squeaked. "You're holding me like I'm a club. I am a scalpel, you oaf."
"You weigh a ton," Arthur gritted out.
"I weigh what your spirit weighs," Bellona countered. "Lighten up."
Arthur took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, focusing on the hum in his blood. Since the battle with Vane, the hum had changed. It wasn't a jagged scream anymore; it was a deep, ocean-like roar. The black moss around his heart pulsed in rhythm with it.
He didn't need to draw more power. He needed to draw less.
"Target inbound," Richard called out from the side.
The Commander threw a single, dried autumn leaf into the air. It fluttered down, dancing on the breeze.
Arthur watched it. His instinct was to unleash the Void—to slash the air and obliterate the leaf, the wind, and probably the wall behind it. That was easy. Destruction was easy.
Control, Arthur told himself. Just a spark.
He visualized a dam holding back a black ocean. He opened a crack—tiny, microscopic.
Two percent.
The red veins in his arms glowed faintly. The sword hummed, a low, purring sound.
Arthur moved.
It wasn't a blur of speed. It was a single, fluid arc. The blade passed through the air with a sound like tearing silk.
Snip.
The leaf split perfectly in half. The two pieces fluttered to the ground. The air around it didn't explode. The cobblestones didn't crack. The tree behind it remained standing.
Silence filled the courtyard.
Conrad walked over. He picked up the two halves of the leaf. The cut was so clean the edges looked polished.
"Well," Conrad grunted, a rare look of approval on his scarred face. "You didn't destroy my training ground this time."
"It was perfect," Richard nodded, sheathing his own sword. "Precision over power. That is how a soldier fights."
Arthur slumped, stabbing the sword into the dirt to lean on it. "It felt... weak. Just two percent. Vane would have laughed at that."
"Vane is dead," Bellona hopped off his shoulder, growing to the size of a large dog so she could look him in the eye. "And do not mistake volume for victory, boy. Holding back an ocean takes more strength than letting the dam break. Two percent stable? From where we started? That is a mountain."
She headbutted his leg affectionately. "You're doing okay, Master."
Arthur smiled, scratching her behind the horns. "Thanks, Bell."
"Don't call me Bell," she hissed, but she didn't move away.
That evening, the castle was suffocating. A banquet was being held for the Guild of Masons, celebrating the completion of the West Wing repairs.
Arthur hated banquets. He hated the stiff collars, the small forks, and the way nobles looked at him like he was a prize exhibit.
He escaped to the only place he felt normal—the roof of the Astronomy Tower.
He sat on the edge, legs dangling over the precipice, watching the city lights.
"I knew I'd find you here."
Arthur turned. Erika was climbing out of the trapdoor, hiking up the skirts of a heavy velvet gown. She looked exhausted but beautiful, the moonlight catching the silver circlet in her hair.
"Your Majesty," Arthur teased, making a show of trying to stand up.
"Sit down, hero," Erika laughed, settling beside him. She kicked off her shoes and sighed with pure relief. "If I have to hear one more speech about the 'structural integrity of flying buttresses,' I'm going to abdicate."
"I thought you liked architecture," Arthur said. "Maya said you were asking about load-bearing arches."
"I like knowing my castle won't fall down," Erika corrected. "I don't like listening to Baron Finch drone on about limestone density for three hours."
They sat in silence for a moment, the comfortable silence of two people.
"It feels empty without him, doesn't it?" Erika asked softly.
"Yeah," Arthur looked north, toward the invisible path Leo had taken. "Leo was... loud. He filled up the space. Now it's just... quiet."
"He's happy, though," Erika said. "I got a report from the border patrol. They saw him on the deck of the Cloud-Strider, trying to teach the Sky Guards how to play cards. Apparently, he's winning."
Arthur chuckled. "Of course, he is. He cheats."
He looked at Erika. She was staring at the moon, her expression soft and unguarded. The hum in his blood warmed, a gentle thrum that had nothing to do with magic.
"Erika," Arthur said.
She turned to him. "Yes?"
Arthur hesitated. He wanted to tell her... something. He didn't know what. That he was glad she was alive? That she looked nice in blue? That the only reason he accepted the devil's bargain was because the thought of a world without her was darker than the Void?
"I'm glad you're the Queen," he said instead. "You're good at it."
Erika's eyes searched his face. She saw the scar on his neck, the way his hand rested protectively near hers.
"I'm only good at it," she whispered, "because I know I have the strongest shield in the world."
She reached out and took his hand. Her fingers laced with his.
Arthur looked at their hands. His were rough, scarred, stained with ink and sword-oil. Hers were smooth, pale, royal.
They shouldn't fit. But they did.
"I'm not going anywhere," Arthur promised.
They sat there until the moon went down, holding hands on top of the world.
"Oh. My. Gods."
Maya slammed the door of the Queen's solar, leaning against it as if to barricade them in.
Erika was already sitting on her bed, her face buried in a pillow. She looked up, her face bright red.
"Don't," Erika groaned.
"You held hands!" Maya squealed, jumping onto the bed. "On the roof! In the moonlight! It's like a bad romance novel, Erika! Did he kiss you?"
"No!" Erika threw a cushion at her. "We just... talked. And held hands. It was... nice."
"Nice?" Maya caught the cushion. "Nice is a cup of tea. This is... scandalously adorable. The Queen and the Hero. The bards are going to lose their minds."
Erika rolled onto her back, staring at the canopy. "He's just... Arthur. He doesn't treat me like porcelain. He treats me like real normal person."
"That's because he sees you," Maya said, her teasing tone fading into sincerity. "He really sees you, Erika. And you see him."
Erika smiled, a dreamy, terrifyingly vulnerable look on her face. "I think... I think I'm in trouble, Maya."
"Why?"
"Because," Erika whispered, "I don't think I can stop thinking about him. And I'm the Queen. Queens don't get to fall in love with farmboys."
"Make a new rule," Maya reminded her.
"I'm working on it," Erika grinned.
Maya laughed, but as she looked at her friend, a shadow crossed her face. She remembered the loose thread in the archives. The missing guards. The scribe who fell.
Love was blooming in the castle. But so was something else.
"I'm happy for you," Maya said, pushing the dark thoughts away for tonight. "Now, tell me everything. Did his hand sweat? Was it awkward?"
"It was perfect," Erika sighed.
And for one night, in the heart of Aethelgard, that was enough.