He was halfway across the courtyard when he heard it.
“Royal Menace, wait.”
The voice arrived with a weary exhale. Thalen turned to find Cedric by the stable gate, one arm tucked behind his back. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then gave it another try.
“So—uh. Listen.”
Thalen blinked, curiosity stirring, and wandered closer.
“I just—” Cedric paused, then muttered something under his breath. “Look. You saved our asses.”
“Of course I did.”
“I didn’t say you shouldn’t have,” Cedric grumbled. “I’m saying… I appreciate it. Or something like that.”
Thalen’s chest puffed slightly. His heart did something that felt both heavy and light at the same time. “Well,” he said, straightening, “you’re welcome. I like to be useful.”
“I’ve noticed,” Cedric muttered, and then without meeting his eyes he pulled something from behind his back and shoved it toward him.
It was a small wooden sword. The hilt was carved with quiet care, the wood dark and smooth from sanding. The blade edge was even dulled with a burnished finish. Practice-safe. But real.
“This is for you,” Cedric explained, still not looking at him. “So, you don’t kill yourself practicing. Or whatever.”
Thalen stared. His throat caught without warning. His vision swam for just a second. His chin quivered.
“You did this for me?” he asked, voice painfully small.
Cedric shrugged. “Don’t make it a thing.”
Too late.
Thalen launched forward and wrapped his arms around Cedric in a full, undignified, bone-tight hug. Cedric went rigid, like he’d just been struck by a slow-moving cart. After a long second, he gave Thalen two incredibly awkward pats on the top of the head.
“There you go. That’s enough.”
Thalen released him with reluctant pride and held the sword in both hands like it might hum if he listened hard enough. “Thank you,” he said, his voice cracked halfway through.
And then he turned and ran—bolting across the stables like the sword might vanish if he didn’t show someone immediately.
He’d show his mother first. Then Evelyne.
Because this—this was everything.
Chapter 65
By the time Alaric finally slipped from his chambers, Isildeth was already inside. He’d lingered longer than planned—long enough to watch Evelyne stir, tease her, and leave her with a kiss pressed to her brow. Then the Silverwards closed the door behind him, and the castle’s rhythm reclaimed him.
Cedric was waiting, striding toward him with an expression that practically radiated unsatisfied curiosity.
“Your Highness,” Cedric greeted, his voice thick with barely restrained amusement as he gave a mock bow. “The king summons you to his solar.”
“Thank you, Cedric,” he said smoothly. “How thoughtful of you.”
There was a beat of silence as they stood there, the weight of Cedric’s stare growing heavier by the second. The man lasted precisely three heartbeats before he blurted, “Well? Tell me how it was!”
Alaric smirked as he turned towards the king's study.
“She is a lady, Cedric,” he explained, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I won’t satisfy your curiosity with details.”
