The hallways of Fort Lethen were quiet at this hour—quiet in the way graveyards were. The stone walls held no warmth, and the lanterns that lined them cast no true light, only a pale blue glow meant to preserve night vision for the watch. Lira moved through them swiftly, her high-heels boots making a clapping sound. Her robes trailed behind her like whispered intentions.
She didn't look back toward the healer's hall. Reivo was sedated. His body had finally surrendered to rest after hours of painful reconstruction and a dosage that would've knocked out a lesser man for two days. He'd probably be up in half of one. That fact disturbed her more than she wanted to admit.
The guards posted outside the royal wing didn't stop her. She was expected.
They opened the doors without a word.
The chamber within was warmer than the rest of the fortress, thanks to the small hearth burning with clean Everwood logs and the soft tapestries lining the stone. But the most radiant thing in the room was the girl seated by the window, her legs tucked beneath her, raven black hair pinned back with silver clasps. She looked out at the night beyond, even though there was nothing to see.
Alisanne, Third Princess of the Reign.
"You're late," she said, not turning.
"I'm thorough," Lira replied evenly.
The princess turned then, and despite the softness in her voice, there was no mistaking the iron beneath it. "Sit. Tell me everything."
Lira obeyed, folding herself into the chair across from the low table. A tea set steamed between them, untouched. She didn't reach for it.
"His injuries were...extensive," she began. "Judging by the shattered ribs, the dislocated shoulder, the embedded metal in his leg, the internal bleeding, the layered lacerations, the infection from untreated burns, and the sheer number of overlapping scars—he wasn't just in a battle, Your Highness… he was captured, restrained, and tortured."
Alisanne's hands tensed on her lap. "Survivable?"
"Barely. He should be dead. I've never seen anyone walk into my hall in that condition and still be conscious."
Lira hesitated.
"But that's not what troubles me."
Alisanne tilted her head. "Then what does?"
"He didn't scream," Lira said quietly. "Not once. Even when I removed the shrapnel. Even when I had to re-set bone. He barely spoke unless pressed. His body is broken, but his will is—something else."
Alisanne's gaze sharpened. "You think he's dangerous?"
"I know he's dangerous." Lira leaned forward. "But not in the way Caelis thinks. He's not unhinged. He's not rabid. He's focused. There's something in him—coiled like a blade waiting to be drawn."
Alisanne didn't answer immediately. She looked down at her hands, one thumb gently stroking the other, a nervous habit she'd never grown out of. "He looked at me like he already knew what I was."
"Because he does," Lira said. "He sees people like terrain. Like battlefield elements. He doesn't see you as harmless."
The princess smiled faintly. "Good. I'm not."
Lira allowed herself a small smirk. "No, you're not. But you are kind. And that scares him more than Caelis ever could."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Alisanne poured the tea, her hands steady once more. The soft clink of porcelain was the only sound for a moment.
"Do you think I did the right thing taking him?" she asked, her voice low, almost unsure.
Lira tilted her head. "You want me to be honest, Princess?"
Alisanne glanced at her, then gave a single nod.
Lira's eyes narrowed as she considered the situation. "Our faction is weakening. The noble families are pulling their support, and your brothers are amassing ever more influence in this brutal war for the throne. We lack a figure who instills fear—a presence that ensures our words command attention."
She took a slow sip from her cup before continuing."My hope is that, if this boy Awakens... you, Princess, will be able to sharpen him into that kind of force. Not just a blade. A banner. One the others fear to cross."
Alisanne stared into her cup for a long moment, then set it down with quiet care.
"I don't want to turn him into a weapon," she said softly. "But I think he already is one. I just don't want him aimed by the wrong hand."
Lira nodded slowly. "Then it's a race. Between the part of him that can still care… and the part that only remembers pain."
A shadow passed over Alisanne's features, her fingers tightening in her lap. "Then I'll have to be faster than his ghosts."
Lira offered a rare, approving smile.