Chapter 7 #2
And perhaps, if his future wife was willing, he might learn something truly valuable.
Assuming she didn’t strangle him first.
“I think she’s near it,” Alaric mused. “Her bloodline, her proximity to the old faith, the way history warps around it—those are threads.”
He tapped one finger against the armrest. “I’m interested in the secrets she’s inherited without knowing. The language she was taught to ignore. Like everyone else.”
The closer they got to Edrathen, the more the silence thickened. He could feel it humming beneath the marble. It wasn’t Varantian silence, either. There, the quiet lived in places. Here, it was everywhere. A constant presence. Like a leash.
“Lucien believes the Sundering wasn’t just a cataclysm—it was a severing,” he went on. “A deliberate wound to the ley lines. He always suspected the survivors embedded the truth in religion, traditions, and rituals.”
Cedric gave him a long look. “Are you planning to tell her any of this?”
Alaric tilted his head, thoughtful. “Eventually.”
“Meaning: never.”
“Meaning,” Alaric replied, pushing himself up from the chair, “that I’d rather she falls in love with the question before I show her the answer.
You’ve seen how she reacts to surprises—she won’t tell me anything directly, not yet.
But we’ll get to know each other. I’ll earn her interest. With time, maybe she’ll start drawing connections…
maybe she’ll help me uncover the truth.”
“You’ll forgive me,” Cedric muttered, unimpressed, “if I don’t hold my breath.”
Alaric smiled faintly clapping Cedric’s back. “No need to. But remember this—Edrathen thinks magic is a ghost story. They locked away the truth after the Sundering and threw away the key.”
He waked to the window, the light catching the edge of his profile like a blade.
“I intend to find it.”
“Yeah, that's adorable.” Cedric stepped back, giving Alaric a final once-over. “Now, put on your damned tunic before you make this entire kingdom regret marrying off their princess to a half-dressed scholar.”
Alaric chuckled but put on the prepared clothes and fastened the buttons with an exaggerated flourish. “Happy now?”
“Moderately.”
Alaric tilted his head in consideration. “So, what do you suggest? That I sit idly by and wait for her to warm up to me?”
Cedric shrugged. “I’m saying, don’t push her. Her people have their own ways. You showing up and trying to mold the situation to your liking will only make her resist harder. Give her space. Let her set the rhythm.”
“You make a compelling point. Though I must say, watching her resist is half the entertainment.”
Cedric shook his head. “This isn’t a game. You might enjoy the chase, but she’s not playing. Not yet, at least. If you want a real partnership, you have to let her decide how close she wants you. If she ever does.”
He dragged a breath, rolling his shoulders. “You’re right. I will extend some patience.”
Cedric clapped him on the shoulder.
Alaric shook his head. “Get out before you decide to scold me further. I need to think. And bring some wood. It’s freezing.”
Cedric gave an exaggerated bow, already halfway to the door. “Of course, Your Royal Verbosity.”
He hadn’t even opened the door when someone else stormed in without knocking.
Small footsteps. No guards.
A boy, no more than ten, strode into the room with the solemnity of a parade. Pale skin, tousled warm brown hair, wide blue eyes. Evelyne’s eyes. The likeness hit hard and fast.
The boy stopped in the middle of the chamber, spine straight, expression grave. “Prince Alaric of Varantia?”
Alaric straightened. “At your service.”
“I’m Prince Thalen Tresselyn,” the boy declared, planting his boots like they might sprout into roots. “Future King of Edrathen.”
Alaric bit back a grin and crouched to meet the boy’s height. “Well then. An honor, Your Highness.”
Thalen’s chin lifted. “I’ve come to introduce myself officially. I should know my sister’s husband.”
Cedric, still near the threshold, stood frozen like a man hoping the boy’s vision was movement-based. Children were unpredictable creatures. Especially royal ones.
“And what would you like to know?” Alaric asked.
Thalen frowned in thought. “If you’re going to protect her.”
“Oh,” Alaric’s smile faded into something softer. “Yes, absolutely.”
The boy studied him like an old general assessing a new recruit. Then, satisfied, he gave a sharp nod. “Good. Because I’ll be king someday, and I’ll remember.”
“Understood.”
Another nod, this one smugger. “Also, I brought you a map. It’s my favorite one of Edrathen. It’s drawn by me, so it’s more accurate.”
Alaric blinked. “You brought me a map.”
“Kings need maps,” Thalen explained, as if this were obvious.
Alaric took it with a kind of reverence he hadn’t expected. The parchment was slightly wrinkled, drawn in a child’s careful hand over the original lines. Extra flourishes marked “Here Be Wolves” and “Secret Tunnel” in smudged charcoal.
Alaric studied him for a moment. The boy was absurdly young to carry such a purpose in his spine and yet, there was something disarmingly sincere about the way he spoke. Honest. Curious. Utterly unvarnished.
“Thank you for the map, I'll keep it safe.” Alaric gave the boy a half-smile. “So, Prince Thalen. What can you tell me regarding your sister?”
Thalen tilted his head. “She’s smarter than everyone else. Except maybe Father. She doesn’t like carrots, loud voices, or being interrupted when she reads. Also, she’s sad sometimes, but never when she thinks I’m watching.”
Alaric froze for a heartbeat. No clever retort came to him. He looked up at Cedric who merely shrugged.
Thalen continued. “She gets stomach aches. And she reads the same stories over and over—usually the ones where the queens end up doing the rescuing.”
“High standards.”
Thalen studied him with the kind of scrutiny that only a ten-year-old on a mission could manage. “Do you like horses?”
“Very much.”
“Swords?”
“Swords too.”
Thalen’s eyes lit up. “Will you teach me?”
Alaric leaned closer, dropping his voice into something more conspiratorial. “Only if you promise not to show your tutor. I don’t want a lecture from someone with powdered eyebrows.”
The boy grinned. “Deal.”
They shook on it.
“Oh, for gods’ sake,” Cedric muttered from the corner, “you’re courting the brother now?”
Thalen’s eyes snapped to Cedric as if noticing him for the first time—which, in fairness, he probably was. “Who are you?”
Cedric stood very still, like a deer that had just realized the crossbow was pointed at it. “Er. No one important.”
“Can you fight?” Thalen asked, chin rising.
Cedric gave Alaric a slow look, then angled back to the boy. “I don’t fight children. Royal or otherwise.”
Alaric laughed aloud at that, standing up. “Well, I think you’ve interrogated my entire staff now, Your Highness. Shall I walk you to the corridor?”
Thalen puffed up proudly. “I can find it myself. I have a post-sundering history lesson in ten minutes.”
The boy spun around, but just as he reached the threshold, he paused and turned back. “It was an honor to meet you, Prince Alaric. I look forward to seeing you again at supper. I’ll be seated at the right of my father.”
He offered a very deep bow and strode off.
Alaric exhaled slowly and looked at Cedric. “So?”
“Royal Menace’s terrifying. I suddenly feel terribly underqualified.”
Alaric stood slowly, glancing down at the map in his hands.
“Your in-laws,” Cedric added, “are something else.”
Alaric just smiled. “So’s the woman I’m marrying.”