Chapter 10 Home Before War #2
Caelan had spent enough years as a soldier to know that silence often meant an enemy had changed tactics rather than abandoned the hunt.
He lowered the spyglass and continued his patrol.
The warning lines remained untouched.
No fresh tracks crossed the outer trails.
Even the wildlife had returned to its ordinary routines.
A family of deer grazed beside the river while birds flitted between the pine branches overhead.
The mountains had accepted the sanctuary once again.
As he approached the southern trail leading away from the valley, something caught his attention.
A strip of blue cloth hung from the lowest branch of an old cedar.
It hadn’t been there yesterday.
Caelan immediately stopped.
The cloth was tied with a specific knot known only to the Royal Guard.
Not a warning.
A request.
Someone wished to speak without revealing themselves.
His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword as he stepped into the trees.
“Show yourself.”
For several long moments, nothing happened.
Then an elderly man emerged slowly from behind a cluster of boulders.
His travel cloak was stained with dust from weeks on the road, and exhaustion lined his weathered face.
He carried no visible weapon.
Instead, he held both hands open.
“Captain Draven.”
Caelan recognized him instantly.
“Master Garrick.”
The older man bowed his head.
Former Master of the Royal Archives, Garrick had served the palace for more than forty years before quietly retiring. Few people realized he had once advised three generations of monarchs on matters of history and law.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Caelan said.
“Neither should you.”
A tired smile crossed Garrick’s face.
“I suppose we both ignored good advice.”
Caelan studied the surrounding forest.
“Were you followed?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Believe?”
“I changed routes often.”
“I crossed three mountain passes.”
“If someone still follows me…”
He sighed.
“They deserve congratulations.”
Satisfied for the moment, Caelan led him toward the sanctuary.
Rowan looked up in surprise as they entered the lodge.
“Master Garrick?”
The old scholar smiled warmly despite his obvious fatigue.
“It is good to see you alive, Your Highness.”
Rowan quickly crossed the room.
“You knew.”
“I hoped.”
Garrick accepted the cup of tea Rowan offered before lowering himself carefully into a chair.
For several moments, none of them spoke.
The silence carried the weight of difficult news.
Finally, Rowan asked the question already visible in his eyes.
“What has happened?”
Garrick closed his eyes briefly.
“The kingdom mourns you.”
The room fell completely still.
“Three days after the Moon Festival attack,” Garrick continued quietly, “a burned body was discovered beneath the collapsed western gate.”
Rowan’s expression tightened.
“It wasn’t me.”
“No.”
“The body couldn’t be properly identified.”
“But Lord Varric insisted the injuries made certainty impossible.”
“He convinced the Council?”
“He convinced them that hope would only prolong instability.”
The old scholar reached inside his cloak and removed several folded documents.
“The official declaration.”
Rowan unfolded the first page with trembling hands.
His own name stared back at him.
By order of the Royal Council, Crown Prince Rowan Ashbourne is declared deceased following the tragic events of the Moon Festival attack.
His breathing became shallow.
The words blurred for a moment before he forced himself to continue reading.
Public mourning.
Seven days of remembrance.
Memorial ceremonies throughout the kingdom.
The prince lowered the parchment slowly.
“They buried an empty coffin.”
Garrick nodded.
“The entire capital attended.”
“What about my parents?”
The old man’s face filled with quiet sorrow.
“The King has not appeared before the people since the funeral.”
“And the Queen?”
“She rarely leaves her chambers.”
Rowan closed his eyes.
The image struck him harder than any battlefield wound could have.
His parents believed they had buried their only son.
“They think I’m dead.”
“I’m afraid they do.”
The words settled over the room like a heavy winter snowfall.
Caelan watched Rowan carefully but allowed him the silence he needed.
Eventually, Garrick unfolded another document.
“The situation has grown worse.”
Caelan’s attention sharpened.
“How?”
“Lord Varric now presides over every Council session.”
“He claims the kingdom requires firm leadership until the succession question is resolved.”
Rowan looked up immediately.
“The succession.”
Garrick nodded gravely.
“The Council has begun preparing legislation naming a new royal heir.”
The room seemed to grow colder.
“Who?” Rowan asked.
“There are several candidates.”
“Most are distant relatives.”
“All of them…”
He hesitated.
“…personally supported by Lord Varric.”
Caelan exchanged a meaningful glance with Rowan.
The conspiracy had moved exactly as they feared.
The assassination attempt.
The false funeral.
Now the succession.
Every step advanced Varric’s influence.
“What about the investigation?” Caelan asked.
“The attack.”
“The assassins.”
“The evidence.”
Garrick’s tired eyes hardened.
“The investigation officially concluded.”
“So quickly?”
“The attackers were declared foreign mercenaries acting alone.”
“No surviving suspects.”
“No wider conspiracy.”
“No further inquiries.”
Caelan felt his jaw tighten.
“They buried the truth along with the coffin.”
“Precisely.”
Garrick reached into his satchel one final time.
“I also brought this.”
He carefully placed a familiar signet ring on the table.
Queen Elara’s personal seal.
Rowan stared at it in disbelief.
“My mother’s.”
“She entrusted it to me years ago.”
“She said if the day ever came when truth became more dangerous than lies…”
The old scholar gently pushed the ring toward Rowan.
“…I was to place this back into the rightful heir’s hands.”
Rowan picked it up carefully.
The silver felt unexpectedly warm.
His mother had planned for possibilities even she prayed would never happen.
For a long while, none of them spoke.
The crackling fire filled the silence.
Outside, the mountains remained as peaceful as ever.
Inside, everything had changed.
Finally, Rowan looked toward Caelan.
“If we stay here…”
Caelan finished the thought.
“Lord Varric wins.”
“The kingdom accepts a lie.”
“The real laws remain hidden.”
“The Council chooses another heir.”
Rowan nodded slowly.
“I spent weeks believing these mountains were protecting us.”
“They were.”
“But hiding is no longer protecting anyone.”
Caelan understood before Rowan said another word.
The sanctuary had served its purpose.
It had given them time to heal.
Time to discover the truth.
Time to choose one another.
Now…
It was time to act.
He stood.
“So.”
Rowan rose beside him.
“So.”
Their eyes met.
No fear.
No hesitation.
Only shared resolve.
“We return to the capital,” Rowan said quietly.
“Not as fugitives.”
Caelan’s voice carried the steady certainty Rowan had come to rely upon.
“As witnesses.”
“As defenders of the kingdom.”
“As men carrying the truth.”
Rowan closed his hand around his mother’s signet ring.
“No.”
He looked toward the distant mountains beyond the window.
“As the rightful Crown Prince.”
The title no longer sounded like a burden.
It sounded like a responsibility he had finally chosen for himself.
Caelan rested one hand over the hilt of his sword.
“Then we leave at first light.”
Rowan nodded.
The peaceful days at the sanctuary had come to an end.
Ahead lay deception, political intrigue, dangerous allies, and enemies who believed they had already won.
The first half of their journey had been about survival.
The second would be about reclaiming a kingdom, restoring the truth, and proving that neither fear nor ambition could erase history forever.
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