Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
The ride back to the capital is quiet. Garrett hasn’t spoken more than a handful of words since we left the village this morning. It’s unlike the comfortable silence we’ve developed over weeks of working together. This feels like standing at the edge of a cliff in the dark.
I watch him from the corner of my eye as we ride. His posture is perfect as always with his spine straight and hands steady on the reins. But I notice the tension in the set of his shoulders. He simply stares ahead without really seeing the road in front of us.
There’s something wrong with him today.
He’s been like this since we woke up.
Actually, no. He’d been quiet after we returned from Eithne’s house too. I’d attributed it to exhaustion from the investigation, from searching for his missing knights and finding nothing but blood and unanswered questions.
Now I’m not sure.
“Garrett,” I say as Aelfheim’s capital white walls come into view on the horizon, rising like pale bones against the afternoon sky.
“Hm?” He doesn’t look at me.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” The words are quick and clipped.
“We’ll find who’s doing this,” I say, trying to reassure him. “Whoever took Marcian and the others, we’ll track them down.”
He finally glances at me and there’s something in his emerald eyes I can’t quite read.
Something dark and distant. It feels like looking into deep water and not being able to see the bottom.
Then he seems to catch himself and the expression smooths over.
“Sorry. I’m just... tired. It’s been a long few days. ”
But I think the thing that’s frustrating him seems to go beyond the stalled investigation. Beyond the missing Valorians and the blood by the oak tree. There’s something else eating at him and he won’t tell me what it is.
I let it drop, but unease crawls up my spine like cold fingers.
We reach the city gates as the sun begins its descent, painting the white stone in shades of gold and amber.
The guards wave us through without question.
They recognize the Commander of the Valorian.
We ride through increasingly familiar streets, through the noble district with its pristine buildings and manicured gardens, toward the palace complex where Garrett’s quarters are located.
The royal palace of Aelfheim sprawls across the eastern quarter of the capital like a small city unto itself.
Shade is somewhere on the other side, posted at the royal wing where he guards Queen Rhianelle Wiolant.
I wonder briefly if I’ll run into him, but it’s a foolish thought.
The palace is massive enough that entire wings can go weeks without crossing paths.
Shade might as well be in another kingdom entirely.
We reach the stables as the sun begins its descent. Garrett dismounts smoothly and hands his reins to a waiting stable hand.
“Thank you for your assistance with the investigation,” he says without looking at me.
Well that’s fucking formal… and distant.
Before I can respond, he adds, “You go on and head to Elvarstyne Keep first.”
I frown. “Where are you going?”
“I have business to conclude here at the palace. Council matters regarding the investigation, reports, and correspondence. It’s nothing that requires you standing around.” He’s already turning toward the palace entrance. “You’ve earned rest after the past few days.”
“I’ll wait.”
“There’s no need,” he dismisses. “I’ll be surrounded by Valorian knights in my own headquarters, the safest place in Aelfheim.”
Something about this feels wrong, but I can’t name what.
“When will you be back?”
“Once I’ve finished. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He walks away, putting distance between us with each step.
“Garrett—”
“Goodnight, Wolf.”
He doesn’t look back. His red cloak swirls behind him as he disappears into the palace.
I stand there holding my horse’s reins, watching him disappear into the palace. Something is wrong and my heart is screaming at me to follow him. This goes beyond missing knights and dead ends.
But he dismissed me. I’m his guard, not his keeper. I should respect his obvious desire for space.
I make my way to Elvarstyne Keep. Inside, everything feels muted compared to the palace.
Evening servants move through the house lighting lamps.
I take the familiar route to Garrett’s room.
His door is unlocked. I push it open to find his quarters exactly as he left them. Everything is perfectly arranged.
I don’t go to my room immediately. I cross to his bed and sit on the edge. It gives slightly under my weight. I unlace my boots and set them aside, then stretch out on top of the covers.
Ornate molding decorates the ceiling above me. I stare at the patterns and try not to think about what went wrong.
Garrett is hiding something. Whatever it is, it’s eating at him from the inside out. I saw it in his eyes during the ride back. He couldn’t quite meet my gaze.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.
I sit up. It’s late for visitors at the Keep. My hand moves instinctively to the knife at my belt as I cross to the door. The knock comes again, softer this time. Hesitant.
I pull the door open.
Three figures stand in the hallway.
It’s Lady Clayborne, flanked by two handmaidens.
They are all carrying covered dishes that smell of roasted meat and herbs.
The handmaidens are young, dark-haired, dressed in the simple gray uniforms of house staff.
Lady Clayborne wears a deep blue gown that hangs loose on her thin frame.
She looks frailer than I remember, her face pale against the lamplight.
All three of them freeze when they see me.
The handmaiden on the left takes an involuntary step back. Her eyes go wide, fixed on my mask. The other makes a small sound in her throat, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. The covered dish in her hands trembles.
Lady Clayborne goes still as marble. The color drains from her already pale face. For a moment I think she might faint.
“My apologies,” she says, her voice barely steady. “We were bringing Garrett his favorite meal. Roasted lamb with rosemary and honey glaze. He always asks for it when he returns to the keep.”
Her eyes dart to the room behind me, searching for her son.
“Commander Clayborne had business at the palace,” I say, keeping my voice level. Unthreatening. “He sent me ahead.”
The lie comes easily. Better than explaining that I don’t know what Garrett is doing or why he dismissed me so coldly at the stables.
“Oh.” Lady Clayborne’s hands tighten on the dish she carries. “Of course. We’ll... We’ll just leave this in the kitchens then.”
She’s already turning away. The handmaidens follow immediately, practically fleeing.
I should let them go. This is awkward for everyone involved. But something makes me speak.
“My lady.”
She stops. Turns back slowly, gathering visible courage. Her chin lifts slightly, shoulders straightening despite the fear still bright in her eyes.
“Yes?”
“I apologize for frightening you.” The words feel clumsy. “It wasn’t my intention.”
Her expression shifts, surprise replacing some of the fear. She studies me for a long moment, reassessing.
“Are you... are you hungry?” The question comes out hesitant. “The food will only go to waste otherwise. It seems a shame, and I had the cook prepare so much...”
I start to decline. This isn’t my place. I’m hired help for her son.
But Lady Clayborne is already gesturing to the handmaidens. “Please. I insist. It would ease my conscience to know someone enjoyed it.”
The handmaidens exchange uncertain glances but move when their mistress directs them.
They slip past me into Garrett’s room and begin setting up the meal on the small table by the window.
Dishes appear from beneath the covers. Roasted lamb, golden and glistening.
Glazed root vegetables. Fresh bread still steaming.
A small pot of what smells like lavender honey.
It’s a feast.
Lady Clayborne lingers in the doorway while her handmaidens work. She watches them arrange the plates then turns her attention back to me.
“Garrett mentioned you’ve been with him for several weeks now,” she says carefully. “Protecting him.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“You must know him quite well by now.” There’s something in her voice. Not quite a question, but close.
I don’t know how to answer that. Do I know Garrett?
I know he stops to help strangers without being asked. I know children run to him in the streets because he listens to them and makes them laugh. I know his body runs cold at night and he sleeps better when someone holds him. But I don’t know why he won’t look at me anymore.
“He’s...” I pause, choosing words carefully. “Complicated.”
Lady Clayborne smiles at that. A real smile, warm despite her lingering nervousness. “That’s putting it kindly. He’s been like that since he was a boy.”
She moves into the room properly now, confidence growing. The handmaidens finish their work and retreat to the doorway, hovering like anxious birds.
“When he was young he was so carefree,” Lady Clayborne continues. “Always laughing, always getting into mischief with his brother. They would sneak into the kitchens at midnight to steal honeycakes. The cook would scold them terribly, but Garrett would just smile and promise never to do it again.”
Despite myself, I almost smile at the image. Garrett as a child, sticky-fingered and unrepentant.
“He is the second son, you understand,” she says quietly. “There was no weight on his shoulders back then. His brother would inherit everything. Garrett was free to just... be.”
Something shadows her face. She draws a breath, steadying herself before continuing.
“Then his brother died.” Lady Clayborne’s voice grows solemn. “After that, everything changed. Garrett became the sole heir. All those expectations, all that responsibility, it fell on him overnight.”
She looks at me then, searching for something.