At dawn, the castle stirred with clatter and song. The family gathered for bread and broth at the long table. The meal should have been light, but Petric’s thoughts were heavier than the iron crown his father once bore.

  “I’ll ride out today on reconnaissance,” Petric said. “The war won’t wait for us—if we sit idle, someone else will strike first.”

  Kelara set her cup down. “Then let me ride. The fresh air will do you good, but the scouting should be mine.”

  Petric studied her, weighing both duty and the bond between them. At last, he nodded. “Very well. Be careful, Kelara.”

  The room fell quiet. The horizon beyond the window burned with firelight in the west and shimmered with snow to the north. The High Plain Expanse, the Pyrethorne Range, the Frostmarch Peaks, Everveil Wood, the Morric Vale—and the Eryndral Coast beneath his feet—all watching.

  None at peace.

  Kelara rose. “I’ll find what I can.”

  Later that day, when Kelara had already ridden out, Petric rode to the village square where voices tangled in argument and dust clung to every face.

  And there he was.

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  Jorlan leaned against a post at the edge of the crowd, freshly returned from the border towns, arms crossed like he owned the ground beneath him. His frame had filled out since boyhood—tall, long-limbed, the kind of strength born of drills and hard labor, not parade training. Dark hair fell just short of his collar, perpetually untidy no matter the comb. A sword rode his hip, worn but cared for, like it had never left his side. His eyes carried the same steady weight Petric remembered: sharp, assessing, always two steps ahead.

  He had been Petric’s shadow once—sparring partner, troublemaker, the one who dared him past the rules of crown and court. Years later, that bond hadn’t dulled. Where Petric carried the burden of lineage, Jorlan carried only his loyalty: unpolished, unyielding, steady as steel.

  The smirk was the same.

  “Took you long enough, you royal bastard,” Jorlan called, pushing off the post with the same casual grace Petric had always envied.

  “Thought you’d never come.”

  Petric dismounted, almost smiling despite himself.

  “Still bold with that tongue, I see.”

  “Give me a day to pack.”

  “Half.”

  Jorlan’s grin widened. “Still the same as ever.”

  They clasped forearms, and for the first time that week, Petric felt the weight on his shoulders ease. With Jorlan at his side, he was no longer alone.

  By nightfall, Kelara returned. Mud streaked her cloak, her hair damp from travel.

  “Traffic in and out of Castle Calmyra,” she reported, naming the royal keep at the heart of the plains. “But that wasn’t all. Patrol knights around the southern woods. The Morric Vale.”

  She paused, then added, “I wasn’t alone on the road back. Nell found me first. He says he’s done watching from the shadows.”

  Petric’s lips tightened into a smile. “Then he won’t have to.”

  Kelara returned his smile. “Good. Because I may have already told him yes.”