Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 424. Long-lost Friend
Angel stopped.
Just for a second.
Then he turned toward her, gaze intense. "She might be an important key to all this."
Rose's brows lifted just a little. Not surprised. But not unaffected either. "But you won't hand her over to them, right?"
Her voice was steady, but beneath it… was something else. A subtle layer of protectiveness that flared every time politics got too close to people.
"It's clear she ran away," Rose continued, tone low. "From her kingdom. From someone. Otherwise, there's no way a princess like her would settle in a small village in such an unstable kingdom."
Angel smirked at that. "Must I remind you that the kingdom you're talking about is your homeland?"
Rose's lips pulled into a pout almost instantly. She crossed her arms, head tilted. "I remember. That's the reason I can say that. Pontus is more stable than Zephyrus."
He chuckled under his breath.
But the humor didn't linger.
She didn't add anything else—but she didn't need to. The moment stretched, quiet and meaningful. Her eyes narrowed just slightly, like she was holding a deeper worry she hadn't put into words yet.
Angel got it.
He always did.
"Don't worry," he said, voice soft but firm. "I won't be that stupid. I'll investigate what happened and all. If something happens… we'll hide her."
His eyes locked on hers. "Like my usual way."
That earned a small smile from Rose. The kind that didn't reach her lips but softened her eyes.
She gave a short, silent bow—half a nod, half a quiet agreement—and kept walking toward the entrance. Her stride sure, her posture still royal, but her heart… a little heavier than usual.
Angel didn't follow.
Instead, he turned down the opposite hallway.
Headed for the parlor room.
The main entrance to the palace was elegant without being gaudy. Tall white stone archways, dark velvet banners lined in gold, the faint scent of polished wood and old jasmine still lingering in the air from this morning's ceremonial cleaning.
The sky overhead was cloudy now. Not stormy. But thick with that soft gray overcast that turned sound muffled and light colder.
Rose stood just outside the great entrance, flanked by a modest group of servants and two of her elite handmaidens. No trumpets. No ceremony. No official crest raised.
Nothing that screamed royalty.
Because that wasn't what this was.
Rose had already prepared the story.
She would announce the guest—her—as a long-lost friend, missing since the last rebellion battle in Zephyrus. A casualty of chaos and broken lines, assumed dead or lost. There would be sympathy. Recognition. No suspicion. It would work.
It had to.
Claire stood just behind her, arms folded lightly over her waist, watching the road with the same quiet sharpness Rose felt blooming in her ribs.
There was a pause before Claire leaned slightly closer and asked quietly, "May I know who it is?"
Rose didn't look at her.
Claire hesitated, then added, "I mean… she sounded like a royal. When you spoke with the king earlier. But this preparation doesn't feel like the usual court welcome."
Rose's jaw flexed, just slightly.
"I can't say that now," she replied softly. "You'll hear it in the parlor room."
Claire's brows knit, but she didn't push further. She just straightened, eyes still locked on the distant road as the soft crunch of wheels grew closer in the fog.
"As you wish, Your Majesty," she said, voice calm—but now laced with curiosity.
And she stayed.
Not just out of duty.
But because something about this arrival felt like the beginning of a storm.
Then came the crunch of wheels.
Rose straightened, shoulders lifting. Everyone else followed suit.
A carriage emerged from the fog, rolling slowly down the path toward the main courtyard. It wasn't royal. Not by a long stretch. The wood was worn, the wheels a little squeaky, the windows curtained but simple. Not a crest in sight—except… for the two elite soldiers flanking it.
One on each side. Their armor black as coal, with small crests of Euphorion on the pauldron. Not military uniform, but something older. More personal.
Angel's Black Devil soldiers.
Silent. Loyal. Deadly.
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