The day after the portrait, no letters came.
That was notable.
Thalric rose early. He dressed without aid. Ate a boiled egg and half a slice of toast in silence. The staff gave him space, which he appreciated.
At midday, he found Rowan seated on the north bench of the overgrown rose court. A ledger balanced on his lap. No guards. No attendants. Just him. And the sound of bees working through what remained of the yellow blossoms.
Thalric sat across from him.
Rowan closed the ledger without being asked.
They said nothing for the first five minutes. The silence wasn't awkward. It was working. Like stone settling.
"You saw it," Thalric said eventually.
"I did."
"She approved it."
Rowan nodded. "They always do. When they feel control slipping, they paint something to claim it."
Another pause.
Thalric stretched one leg, feeling the tension along his thigh where the old injury hadn't quite relearned obedience.
"You think I'm pushing too fast?"
"No," Rowan said. "But others do."
"Which others?"
"All of them."
Thalric smiled, briefly. It didn't reach his eyes.
Rowan set the ledger down beside him, fingers steepled now. He didn't blink when he spoke again.
"I wanted to hate you for coming back."
"I didn't ask to return."
"That's not what I meant."
Thalric waited.
"I hated what it meant," Rowan said. "For me. For Albrecht. For everything we believed had settled. The dead don't usually ask for a seat at the table. They get honored. Not obeyed."
"I haven't asked for obedience."
"No," Rowan said, "which is why they're afraid."
That landed.
Another silence bloomed—this one heavier.
"I don't want your loyalty," Thalric said.
"I know."
"And I don't want your brotherhood."
"I figured."
Thalric glanced toward the edges of the garden, where the old vine arch had half-collapsed, strangled by its own growth.
"But if you intend to stand behind me," he said, "understand that this ends in one of two ways."
Rowan said nothing.
"Either I outthink them before they choose a successor."
"Or?"
"Or I leave nothing behind to inherit."
Rowan sat very still.
Finally, he asked: "You still don't want the crown, do you."
"No," Thalric said. "I want why they guard it."
Rowan stood, slowly. Collected his ledger.
"You're not Percival."
Thalric nodded once. "No."
"And you're not me."
"No."
"I'll let you know when I decide if that's good or not."
Then he left.
Thalric sat for a while longer, eyes fixed on the broken arch.
He wasn't worried.
But he did begin to draft a letter in his head.
Not to the Queen.
To House Luel.
They had asked politely before.
Now it was time to let someone remember what refusal looked like.