After a cold night… filled with events,
morning arrived without warmth.
Sylis had been awake long before the sun reached the windows… perhaps she had not slept at all. The kitchen was quiet, disturbed only by the soft rhythm of the knife against the cutting board. Bread. Fruit. Even the smallest sounds felt louder than they should.
She was absorbed in preparing the breakfast table… and yet her thoughts never strayed far.
He had not returned to bed.
Though she had slept in their child's room, she had been alert, listening—watching for any sign of whether her husband had come back or chosen to spend the entire night in his beloved workshop.
She convinced herself it meant nothing.
Thinking about it would not change the truth.
The door opened.
Thorn entered, the scent of the workshop clinging to him—wood, iron, smoke, oil. That mixture of smells meant only one thing.
He removed his gloves slowly, placed them on the small table beside the fireplace, then glanced at the breakfast spread. He paused for a moment, studying it, before taking his seat.
Sylis was already seated, waiting for the family to gather.
"Good morning," she said quietly.
"Morning."
Nothing more.
She placed a plate in front of him. He did not look at her.
Usually, he would help her. He would not avoid her gaze—or ignore her.
"Did you get at least a little sleep?"
"Enough."
A lie.
She poured the tea. Her hands were steady. She was proud of that.
Before the silence could grow heavier, Thorn's father entered. He was already dressed, his eyes sharp as always. His gaze passed over them only once.
He noticed the tension. No smiles. No exchanged glances as usual.
His eyes moved between them.
"Did you quarrel?"
No one answered.
They avoided the question. As if it had never been asked.
He turned to Sylis.
"When did you return? Last night? You said you'd be back around eleven in the morning, after finishing the cleaning from the banquet—"
They spoke at the same time. Neither finished.
"Late."
"Not long after—"
And they stopped.
The old man watched them for a moment longer, then said nothing. He sat down.
Suddenly—
Small, hurried footsteps.
Someone excited.
"Father!"
Theo rushed inside, his hair messy, his eyes shining with morning enthusiasm. He threw himself toward Thorn.
Thorn caught him before he could fall.
"Do you know what happened?"
"What?" Thorn replied, playing along with his excitement.
Theo repeated eagerly,
"Do you know what happened? Mama surprised me! I found her sleeping beside me when I woke up! She said she'd play with me all daaaay — she has a holiday!"
Something shifted in the room.
Thorn tightened his grip around his cup, barely noticeable.
The faint smile that had almost appeared at the sight of his excited son faded.
"A holiday?" he said.
He looked at Sylis for the first time.
She held his gaze—hesitant, not defensive.
"Yes." She kept it to a single word, as if it were nothing. In truth, she had only meant to take half a day.
He smiled at his son—controlled, measured.
"That's good news, my boy. Very good."
Theo beamed, then went to sit in his seat and began eating obediently.
But Thorn's jaw had hardened.
After a moment, he stood.
"I'm tired. I'll rest. Do not disturb me."
His father frowned. What is going on? he wondered.
"And the workshop?"
"I leave it to you, Father."
Only then did the old man truly study him.
Thorn never leaves the workshop to anyone.
He left without another word.
---
At the same time, within the palace walls—
Morning was calculated with precision.
The rich scent of coffee. Golden sunlight streaming in. Velvet curtains moving gently with the breeze that carried the fresh fragrance of lilies.
A long dining table—modest compared to the vastness and grandeur of the palace hall, adorned with crystal chandeliers, white-paneled walls, and black marble floors.
On the table—
No heavy meats. No excess. A meal for one person. Boiled eggs. Crisp bread. Butter. Jam. A plate of assorted fruits. Coffee poured with care. A newspaper folded with sharp, straight edges.
King Morven did not allow anyone to share his breakfast. He valued his privacy—and expected it to be respected. The servants waited in the corridor outside the open doors.
Marrow stood at the entrance, files in hand. Beside him, the head servant.
The king set the newspaper aside and took a sip of his coffee.
"Have you finished the investigation?" he asked in a regal, composed voice.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Speak."
Marrow stepped forward into his line of sight. He bowed, then entered the hall with steady steps, positioning himself slightly to the king's left, though still before him.
"Baron Thorn's marriage was not politically arranged. No alliance. No financial advantage."
Silence.
"It was a private marriage. Testimonies indicate it was… mutual. However, there is no information on how they met."
Morven's expression did not change.
"They have a child. No debts. No known scandals. The family is considered stable."
"They reside in the capital, in the house that includes the workshop. Mr. Ronald, the baron's father, lives with them. He is usually the one who cares for the child when the parents are occupied."
The king leaned back slightly.
"Does he love her?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"And does she love him?"
"Yes."
Time seemed to pause.
The king's fingers rested lightly on the porcelain cup.
"Is she afraid of him?"
Marrow hesitated. What kind of question is that?
"Of the baron?"
"Yes."
"No, Your Majesty. According to reports… she appears steady. The baron is said to be kind with his family."
Morven lowered his gaze to the dark surface of his coffee.
Steady.
For a fleeting moment, something distant passed through his eyes—
Another night.
Blood on stone.
Silence where there should have been screams.
And her.
No fear.
No pity.
No accusation.
Only understanding.
He returned to the present.
"Good."
Marrow did not understand why that word unsettled him.
The king closed the file.
"Prepare an invitation."
"For whom, Your Majesty?"
"The baron and his wife."
A brief pause.
"It is time we become properly acquainted."
---
Upstairs, Sylis stood before the door of their chamber for a moment before entering.
Thorn had removed his coat. His back was to her.
She spoke softly.
"I didn't mean to upset you."
"I'm not upset."
Another lie.
She stepped closer.
"I don't understand what's happening. At the banquet—nothing improper occurred. I returned as quickly as I could. I don't know why he—"
He turned slightly.
"Why he what?"
She hesitated.
"Why he looks at me as if—"
"Do not mention his name."
The air in the room grew colder.
She swallowed.
"I thought you trusted me."
"I do."
But he did not look at her.
She stepped closer.
"If I caused you trouble… I can speak to him. Clarify things."
His entire body went rigid.
He turned fully to face her now, his eyes dark—not suspicion of her, but something stronger.
"You will not go near him again," he said in a low, controlled voice.
"Not to apologize. Not to explain."
She blinked.
"I only wanted to fix this."
"There is nothing for you to fix."
He stepped back.
His fingers ran through his already disheveled hair.
"You do not see what I see.
And if you did… you would never have offered to go to him."
"See what?"
But he had already turned toward the bed.
"I need to rest now."
He lay down, turning his back to her, pulling the blanket over himself as though burying himself away from the world.
Away from her, in the doorway.
Sylis remained standing.
The room felt unfamiliar suddenly.
She stared at his back, at the rigid line of his shoulders.
What did I do wrong?
She did not realize that the danger was not inside this room.
It was approaching.
---
In the palace, King Morven stood before the tall window overlooking the city.
The invitation would be sent before noon.
His reflection stared back at him in the glass.
He murmured softly,
"Let us see…"
He paused.
Then continued:
"What remains when things are tested by force."