The guards didn't block him.
Protocol had teeth, but it also recognized blood.
Vaerelina walked at his side now, glancing at him only once, a flick of her green eyes across his profile.
"You don't remember me," she said.
He didn't slow. "Should I?"
"We've never spoken," she replied. "But I was present in the palace when you were born heir years ago."
He kept his gaze forward. "That was a ceremonial name. Nothing was decided."
"No. But everything was watched."
She added, more quietly, "You've changed."
"Not everyone survives long enough to."
Lindarion didn't respond.
The palace opened around them, an echo of memory, hollowed but intact. He remembered the smell of these halls, faint incense threaded with cold air from the mountain's core vents.
He remembered the weight of the floors, the pressure of the ceiling, not too heavy, not intimidating.
Just… precise. Every inch designed to remind visitors that they had entered the domain of sun-blessed bloodlines.
At the great interior arch, another figure stepped forward.
A woman in fitted obsidian armor etched with silver sunbursts. Her hair was braided tightly, ending in a spiral over one shoulder.
She didn't wear a cape, but the sword at her back glowed faintly with passive wardlight.
Her eyes locked on Lindarion immediately.
"Prince," she said, voice formal but not stiff. "Welcome home..."
"Seraphine," he replied.
Vaerelina stepped aside.
Seraphine approached without hesitation, stopping one pace from him.
Her gaze flicked to Erebus, narrowed slightly.
"I see you brought company."
"He's needed," Lindarion said.
Seraphine studied Erebus. Her tone didn't change. "Any complaints, I'll take them from his mouth. If they're still attached."
Erebus smirked faintly, but said nothing.
"Follow me," Seraphine said, already turning. "He's waiting."
"Where?" Lindarion asked.
Seraphine gave a dry laugh. "Your father saw you on that dragon and canceled the rest of his day."
Lindarion nodded once, absorbing that.
He followed her deeper into the palace.
Vaerelina remained at the threshold.
She didn't say goodbye.
Her message had already been delivered.
The final corridor leading to the throne hall hadn't changed.
Same banners, sun-marked, pale gold on deeper crimson, hanging like unmoving fire above high archways.
The same white-veined marble beneath his boots. The same acoustics, where even the quietest footstep echoed like it was walking into history.
Lindarion didn't slow.
Neither did Erebus, though his steps made no sound at all.
Seraphine led them with the relaxed caution of someone who'd walked the path too many times to count, but still expected something sharp around every corner.
Ahead, the tall doors loomed, twice Lindarion's height, carved from moon-stained ironwood, layered with gold inlays shaped like rays cresting a dawn horizon.
The old sigil of the Sunblade line burned faintly near the top, not lit by torch or enchantment, but by age and presence.
Two palace guards flanked the doors, spears in hand, faces like statues. They didn't question. Didn't glance at Erebus. They simply moved, slow, silent, and opened the way.
The hinges didn't creak.
The doors didn't groan.
And revealed the throne.
King Eldrin Sunblade did not sit like a man at rest.
He sat like he had been carved into the chair.
Not slouched. Not stiff.
Back straight. Shoulders squared. Hands resting neatly, fingertips steepled together before him.
His golden hair was combed precisely, no strand out of place. His crown, a circlet of sunmetal etched with three rays, rested just above his brow, casting faint gold against his high cheekbones.
His eyes, sharp, green, unreadable, locked instantly onto Lindarion.
To the king's left stood a pair of aides, silent, armored, ceremonial.
To his right, no one.
Seraphine stopped three paces from the dais.
"Your Majesty," she said, bowing her head, fist to chest.
And left Lindarion standing alone before the throne.
Erebus stood just behind him, half in shadow.
"Where have you been."
Lindarion didn't bow. He didn't kneel.
But he did stand straighter.
Eldrin's eyes narrowed. "That was not the question."
Lindarion held the gaze. "And this is not the place."
For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Not the torches. Not the air.
Then the king exhaled once, nostrils flaring faintly.
"Trusted," Lindarion said. "Necessary."
Eldrin studied Erebus now.
Then dismissed him with a glance, gaze sliding back to his son.
"You come bearing flame," he said. "Unannounced. And yet you demand audience."
"No," Eldrin agreed. "You arrived."
Then: "Your mother is worried."
Lindarion's breath hitched. Only slightly. "Where is she?"
"She wanted to be here."
"I told her I wanted to speak to you first."
That said everything.
Lindarion took one step forward.
"I need your backing," he said.
"Without telling me for what."
The torches flickered now. A gust rolled gently through the high ceiling arches.
But something in his voice cooled.
"You return from silence. From absence. With a dragon. With a stranger. And you ask for trust."
Lindarion nodded. "I'm your son."
"That's not why I trust you."
"Because if you'd wanted to lie," Eldrin said, "you would have bowed."
The silence that followed wasn't empty.
The air in the hall changed.
"I will listen," he said. "Not as your father. As your king."
Lindarion's eyes didn't waver.
"But not here. Not yet."
Didn't respond right away either.
Lindarion took another step forward, measured, even. Close enough now to see the fine sun-gold threadwork across the hem of his father's cloak.
The same one he'd watched ripple through the air as a child, clinging to his mother's leg in this very room.
"I need an audience," he said. "With Nytheris."
That shifted everything.
But beneath the floor.