The smile that flickered across his mouth was thin. Polished. A politician's reflex.
"Well. You're persistent."
"You sealed my room," Lindarion said.
"I asked for a delay," Edric corrected. "You've been unpredictable. It's not unusual to take precautions."
"Precautions?" Lindarion stepped closer. "You locked me in a warded room. No guards. No message. No time frame. That's not protocol. That's a trap with fancy paperwork."
Edric didn't rise. Just rested his fingers on the desk like he was keeping the wood from floating away.
"You've made people nervous."
"Not the right people," Edric said. "You don't walk into another kingdom and start ordering around their court like you own it."
"I wasn't ordering. I was warning."
"Well, the warning's been received. The king will act when he sees fit."
"You tried to keep me quiet."
Edric's smile didn't move. "Did I succeed?"
Lindarion didn't answer.
'This man's not afraid. Not even a little. Either he's protected… or he's in on it.'
Ashwing shifted on his shoulder, but said nothing.
Edric continued casually. "You can posture all you want. Threaten, glare, throw around your fancy titles and affinities. But you're not in Eldorath anymore. And your name means nothing here without a seat at the table."
Lindarion stepped right up to the desk.
So close Edric finally leaned back.
"I don't need a seat," Lindarion said. "I'm not here to impress. I'm here to keep your kingdom from getting flattened."
Edric's eyes narrowed. "And what if I told you I didn't care?"
Lindarion stared at him.
"Then I'd call you exactly what you are."
"A traitor," Lindarion said. "Wrapped in good suits and soft manners."
But there was weight behind the motion.
He set both hands on the desk.
"You can accuse me of a lot of things, elf, but that word has consequences."
"So do your actions."
For a moment, the room felt too small.
And everything hanging between them ready to snap.
Then Edric spoke again.
"You're not as untouchable as you think. Just remember that."
Lindarion's voice was quiet.
"And you're not as clever."
He turned and walked out.
Didn't wait for a reply.
Because whatever game Edric thought he was playing—
It was already starting to fall apart.
And Lindarion had stopped playing fair four years ago.
Lindarion stepped back into the hallway, the echo of his boots clipped and tight across the marble.
He wasn't walking fast.
Edric's office door shut behind him on its own. Not with magic. Just with that final, polished click, the kind of sound someone made when they thought they'd just won a round.
'He's too calm. Either he thinks the king will ignore me, or he doesn't care what happens next.'
Ashwing shifted slightly on his shoulder. "You going to tell someone about that conversation?"
"Because you want proof?"
"No. Because I want to be the one who rips that smug look off his face when it counts."
He turned the next corner.
Someone was already standing there.
She wore the same dark armor as the rest of the King's Blade, no cloak, no helmet. Her skin was olive-toned, her short black hair tousled just enough to suggest she didn't care what anyone thought of it. Brown eyes.
No makeup. A faint scar cut just above her right eyebrow, barely visible unless the light hit it directly.
She looked like someone who'd once smiled a lot, and then stopped out of habit.
"Prince Lindarion," she said. "You weren't supposed to be down this hall."
"I wasn't supposed to be locked in, either."
He didn't try to walk around her.
She didn't move aside.
They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other.
"Captain Nayla Therin," she said. "Fourth Blade."
"You work under Jaren?"
"I work next to him. Don't let the numbers fool you."
Her tone wasn't aggressive. Not sharp.
And that… he respected.
"You here to drag me back?" he asked.
"No. If that were the order, I'd have done it already."
"I'm here to say you're making a lot of people nervous."
"Not good for them," she replied. "Not good for you either."
Lindarion glanced past her, toward the hallway that led back to the central spire.
"You stopping me from leaving the wing?"
But without argument.
He walked past her, and for a moment, he thought that was the end of it.
But then she spoke again.
Quiet. Almost to herself.
"You're not wrong, by the way."
Her expression didn't change.
"I've been watching him too."
Lindarion narrowed his eyes. "Why tell me?"
"Because I've got limits," she said. "Can't cross them without losing my job."
"And I'm not part of your chain of command."
Then turned back toward her.
"You said you've been watching him."
Nayla nodded. "Not officially."
"Because he gives orders like someone who doesn't care who dies so long as he gets promoted."
That hit a little too close to what Lindarion already knew.
"You think he's working with someone?"
"I think he's not working for the king."
That was good enough for him.
Lindarion stepped closer, arms crossed now.
She didn't flinch. Didn't straighten. Just leaned against the wall was a break between drills, not a conversation that might get her removed from the royal guard.
He studied her again.
The way her armor was worn just at the edges, how her boots were older than the floor beneath them. Her sword was plain, but cleaned so well the metal looked white under the light.
And he needed more of those.
"You ready for war?" Lindarion asked.