Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 430. Jane's Thought
Jane stood slowly, limbs still heavy with everything she had just remembered, confessed, and survived. The weight of years spent hiding clung to her shoulders, but something inside her spine had begun to realign—like the quiet click of an old lock opening, slowly.
Rose gave her a reassuring glance.
Claire stepped forward with a slight incline of her head.
"I'll escort her to her quarters," Claire said calmly.
Rose nodded once. "Make sure she's settled."
Jane followed Claire out of the parlor, the door closing behind them with a soft thud that somehow still echoed.
Silence swallowed the hallway.
They walked quietly for a while.
The stone beneath their feet was cool, smoothed from centuries of passage. The tall windows lining the corridor let in slanted amber light from the setting sun, casting long shadows across the carpets. The air was faintly scented with the polish used on the wooden balustrades—lavender and something darker, almost like cedar soaked in smoke.
Jane's eyes traced the architectural details as they moved.
Each arch was carved with symbols she didn't recognize. Each torch bracket bore the crest of Euphorion, but newer ones—subtle, cleaner. Designed not for intimidation, but elegance. The walls whispered history, but it was layered—not proud history, but rebuilt. Rewritten.
And it was beautiful.
Far more beautiful than she expected.
More than her childhood castle in Pontus, even.
It felt less like a castle… and more like a palace wearing castle armor.
Jane's gaze softened as she took it all in. She knew the reason castles were the preferred residence of royals across the continent—it wasn't about luxury. It was about war. A palace could be a symbol of power, yes, but a castle was a last stronghold. The final wall between a monarch and their end.
Euphorion's White Moon Castle had all the hallmarks of fortress planning—but… it hummed.
That was the only word she could think of.
It hummed. Quietly. Steadily. Beneath her feet. Against her skin. Like the walls were soaked in magic. Old, deep magic.
She didn't need to ask where it came from. She already knew.
The same source that had danced across the king's palm.
The same power that still lingered in her senses like a trace of smoke in her lungs.
Her thoughts drifted—inevitably—back to him.
Sir Rai.
Angelus.
The King.
She hadn't expected that.
When she first met him, he was just a soldier. Quiet. Calculating. Brutal with his sword. And young—too young to wear that much burden in his eyes.
And yet now, here he was. Ruling. Respected. Feared by some, admired by many. It didn't make sense. But it did. Because despite how much darkness danced in his aura, it never once moved toward her with harm.
"Your Highness," Claire said quietly, pulling her gently from her thoughts, "you look like you have a lot on your mind."
Jane blinked. "Ah… No—" She caught herself, smiling awkwardly. "Please don't call me that. It's been a long time since anyone's said it. Just… call me Jane."
Claire's expression softened, and she gave the faintest nod. "Very well. Jane it is."
Jane let out a breath. Not relief, exactly—but something near it. The corridor turned, opening into a more intimate wing with low light and fine tapestries lining the walls. The air here was warmer, the scents more floral than the rest of the keep.
Claire looked ahead, but her voice was softer now. "So? What were you thinking?"
Jane hesitated. Then, slowly, her voice came.
"I was thinking about the king and the queen…"
Claire glanced toward her, curious but patient.
"I heard bits of the story before," Jane continued. "Before I came here. Whispers. The princess of Zephyrus… how she was taken by Euphorion as a political prisoner. An offering of peace."
Claire didn't interrupt.
Jane's voice was lower now, her brows furrowed. "And I thought the king must be cruel. Cold. I imagined a man who forced her into marriage. Kept her in a tower. The usual royal nightmare."
She looked at Claire. "And the princess—Rose—I thought she would suffer here. That she would be broken into royalty Euphorion-style, used like a pawn. Like I almost was."
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