The soft warmth of morning had long faded inside the west wing of the castle.
Behind heavy oak doors, the air was thick — filled with the faint scent of burned incense and the quiet crackle of fire.
Prince Ren stood by the window, the sunlight brushing against his pale hair, his jaw tense. Across from him, the court magician, Alaric, leaned against his cane, calm but unyielding.
"You overstep again," Ren said coldly, his voice sharp as glass.
Alaric raised an eyebrow. "And you underestimate, as always."
Ren turned, eyes narrowing. "Don't play games with me. You know what happens when you cross that line."
The magician smiled faintly. "And yet, here I am — still standing on it."
The silence between them stretched, dangerous. A faint shimmer of magic pulsed around Alaric's hand, like a restrained storm.
Ren's tone softened but lost none of its edge. "You think I don't know what you're trying to do? You're walking into forbidden ground again."
Alaric met his gaze steadily. "Someone has to. You've been pretending that nothing's wrong — that the cycle hasn't already started again."
Ren's hand clenched at his side. "Don't say that word."
"Why not?" Alaric's eyes flashed. "Because it's true? Because she's—"
Ren's glare cut through the air like a blade. "Enough."
For a long moment, neither spoke. Only the fire crackled — low, alive, as though it too listened.
Finally, Alaric sighed. "You can hide her from the truth, but it won't change what she is."
Ren's voice turned quiet. "She's nothing like before."
"Perhaps not yet."
That reply made Ren look up sharply, but Alaric had already turned away, brushing ash from his cloak. "You can't protect her from what's inside her, my prince. Not this time."
Ren's tone dropped to a whisper, heavy with something that almost sounded like pain.
"Then I'll protect her from you."
Alaric chuckled softly — not cruelly, but as if he pitied him. "You say that every time."
Ren's hand tightened on the edge of the table, and the candle beside him flickered violently. "And every time, I mean it."
Outside, the faint chime of a bell rang through the corridor — marking the hour.
Neither man moved.
When Alaric finally left the room, Ren stood still, staring out the window. His reflection in the glass looked calm, but the veins on his hand glowed faintly — like someone holding back a storm that had been waiting centuries to rise again.