"I appreciate the offer, but I'm fine."
"A shame."
Denmar's smile widened faintly. Then he lifted his cup, drank without hesitation, and set it aside.
"Still… I'm glad you're back. Your return is bound to stir things."
His finger tapped lightly against the desk.
"You know who'll be happiest to see you? Your father. By the Iron Father, the man would rejoice. Have you sent word? Does he know you're here?"
'The third one…'
That gesture again. The first time was when he asked about his whereabouts. The second, about his companions. Now…
'He does that when the question matters to him.'
The three questions were all tied to the same thing.
'He's trying to gauge who knows I'm here.'
"My father? That depends on who reaches him first."
"Of course. Of course. I imagine he'd throw a banquet large enough to shake the walls once he hears."
Denmar leaned back slightly, still smiling.
"You must understand what your return means, Zephyrion. House Calderalth has its heir again. Your sister has made impressive strides, yes… but your presence alone shifts the balance of the region."
"…."
Zephyrion barely reacted to the mention of his sister, offering only a quiet nod in return.
Denmar tapped the desk again.
"Indulge my curiosity. If you came back and found something meant for you… already in someone else's hands… would you take it back?"
'Hmm…'
Asking about his ambition when he'd barely even returned after seven years…
'Let's see where he stands.'
"I haven't thought that far." Zephyrion met his eyes calmly. "What do you think? Should I?"
A flicker pulled at Denmar's smile before he recovered and waved a dismissive hand.
"That road isn't as glorious as the stories make it sound. Your sister has built her alliances carefully. Politics have shifted. The region has… adapted."
He chuckled lightly.
"Seven years is a long exile. Enjoy being home first, hmm?"
'He's discouraging me.'
Zephyrion was about to reply when the office door opened.
A man stepped inside, walking straight toward Denmar.
Zephyrion's gaze flicked to him. The man's grey cloak hid most of his form, black hair framing a face cut by a single hard scar. But it wasn't the scar that mattered.
It was his presence. Quiet. Contained.
Steps too light. Breath too controlled. Posture too balanced. Eyes that didn't drift.
'A trained killer.'
Zephyrion noted it instantly.
'He didn't knock.'
A commander's office wasn't entered freely. Not unless permission was expected.
'Denmar was waiting for him.'
Zephyrion watched as the man handed Denmar a folded letter, then stepped aside without leaving.
'He's staying.'
Not a messenger. An asset.
Denmar broke the seal and ran his eyes over the contents. Then he smiled.
'He's pleased. The news favors him.'
"Some good news, I take it?" Zephyrion asked. "Word from home?"
Denmar blinked at the question, staring at him in brief silence.
'So it is from home.'
'What news from home would make him smile?'
Zephyrion let his mind slow for a breath, the earlier pieces sifting into place. After a moment, he exhaled lightly.
'I see.'
"You know," Denmar said as he rose from his seat and slowly walked around the desk, "there's a saying among falconers I've always liked."
As he came to stand before Zephyrion, a faint smile touched his lips.
"Is that so?" Zephyrion asked. "What is it?"
"One bird that disrupts the roost is never kept for long."
"Hm. And what happens to that bird?"
"They remove it from the roost."
Denmar held his gaze.
"For the sake of the house."
"That sounds… reckless."
"Reckless?"
Zephyrion did not blink.
"Because a bird that can disrupt the roost can just as easily tear it apart."
"…"
A flicker of coldness passed through Denmar's eyes before it disappeared behind his practiced smile. He stepped back.
"You must be tired," he said lightly. "Traveling so far, after so long… I shouldn't keep you. Rest for now. My man will escort you to your quarters while we send word of your return."
"Thank you for the hospitality."
Zephyrion calmly stood, leaving the office under Denmar's cold gaze. He stepped into an empty hallway a moment later.
The soldiers who had escorted him earlier were gone.
As the door closed behind him, the subordinate walked past, offering a shallow bow.
"I'll lead you to your quarters, young lord."
"Alright."
He fell into step behind the man, watching him with a passive expression as his mind sifted through everything.
'He intends to kill me.'
Denmar had never intended to welcome him back. From the moment Zephyrion stepped into the office, the man had been confirming one thing:
Who knew he was alive.
Who knew he had returned.
He was confirming whether removing him would carry any consequences.
Then there was the letter.
It hadn't been random. The assassin had been expected. He had arrived just after Zephyrion reached the bastion.
Which meant the order had been sent before Zephyrion ever arrived.
The request had gone out the moment he was discovered at the ruined village.
Denmar had smiled, and that alone said enough about the letter's contents.
No one at home knew of his return.
Even with the conclusion settled in his mind, Zephyrion's expression did not change.
With Denmar's intent no longer in question, only one question remained.
'When?'