The next morning came, soft and reluctant.

  The warmth of the coffee lingered in Arty’s hands as she’s trying and failing to think her way through the wreckage of her pns.

  She had come to Torvaen three days ago, following the trail she had uncovered in her father’s chambers, a trail that spoke of men who had once roamed Araes now settling here in this forgotten town. She had come to find answers, to offer what little aid she could to Damir’s investigation. She had promised him to lend her eyes and ears, to do everything within her power.

  And now, it had all gone to shit.

  Arty scowled into the steam rising from her cup. To think she had humbled herself, pled her heart out to that maniac. Damir had been right in one thing, he had never truly promised to help. He had not said yes, nor had he said no. It was Arty’s own imprudence, her desperation, that had blinded her from the truth. Still, that insufferable, cunning snake had twisted the knife with such ease it made her blood boil thinking of it.

  She was seated now in a modest pub adjoining the only inn Torvaen still possessed. A fact that, given its proximity to the border, struck her as bitterly ironic. There should have been more inns, more signs of life. Instead, there was only silence, dust, and decay. It could be that there was little reason for travelers to come anymore. Or perhaps, because fewer and fewer ever made it through.

  By sheer misfortune or cruel design, it was the same inn where Damir and Eli had taken rooms as well. Arty tightened her grip on the cup, the temptation to shatter it against the floor rising for a moment before she wrestled it back down.

  She had made up her mind.

  She would forge another pn, find another way. Her people deserved more than despair, and she would be damned before she let some spoiled serpent of a man stand in her way.

  A push opened the pub door, the faint jingle of the bell overhead barely cutting through the low murmur of voices. Eli’s sharp gaze swept the room before nding on her. With a zy sort of interest, he made his way over.

  “You’re still here?” he said, staring down at her with a faint smirk.

  “I’m just trying to drink my coffee in peace.” Arty deadpanned, not bothering to look up.

  Eli chuckled and dropped into the seat across from her, stretching his legs beneath the battered table. As he settled in, he waved a hand to catch the serving girl’s attention.

  “Bread, eggs, and whatever stew you’ve got simmering,” he said. “And a coffee, if it’s not a crime against nature.”

  The girl nodded and hurried off, and Eli turned his attention back to Arty with a grin.

  “What you did st night was very funny.”

  Arty lifted a brow. “What? Was it His Highness’s first experience getting spped?”

  Eli ughed a dry, genuine sound. “That too. Honestly, I’ve often wondered what it’d feel like. Spping the hell out of him.”

  Arty only stared at him, unimpressed, and took another sip from her chipped mug.

  “You’re lucky he didn’t stab you.” Eli added lightly, as if mentioning the price of bread.

  The cup halted midair. Arty turned her gaze toward him, her frown deepening. “He would what?”

  “Damir’s not particurly fond of being touched.” Eli said with a casual shrug.

  Arty set the mug down with deliberate slowness. “Resorting to stabbing someone over that? That’s not just poor manners. That’s insanity.”

  Eli only smiled faintly. The serving girl returned a few moments ter, setting a pte of eggs and bread before him along with a second cup of coffee. He murmured a thanks, broke the bread open, and dug in without ceremony.

  “He almost killed your messenger girl, didn’t he?” he said between bites. “What made you think you’d be an exception?”

  “Well, I have no regrets,” Arty said, her fingers tightening around the mug. “That snake betrayed me. My respect for him was gone the moment I overheard your little talk.”

  Eli only watched her calmly between bites of bread, offering no remark.

  “I rushed outside when I heard a house was burning,” Arty went on, her voice steady despite the simmering anger. “And when I saw the two of you standing there, I knew. I knew you were involved.”

  Eli listened, chewing thoughtfully.

  Her voice lowered, quieter now, but no less bitter. “I heard what I wanted to hear… and he let me. Let me cling to it like a fool.” She scoffed, the edge of a ugh buried in contempt. “That pompous ass.”

  “I may not look like much,” she said, lifting her chin slightly, “but despite everything, I belong to House Fanum. And I am bound by oath to protect Ara.”

  “You cherish Ara that much, huh.” Eli mused, leaning back in his chair.

  “Yes, I do,” Arty said simply. A faint smile touched her lips, but it quickly vanished as another thought struck her. She smmed her mug down with a ctter. “Which reminds me, you burned down one of our townspeople’s houses!”

  Eli grinned, entirely unbothered. “Rex. It was only one house, and it was already intercepted by the cult. I made sure nobody else was harmed.”

  He plucked another piece of bread from his pte and popped it into his mouth, as if the matter was no more serious than a change in the weather.

  “You think I’d be that careless?” he added, fshing her a grin.

  Arty narrowed her eyes, unsure if she was reassured or furious all over again.

  "Now I’m stuck.” Arty said with a heavy sigh, dragging a hand through her hair. “I have to make another pn."

  Across the table, Eli looked up from his coffee, regarding her with mild amusement.

  "Or," he said casually, "you know, strike another deal with Damir."

  Arty scoffed, setting her mug down harder than necessary. "After what he did? I’m not an idiot. Your friend has some serious issues he needs to work on."

  "Artemi—" Eli began.

  "Arty." she cut in sharply. "It’s easier that way."

  Eli shrugged, "All right, Arty," he said, then added, "I’m just saying, Damir can also be an asset."

  Arty narrowed her eyes at him. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

  Eli took another bite of his bread, now with eggs, before answering. As if weighing whether it was worth the trouble to expin. "Have you ever wondered why he even agreed to look into your request?"

  "It crossed my mind," she admitted, tapping her fingers restlessly against her mug. "I thought maybe he pitied me."

  Eli gave a short, humorless chuckle. "Damir? Pity someone?" He shook his head. "Damir is the type who literally doesn’t give a fuck about anyone. It’s already a miracle you managed to drag him all the way out here."

  Arty stared at him, a knot twisting in her gut, unsure if that was meant to reassure her or terrify her even more.

  "I can’t wait for the future monarch to ascend the throne," Arty said dryly, the sarcasm dripping from every word.

  Eli ughed, unbothered. "Yeah, well, he’s a bit eccentric."

  "That’s an understatement," Arty muttered into her mug.

  Eli finished the st of his soup and leaned back in his chair. "I don’t know all the details, but Damir was already looking into these cases before you even reached out to him."

  Arty blinked. "Wait, he was?"

  "It’s not just Ara," Eli said, his voice dropping slightly. "We’ve been to several nations across the southern hemisphere. Wherever we went, we found traces of the cult."

  Arty leaned forward, her brows knitting. "Then what in the stars is he so wound up about? Going on and on about not being anyone’s salvation when he’s already chasing them down?"

  Eli only shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. "Damir is an enigma for everyone’s spectacle." He stood and drained the st of his coffee, the mug clinking softly as he set it down. "One thing I’m certain of though," he continued, his voice steadier now. "He was chosen to be King. "

  "But a king isn’t a savior. He rules as he sees fit, whether for the betterment of the kingdom or not. He is the pilr upon which Celestia stands."

  He turned fully to face her, the weight of old oaths and older loyalties heavy in his words.

  "Trust your king," Eli said quietly. "And kneel."

  Eli waved zily over his shoulder as he turned toward the door, tossing a few coins onto the table without looking back.

  Arty remained seated, staring after him in silence, her thoughts a slow, restless churn.

  What in the Gods is he even talking about? she thought bitterly, gripping her mug. Damir isn’t even a king yet.

  She finished the st cold sip of her coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste that clung to her tongue. Setting the cup down with more force than necessary, she pushed herself to her feet.

  Arty slung her cloak over her shoulders and made her way to the door. The air outside hit her sharp and cold, smelling of damp earth and woodsmoke.

  She pulled her cloak tighter around herself and started walking, boots scuffing softly against the uneven cobbles.

  ~

  Damir sat at the narrow writing desk, studying the notes he had scrawled in a sharp, controlled hand. Fragments of clues stretched across the page, tracing the cult’s movements, but none revealed their true purpose. The missing pieces gnawed at him.

  He hated waiting. He hated the feeling of losing control.

  The door creaked open and Eli entered, moving with the casual ease of someone who no longer bothered with formalities.

  "The pub serves a decent breakfast," Eli said as he set his bag down by the bed.

  Damir did not answer. His gaze remained fixed on the notes, mind turning relentlessly through every possibility. No matter how he rearranged the evidence, the truth refused to surface.

  "I saw Arty too," Eli added as he shrugged off his cloak.

  "Arty?" Damir echoed without gncing up.

  "Short for Artemisia. She insisted." Eli said, slumping onto his bed with a heavy sigh.

  Damir blinked slowly, then murmured, almost to himself, "Of course she did."

  Eli ignored the remark, crossing his arms behind his head as he stretched out.

  "We have been gone from the Capital for three weeks now," he said idly. "Do you think your father will notice his beloved son has vanished?"

  "You sound like Dorinne." Damir muttered.

  "I am only saying that next month you will not have the luxury of disappearing," Eli continued. "Your days will belong to the court."

  Damir rolled his eyes, weary of the reminder. Eli had always clung to duty, to structure, to the endless games of the Tower and Pace. Damir found them suffocating.

  "Remind me again," Damir said coolly, "why should that matter to me?"

  "You are the Crown Prince, destined to ascend the throne. Expected to secure the bloodline."

  Damir leaned back in his chair and stared at the cracked ceiling, "Can they not simply hire a whore that I can fuck and be done with it?"

  Eli ughed quietly, shaking his head.

  "You are amusing sometimes, d'you know that?" he said, though both of them knew there was no jest behind Damir’s words.

  Hours passed as Damir sat hunched over the desk, his sharp gaze flickering across the scattered parchments and half-finished notes. He read and reread each fragment, forcing himself to see the pattern he knew must exist. It had to be there, hidden between the cracks and contradictions.

  He needed order. He needed a starting point.

  Perhaps the cathedral that still stood in the rotting heart of Torvaen, or perhaps the local vilgers who might have seen things they feared to name aloud.

  Somewhere in this town, there is a thread to pull.

  By the time the sun dipped lower and the light spilling into the room turned thin and golden, Damir finally leaned back in his chair. His mind had quieted, if only slightly, the endless churning of possibilities settling into cold resolve.

  Eli remained stretched out on his bed, a worn book in his hands. He read zily, one finger idly tracing the lines of faded ink as he turned the pages with a carelessness that grated against Damir’s tightening patience.

  Damir opened his mouth to speak, intending to tell Eli they would be moving out soon.

  Before he could utter a word, a sharp knock sounded against the door.

  Eli rose from the bed and crossed the room in a few unhurried steps. He pulled the door open just enough to see who stood on the other side.

  "Arty?" he said, a flicker of surprise in his voice.

  "Can I come in?" she asked, her tone clipped but steady.

  Eli considered her for a moment, then opened the door wider in silent invitation.

  Damir gnced up from his notes, the ghost of a smirk already tugging at his mouth. He leaned casually against the desk, arms loosely crossed.

  "Oh? Are you lost, little bird?" he drawled.

  Arty fixed him with a ft, withering stare, the kind that could have withered a lesser man. "Shut up. I am here to make another deal."

  Eli blinked, a rare glimmer of amusement crossing his face. It seemed she had taken his advice after all, though perhaps not with the full enthusiasm he intended.

  Damir pushed away from the desk and straightened, his expression sharpening with interest. He moved toward her with the slow, deliberate grace of a man who smelled opportunity in the air.

  "Are you certain?" he said, voice smooth as silk. "I would hate to see you whining again when the world refuses to bend to your wishes."

  "Oh, don't worry," she replied, the corner of her mouth lifting. "I am certain you cannot refuse my offer."

  For a breath, the sunlight pouring through the high windows seemed to catch between them, a bde of gold hanging in the air. He regarded her with a gaze as steady as iron, weighing something unseen.

  Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he gave a single nod.

  “Well then, let’s hear this begrudging request.” he said, voice curling with a zy menace.

  The day marched on, heedless, as new threads quietly tightened.