“Your highness!” A voice echoed in the hallways, as its owner opened the door to the armoury, causing it to slam against the wall. “Your highness,” the soldier exclaimed. He bowed, then paused for a split second to catch his breath before speaking. “Lord Orlein is awake, and the Princess requests your presence.”

  His heart skipped a beat as his eyes shot wide open. “Alistair woke up?” His gaze darted to Arbiter Kaien. “Arbiter, my apologies, however I must attend to this matter. I do hope to be able to speak with you again, though.”

  “As do I, highness.” Arbiter Kaien smiled. “Attend to your matters, and I shall rest. The journey was arduous, and I am not the spry young man I once was.” He chuckled at his own words before turning to the soldier. “Young man, can you show the way to my quarters? This castle is vast and confusing, and I am terribly lost.”

  The soldier shot a quick glance at Midhir, and as soon as he nodded, he spoke. “Of course, Lord Arbiter. This way.”

  Allowing the gifted blade to vanish into the holding gem, Midhir also hurried out the door. He only slowed down to inform Arwen. They rushed to the upper floors of the Vermillion Keep, to the chamber Alistair was resting in.

  The young noble was seated on his bed. His usual calm and collected demeanour was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his face was pale, his eyes wide open, and he was staggering over his own words as he addressed Ilya.

  “I- I don’t remember…” his voice faded as he spotted Midhir and Arwen step inside. A smile flashed across his lips as he motioned to get up, only for a sharp voice to stop him.

  “Your legs won’t carry you yet, little lordling.”

  Only when she spoke did he notice her. Circe was standing by the wall in the far side of the room, her arms crossed, and lips pursed. She lifted her gaze to look at Arwen and Midhir, then lowered in again, seemingly lost in thought.

  “How are you feeling?” Arwen approached Alistair. Her brows were furrowed, and her lips formed a thin line with worry. “Do you remember what happened?”

  The young Orlein scowled. “More or less, I suppose.” He glanced at Ilya, who was sitting on a stool with an almost angry expression. Her sharp gaze was locked onto him. “I remember the explosion, but everything after that is a blur. Someone attacked me, I think, but that’s about it…” Alistair’s voice faded as he forced his memory seemingly in vain.

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  “You’re lucky you still remember that much.” Ilya piped up. Her gaze turned to Circe. “Aside from the memory loss, there are no issues, are there?” Her voice was sharp, and her piercing gaze filled with annoyance.

  Circe’s lips curled down. “No. Take a few days to rest and recover, little lordling, and you’ll be good as new.”

  “Good.” Ilya stood up. “Come, then. Your work isn’t yet done.”

  Circe raised her chin. “I see she raised you to be as impatient as her.” Despite her complains, the Crimson Witch walked towards the door, only pausing as she passed Arwen. “You waste time, Arwen my dear. Threats loom over this city still, and you are unarmed yet.”

  Blood drained from Arwen’s face. “I’m sorry…” her voice faded as she looked down.

  Once Circe and Ilya left, Alistair visibly relaxed. His tense shoulders dropped, and his stiff back seemed to soften up a bit as he leaned against the pillows. “What was that about?” He asked, but Arwen was quick to shake her head.

  “I’m glad you’re with us again.” Her voice trembled ever so slightly. “Make sure to rest. I have to go.” She quickly added before rushing out of the room. Her running footsteps echoed in the hallway for a few moments longer.

  Once silence settled back in, Midhir stepped forward. His lips parted, but he found himself lost for words. There was a lump in his throat, and a tightness in his chest.

  Alistair looked at him with a faint smile. “I admit I find this a little awkward.” His words broke the silence. “Your highness.” He added a moment later.

  Midhir visibly flinched. “Please don’t.” He blurted out.

  Alistair chuckled softly. “Her highness did say you’d say that… and I admit I expected it too.” He brushed his hair back, then sat upright again. “I had my suspicions, since our conversation in Bareon. I didn’t quite guess correctly, but I was close enough.” He laughed, then raised his eyebrows. “You do realise you look like a lost puppy, don’t you?”

  “What?” Midhir couldn’t help but laugh at the comparison. “I’m sorry, Alistair. You have every right to want to distance yourself – I hid something important from all of you.” He breathed out a troubled sigh.

  The young Orlein shrugged. “Well, it’s a big secret. I understand though – you’d be in far greater danger everywhere we went if you had disclosed it. And not to mention the hassle it would have caused both in Solus and in Bareon and Lohssa.” He shook his head, his lips parted as if he was going to speak more, but his gaze locked on something behind Midhir. “Willow?”

  Midhir quickly turned around.

  Willow had just stepped into the room. Her cheeks and eyes were swollen, and red. He could still see her eyes watering, though she quickly wiped them and forced a smile. “I’m glad you’re ok, Alistair.” Her gaze turned to Midhir. “You’re… fine, right? She healed you too?”

  “What?” Alistair’s gaze darted to Midhir. “What happened?”

  Midhir bit his lips. “I’m fine, for now. For about a year.”

  While Willow’s eyes widened, Alistair’s bewildered gaze darted between the two of them.

  “What happened to you though, are you ok?” Midhir asked. They could explain all that happened to the young Orlein heir later. “Is your father ok?”

  As soon as the words left his mouth, Willow’s tears welled up again. She tried to wipe her eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop coming. “He’s not waking up.” She spoke with a trembling voice. “Even the witch can’t wake him up.”