The dining hall glowed warmly beneath rows of flickering torches, their flames reflecting off polished stone and the long table. Platters of roasted pheasant steamed gently beside glazed root vegetables and bowls of thick gravy, while freshly baked bread released a comforting, almost nostalgic warmth into the air.
Tirian and Orielle sat close at one end of the table. Orielle's laughter rang softly as she spoke, bright and warm, her hands moving animatedly as she told a story with enthusiasm, if it was a story suspected he'd already heard it would hardly matter, Tirian would listen happily.
"And then," she said, eyes sparkling, "I slipped straight into the barrel! Apples everywhere. Rolling. One hit the baker's apprentice square in the head, only for a stray dog to take it and run off leaving no evidence of the mark left on his head" She covered her mouth, laughing again.
Tirian listened, chin resting lightly against his knuckles, amber eyes warm as they followed her expressions. Her joy was infectious. Like sunlight seeping through cracks in a dark and closed of room.
She makes even the smallest moments sound like a pleasant day, he mused. She must've love her little village...
His fingers brushed against hers on the table, barely a touch, but deliberate. Familiar now. Comfortable. He noticed recently, being near her feels natural now, weeks after their marriage he's grown to seek being near her whenever they're in the same room.
When had that started happening? He wondered to himself.
Orielle didn't seem to notice the touch consciously, but she didn't pull away either. If anything, her hand drifted closer again as she finished her story, her smile softening when she realized he was watching her instead of eating.
"You know... I never know if you're listening to me. You look both disinterested and focused on me at the same time." she teased.
"You love to talk, and it's... enjoyable to listen," he replied calmly. A smile broadening on his face. One that would have been said to be so rare only a few weeks ago.
Before she could answer, the heavy doors of the dining hall creaked open.
A knight burst inside, armor clinking sharply in the quiet space as he dropped to one knee. His breath came fast, uneven.
"Your Highness," he said, bowing hastily. "Forgive the intrusion. The prisoner, one of the assassins, has escaped." The words rippled through the hall like a dropped stone in water. "The guard on duty... he seemed to have fallen asleep sir, we've sent him to a prison cell of his own to await your punishment... Your orders going forward your majesty?"
Servants froze mid-step. A maid's hand trembled as she stood by the door, eyes darting to the king.
Another servant stiffened, heart pounding. Escaped? Asleep?What fool would risk doing something like that under the kings command?
A young knight near the wall clenched his jaw. Will this... break the calm we've had from the king?
Whispers threatened to rise — fear, anticipation, unease — but they were swallowed whole by silence.
Tirian did not react immediately. He paused only long enough to finish his bite, set his fork down with deliberate care, and wipe his fingers with a cloth. His expression remained unreadable. "Ah," he said calmly. "I'll be done soon."
The knight blinked. "…Sir?"
"You're dismissed."
Confusion flickered across the knight's face. No orders? Just like that? But Tirian's gaze brooked no argument. The knight bowed again and retreated, steps hesitant, uncertainty clinging to him as he walked back to his post.
Orielle turned toward Tirian, concern creasing her brow, her fork still hovering in her hand. "The assassin?" she asked quietly. "The one that killed all the kni—"
Tirian stood. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his hand cupping her cheek, thumb lingering. "Yes," he said softly. "But he won't hurt you. Don't worry."
She looked up at him, unconvinced. "But what about you?" she asked. "What if they hurt more people? Shouldn't we—"
She's worried, he realized. The thought warmed something deep in his chest. "Yes," he said, low and steady. "But this isn't something you need to be concerned over."
He met her gaze, eyes sharp now, not cold, but resolved. "I let him go," he added quietly. "It isn't bad news."
Orielle's eyes widened. "…What?"
But Tirian was already turning away, cloak sweeping behind him as he strode out of the hall without another word.
Orielle sank back into her chair, pouting, fingers twisting the napkin in her lap. "He never tells me anything," she muttered, half annoyed, but still she smiled. Only to quickly hide it out of embarrassment and finished eating her food.
A nearby servant clearing plates stifled a laugh. If only she knew how far he's already changed for her, the servant thought. Gentle. Patient. Gods, none of us would have believed it.
Servants whispered in the halls, their voices low but urgent. "The king's off again," one said, polishing a candelabra. "And the queen's alone, pouting in the dining hall," another replied, shaking her head. "Poor thing, does she know he's wed to the battlefield before he was wed to her?" But others, those who'd seen the way Tirian's eyes softened around Orielle, exchanged cautious glances. He's changed though, a young maid thought, sweeping the corridor. Maybe she'll completely break that cold exterior of his.
*****
The armory rang softly with the clink of metal as Torvax secured the final straps of Tirian's armor. "He took longer to escape than I thought he would," Tirian said, brow creased.
Torvax snorted lightly. "Perhaps he's not as bright as you hoped. Or perhaps your… methods rattled his mind."
Tirian frowned. "I didn't strike his head. That shouldn't have affected him." He flexed his fingers, gauntlets tightening. "A drunk knight with a key falling asleep right by his prison cell... That should've simple enough to craft a plan to escape sooner."
Torvax fastened the knee plates and straightened. "Or perhaps it was too obvious. You're known for being ruthless, how would the cursed king allow any drunkard to guard a prisoner?. Anyone clever might suspect a trap."
Tirian considered that, then nodded slowly. "Then I suppose I should be grateful he still fell for it — even late."
Torvax struck the armor once, testing its fit. "Spies are tailing him. As predicted, he's headed into Blackthorn Forest. There must be another base, if he's going there in that condition with such confidence."
Tirian's eyes narrowed. Good. "You sent only three scouts?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Let's hope this is the end of that fallen trash," Tirian said sharply. "Or it would lead to the end... This is all too tiring, chasing remnants of Varakor."
Torvax inclined his head. "Of course it should end here. They'll never suspect we're using their own man."
"Sometimes," Tirian said grimly, "you need to let a snake slither to bring you to its nest."
He sheathed his sword. "Also, s end word to Kahiel to double Orielle's guard. No one gets near her... And." Swallowed, almost embarrassed to say it out loud. "Let her know I'm leaving and should be back latest tomorrow evening... So that she doesn't worry again..." He took off.
Torvax watched him pass, first a bit surprised then a small smirk formed on his lips as he stepped to walk beside Tirian. "Of course my lord... Should I bring a few more messenger birds to give her updates as the night unfolds... or-" Tirian turned giving him a side eye.
Torvax only laughs and then they carry on their way.
*****
Orielle made her way to the great library, candlelight trembling as she entered the vast space. Towering shelves loomed above her, ancient tomes heavy with dust and history.
She didn't hesitate. Her fingers skimmed titles until one caught her eye.
Chronicles of Eldoria's Gods.
She pulled it free, skimming the words. Mirra, who'd followed her quietly, stood at the edge of the shelf, her expression a mix of concern and confusion. "My lady, it's late," she said gently. "Perhaps you should rest?"
Orielle only shook her head, her voice firm. "Not yet. Tirian said something about the curse that I never knew... something about a sacred pact. I want to know what it was."
Mirra smiled gently "I'll be waiting outside then my lady" and withdrew.
Hours passed unnoticed. Orielle paused over a passage describing ancient blood rites, her brow furrowing as she read about rituals tying the royal line to the gods' favour. Orielle's lips curved into a eager smile, her eyes now glinting with excitement.
*****
Deep in Blackthorn Forest, Tirian dismounted silently.
A small cabin flickered ahead. "No one entered or left," a scout whispered.
Tirian nodded. "Positions." Steel whispered free of sheaths.
The trap closed.