Emma sat on the stone bench beneath the dovecote, her skirts brushed with pale feathers. The doves fluttered around her feet, pecking at the crumbs she usually tossed with a smile, but today her hand was still. Her fingers only rubbed absently at the silk scarf folded in her lap, the sa one Elias had pressed into her hands days ago, stiff and awkward as ever, muttering sothing about "keeping her hair out of her eyes."
She sighed, lowering her head, her curved lashes veiling her eyes. The scarf was soft against her skin, but her thoughts were heavy, circling back to the mistake she had made, the worry she had caused her princess.
The crunch of boots on gravel startled her. She looked up, and there he was... Elias, tall, rigid as a blade drawn straight from its sheath. He stopped a pace away, frowning down at her with that familiar unreadable expression that sohow carried more weight than any smile.
"You’re... not feeding them," he said at last, as though the observation itself were ant to cure her sorrow.
Emma blinked at him. The doves cooed softly, flapping at her skirts. She managed a weak smile. "They’re not hungry today."
"That’s not true," he said, deadpan, and crouched beside her to scatter the crumbs she had forgotten to throw. The birds sward instantly, their wings brushing his boots. "See?"
Despite herself, a small laugh escaped her lips, thin but genuine. Elias glanced at her sidelong, almost startled at the sound. His hand stilled in the crumbs, then tightened into a fist.
"You shouldn’t... sit here alone," he said stiffly. "You’ll catch a cold. Or... look suspicious."
Emma tilted her head, curious despite her gloom. "Suspicious? For sitting with doves?"
"Yes," he said flatly, as though no further explanation were needed.
Her lips trembled, torn between laughing again and crying. She clutched the scarf tighter. "Elias..."
He shifted, clearly uneasy, then blurted out, "The Princess doesn’t bla you."
Her breath caught.
He stared straight ahead, at the doves, his jaw set. "If she did, I would know. She... trusts you. You care for her. She sees it. She wouldn’t fault you for... for being human."
Emma’s throat tightened. For hours, she had drowned herself in guilt, but his blunt words, spoken with such certainty, slipped through her defenses like sunlight breaking clouds.
Her eyes watered, and she pressed the scarf against her lips to hide the tremor. "...How do you know?" she whispered.
At last, he turned to her, and though his face was as expressionless as stone, his gaze softened just enough. "Because I’ve seen the way she looks at you," he said quietly. "The sa way you look at her. Like family. And family forgives. That’s what they do."
Emma blinked, her tears falling, but this ti her smile was true. Elias was right. The princess never blad her to her face, and she smiled from her heart when she looked at her. Maybe she was beating a dead horse, sothing she didn’t have to mind anymore.
Elias looked away imdiately, ears faintly red, and scattered another handful of crumbs with unnecessary force.
"Don’t cry," he muttered. "It’s... botherso."
She laughed again, and this ti the sound was light, free of weight.
The doves scattered upward in a sudden flurry of wings, white feathers drifting down around them. One feather settled on Emma’s lap, and she lifted it carefully between her fingers, marveling at its softness.
Without a word, Elias reached into his coat and, with the sa unthinking ease as drawing breath, tucked a single peony beside her. Then, true to himself, he stood and walked away, his steps asured, shoulders stiff as ever.
Emma stared after him, surprised, then picked up the peony. She brought it to her nose, the delicate sweetness filling her senses, brushing away the last shadows that had weighed her heart. A smile blood across her face, bright and unguarded.
Clutching the flower and the scarf to her chest, she rose. Her feet carried her lightly now, almost skipping, until she found her way back, where she always belonged... at her princess’s side.
-----
In Leroy’s study, silence pressed down like a weight, thick and suffocating, as though the walls themselves waited to crack.
"The tunnels..." Aldric’s voice was steady, but the pulse beating hard at his temple betrayed him. "Which tunnels are you ntioning?"
Leroy leaned back, his eyes narrowing, catching every flicker, every vein raised along Aldric’s neck. "You know exactly which tunnels." His tone cut sharply, then dropped lower, almost to himself. "You knew. You knew exactly where Lorraine was, while I searched like a madman. And yet..."
His fist slamd against the oak table, the silver bear rattling on its surface. His teeth clenched. His anger simred; not wild, but controlled, dangerous.
Aldric exhaled slowly, his blue eyes dimming, shadowed by hesitation. "I—"
"Speak only if you’ll speak truth," Leroy snapped, his voice flint striking steel. "Otherwise, keep silent."
The room seed to constrict. Aldric lowered his head, fingers locking tightly before him. He shut his eyes, drew in a long breath, and when he opened them, sothing hardened in his eyes: clarity, resolve, inevitability.
"Maybe it’s ti," he said quietly. "I’ll be honest. But first..." His gaze flicked toward the door. "I want Sylvia here."
Leroy stilled. A flicker of surprise passed through him, not at the request, but at the thread of personal weight behind the na. Still, he gave only the barest nod. Aldric could choose what shadows to drag into the light.
Aldric stepped out, his boots echoing on the stone floor. Down the hall, Sylvia turned the mont she saw him, her instinct to flee plain in every step. But Aldric caught the faint sheen of salve glimring on her skin, the very one he had given her, and a small, quiet smile tugged at his lips.
He extended his hand. "Co with ," he said, voice low, steady.
"I’m busy," she answered curtly, her mouth pressed tight as she tried to brush past him.
"You wanted to know , didn’t you?" His words followed her like an arrow. "Now is your chance. The Prince’s study. Co."
Sylvia froze. When she turned back, her eyes were wide, questioning if he truly ant it. The gravity in his expression gave her the answer.
Together, they entered the study. Leroy’s gaze flicked from one to the other but said nothing. Aldric pulled a chair for Sylvia, his movents oddly gentle, then stepped forward himself.
He planted his feet wide, shoulders squared, fists tight at his sides. For the first ti in years, Aldric looked less like the unflappable steward of shadows and more like a man about to strip his soul bare.
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