Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 473. Power and Temptation IV
Rose turned back and checked again, slower now. Her hand hovered over Roric's chest, not touching but close enough to feel the rhythm of his heart. Strong. Steady. Still real. Then she lowered her hand, gently brushing over his ribs, his side, down to his stomach. She paused.
Nothing strange. No scarring. No glyphs. No magic formation under the skin. No signs of cursed branding or ritual marks.
Just warmth. Skin. Flesh.
She shook her head, her lips a thin line. She didn't know how Seraphine had done it.
Angel's eyes flicked toward the desk near the window.
He moved first, quiet as a breeze. His fingers brushed along the wooden surface, over a few letters, a folded map, a feather pen half-used. Then he found it.
A journal.
Simple binding. Rough parchment. No seal. But tucked away just enough that it hadn't been meant for display. Private. Hidden.
He opened it.
Rose came up beside him.
The handwriting was Roric's. Bold strokes. Rigid spacing. The way he wrote when he didn't trust his own thoughts.
"If I forget, let this remind me."
"The tonic from Seraphine. Headaches persist."
"She says it's for relief, but every time I drink it, I feel… fog. Delay. Like a mist is settling into my spine."
"I write this not to betray her, but because I'm not sure if I trust her anymore. I don't feel better. I feel slower."
Angel's grip on the pages tightened slightly.
Rose's breath caught.
He flipped forward, careful not to tear the aged parchment. The entries were scattered, disjointed.
"Took the tonic again. Jane looked worried. Can't remember why she came to my room. She said something about a training schedule I don't recall."
"The smell of the tonic changed. Sweeter. I asked. Seraphine said it's the herb variation. I didn't question her."
"I keep forgetting names. Orders. I asked my page twice today about the same report."
The last entry was even more unsettling.
"If I forget this journal… burn it."
"If I'm acting strange… don't believe me."
Rose exhaled slowly, her voice low. "He knew."
Angel nodded. "And he knew he couldn't stop it."
They closed the journal gently, placing it back exactly where it had been, just under a folded cloth and a military notice scroll.
Rose smoothed the surface once. No trace left behind.
They didn't speak as they stepped back from the desk.
Their eyes returned to Roric. Still sleeping. Still unaware.
But now they knew.
Now the shape of Seraphine's play was visible. It wasn't domination. Not overt. It was erosion. Quiet control. A crown reshaped by confusion until its bearer was no longer certain it was real.
Rose glanced at Angel, her voice just above a whisper. "We can't let her keep him like this."
"We won't."
He raised his hand.
Power surged. The air bent.
The warmth of the room dissolved into a cold pocket of darkness… and then they were back.
The cushions. The fire. The untouched tea. The scent of chamomile still lingering.
Rose collapsed gently onto the seat, her hand on her chest.
She wasn't trembling. But she was holding something in.
"He's not gone," she said again, louder this time. "He's still in there."
Angel stood across from her, gaze fixed on the floor, then slowly rising to meet hers.
"He tried to fight it," he said. "Writing that journal… he knew she was doing something. He didn't trust her."
"He didn't want this," Rose added. "That means everything."
"It means," Angel said quietly, "he might still be an ally."
She looked up. "And if we bring him back?"
Angel's eyes darkened.
"Then Seraphine loses her lever," he said. "And Darius loses his shield."
A beat passed between them.
Neither smiled.
But both understood.
They weren't guests anymore.
They were now the variable. The danger. The wake-up call to a court that thought it still controlled its pieces.
And Seraphine?
She would know soon enough.
Angel walked to the window, pushing it open slightly. The night air blew in, cool and clean, brushing against his face. Somewhere out there, the false queen slept in her silks, convinced her puppets would dance forever.
Let her sleep.
Morning was coming.
And it wasn't hers.
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