Greyhaven did not celebrate Aren's return.
It whispered.
Rumors followed him through every corridor.
"He spared a traitor."
"He promised grain without permission."
"He acts like a prince."
"He thinks like a king."
Rowan received him in private.
Behind closed doors.
No witnesses.
No smiles.
"You overstepped," Rowan said.
"I prevented a war," Aren replied.
"At the cost of authority."
"At the cost of blood," Aren answered.
Silence stretched.
Rowan poured wine.
Did not offer any.
"You're popular," the prince said. "With soldiers. With towns."
Aren remained calm.
"Because I listen."
"That makes you dangerous."
"So does being blind."
The prince studied him.
Then smiled thinly.
"Next time," Rowan said, "ask first."
Aren bowed.
But did not promise.
Across the city, word spread.
Stonefield had been spared.
Taxes reduced.
Grain delivered.
Aren's name followed every story.
Not as a spy.
As a protector.
Soldiers sought him for advice.
Captains asked his opinion.
Merchants requested favors.
Power gathered quietly.
Like water behind a dam.
Lysa noticed first.
"You're building something," she said.
"I'm surviving," Aren replied.
"Same thing, lately."
One evening, a young officer approached.
"My men trust you," he said. "More than the princes."
Aren dismissed him.
But remembered.
In council, Harland watched him closely.
Morn prayed harder.
Caelis trained more troops.
Everyone sensed the shift.
Aren stood one night on the palace roof.
Looking over Greyhaven.
Thousands of lives.
Thousands of hopes.
All fragile.
All tied to choices he made.
He whispered to the wind:
"I won't waste this."
Far away, House Draven prepared again.
And within the capital…
New rivals were being born.