Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 431. He's a Shield
Claire didn't smile. But her eyes… flickered.
"And now?" she asked.
Jane glanced around the corridor again. At the silk banners. At the warmth of the sconces. At the guards who bowed respectfully without fear.
"I was wrong," she admitted.
Her voice was quiet, but steady.
"This place isn't held together by fear. It's held together by something else. Power, yes—but… controlled power. Respect. Loyalty."
Claire gave a faint hum, a sound close to a knowing smirk. "You're not the first to think that way."
"I didn't know she was queen," Jane said softly. "Not really. Not until today. But when she looked at me back there, it wasn't as royalty."
Jane exhaled slowly.
"And him?" she asked. "The king?"
Claire paused in front of a tall wooden door with silver handles. Her tone dropped into something lower.
"Him…?" she repeated. "He rules because he must. Not because he wants to."
Jane tilted her head. "That sounds like a lie."
Claire shook her head. "It's not. The king didn't ascend with ambition. He rose because the kingdom would have collapsed without him. He's not a politician. He's a shield."
Jane didn't respond at first.
Then, softly—"A shield with shadows in his veins."
Claire looked at her for a long moment.
"Yes," she said. "But still a shield. And a sword."
She opened the door.
The guest quarters were dim and warm. A fire had already been lit. The bed was massive, dressed in silver-threaded navy sheets. The scent of clean linens and dried petals filled the air.
Jane stood in the doorway, hesitating.
Claire's voice followed. "Rest, Jane. You're safe here."
Jane turned slightly. "That's the thing I'm afraid of."
Claire blinked. "Afraid?"
Jane looked back into the room.
"I've never really been safe before," she said. "I don't know what I'll become if I stop looking over my shoulder."
Claire's voice came quiet, firm. "Then maybe it's time you found out."
And with that, she left her alone.
The door closed with a soft click.
Jane stood in silence.
The fire crackled. The sheets rustled as she finally walked toward the bed. The shadows in the corners of the room didn't feel ominous—they felt watchful.
She laid down without removing her cloak.
And whispered into the quiet, "Angelus…"
Because somehow, even in the stillness…
She couldn't stop thinking about him.
She sat up after a moment, the weight of the cloak pooling around her.
Jane stood and moved toward the wardrobe tucked between two tall candelabras. Its polished dark wood shimmered under the firelight, intricate etchings lining the doors—symbols she didn't recognize, but that hummed faintly with magic. Protection runes, most likely.
She opened it slowly.
Inside hung dresses.
Not just one or two, but at least a dozen, spaced neatly and preserved with subtle enchantments. She could feel it the moment the wood opened—how the mana shimmered against her fingertips like a whisper.
She reached out and touched the nearest gown. Midnight blue velvet. Embroidered with fine silver thread that curved along the hem like frost winding across a windowpane. Her hand slid down the fabric, the material soft—too soft, like it shouldn't exist in this world. Lined with something weightless. Regal.
She moved to another.
A pale gray dress with bell sleeves and delicate beadwork around the collar. She let her fingers drift across the neckline, then down to the waist. Everything tailored to fit someone like her. Her measurements. Her height. Her shape.
A quiet, bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Of course they knew," she whispered.
She pulled one dress halfway out, admiring the way it shimmered in the firelight. There was something about it—simple, but… powerful. Like a queen who didn't need a crown to be obeyed.
She let the dress fall back into place and stepped away from the wardrobe, retreating to the edge of the bed. She sat down carefully, back straight, eyes flicking toward the glowing embers in the hearth.
"I wonder if this is a good decision…" she murmured.
Her voice barely reached the air. The walls didn't answer.
Was she safer here than in Pontus? Yes. Probably.
Was she caught between two thrones now? Absolutely.
Did she still trust herself to make the right call?
That… she didn't know yet.
She looked down at her hands, the skin pale from the cold of travel, fingers trembling faintly. Not from fear—but from the weight of standing still. After all these years of running, of hiding, of surviving in silence… staying in one place felt louder than any scream.
She clenched her hands into fists.
Then loosened them again.
All she could do now was hope.
That this was the right castle.
That these were the right people.
That this strange kingdom, humming with dark power and strange kindness, wouldn't turn on her.
She laid back again, this time slower. Her eyes fluttered shut.
But her thoughts didn't.
Even in the dark…
Even in this soft bed and this strange kingdom…
She kept seeing his face.
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