Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 432. Not Like Mine
The fire had burned low in the parlor room.
Only soft embers now, casting a quiet glow across the stone hearth and gilded furniture. Shadows swayed lazily on the walls, undisturbed by the weight of silence between the two who remained.
Rose leaned against the high armrest of the couch, her elbow tucked beneath her chin, watching the flickering light catch on the edge of Angel's profile. He hadn't moved much since Jane left. Not in body, anyway. His mind was far, far elsewhere.
She finally broke the silence.
"What do you think?"
Angel didn't look at her. Not right away. His eyes were fixed on the flames, but not really seeing them.
"About the power she mentioned?" he asked.
Rose gave a slow nod.
He exhaled and sat back against the chair, the leather creaking faintly beneath him. "It might be a different type of dark power. Not like mine."
Her brow arched faintly. "You're sure?"
"No one's ever sure with this kind of thing," he muttered. "Dark power's… temperamental. Messy. It adapts. Morphs. Twists depending on who holds it."
She tilted her head. "So it's shaped by the user?"
"And by their emotion," he added, finally glancing at her. "Their fear. Their hate. Their grief. Whatever's deepest."
Rose tapped her nails against the couch. Thoughtful. "So this woman… the one who seduced the King of Pontus…"
Angel's jaw tightened subtly. "It's not supposed to be related. Not to me. Not to my origin. That mirror magic, or whatever it was—it's not my lineage."
"But…" Rose prompted, leaning in slightly.
Angel's lips curled into a grim line. "But her power still worries me."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're afraid you'll end up like the King of Pontus?"
He scoffed under his breath. "Hardly. I know my power. I know where it comes from. I don't fall for parlor tricks."
"Have someone tried it before?" Rose asked, a flicker of curiosity lighting her gaze.
Angel paused. Then let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "Plenty. Mostly in the beginning. The moment I ascended."
He looked up, eyes reflecting firelight now.
"They all wanted me pliable. Controllable. Their puppet king with pretty eyes and a cursed birthright."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "They tried poison. Enchantments. Even binding rituals masked as protection rites."
Rose stiffened. "That's—awful."
Angel's mouth curved into something between a smirk and a sneer. "You know what I did to them."
Rose blinked. Then her expression softened. "Ah… yeah."
She remembered.
He didn't exile them.
He didn't imprison them.
He burned them.
There was no room for treason in Angelus's rule. Not when the kingdom was already on the brink. Not when he had clawed it back from the jaws of ruin with blood on his hands and fire in his veins.
She watched him now. Not the king. But the man beneath.
He was quiet. Still. But never soft.
And it scared her sometimes—how steady he could be while holding so much rage under the surface.
"They underestimated you," she said quietly.
Angel didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
She shifted her legs beneath her, sitting up straighter. The candlelight caught the sheen of her silk sleeves, whispering against the fabric like secrets spoken only in silence.
"They thought you were young and alone," she added. "An easy crown."
"They were half right," he murmured. "I was young."
She smiled faintly. "But never alone."
He looked at her then. Really looked.
"No," he said. "Never."
There was a beat.
Then two.
The fire crackled again.
She could feel the tension in the castle's wards. A faint pulse. The hum of layered spells activating now that night had arrived. Security. Defense. Protection.
And underneath it all…
The same signature as the king.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
Then opened them.
"I don't like this woman," she admitted softly. "Whoever she is… the stepmother… she's not just using power. She's digging into something deeper."
"She's not a sorceress," Angel said.
"No," Rose agreed. "She's a vessel."
That word landed like a rock between them.
He leaned back into the chair. "Then she's not the only one."
Rose looked at him sharply.
"You think there are more?"
"I think," he said slowly, "we're only just beginning to see what's been hiding beneath Pontus."
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