Chapter 58 The Season of Intentions

  The study was unusually bright that early-harvest morning—sunlight pouring through the high arched windows, spilling over stacks of opened correspondence, curling scrolls, and a half-finished pot of lukewarm tea. The scent of ink and rose wax hung thick in the air. It was quiet—at first.

  Lady Seraphine sat ramrod straight at her writing desk, quill dancing furiously across fresh vellum. Her lips pursed, jaw set, and breath shallow with that particular sort of irritation only correspondence could inspire. Every few moments came the agitated snap of a wax seal broken too aggressively, the crumpling sigh of folded parchment reopened, and then the shick-shick of pen scratching judgment into her reply journal.

  Across the room, Lord Eldric sat behind a more battered desk, gaze drifting over troop ledgers but doing little reading. He’d been listening to the signs like a seasoned general listening for distant thunder.

  She was nearing the edge.

  And right on cue—

  “We are not going to be able to afford this year!” she cursed.

  She picked up the latest scroll, broke the seal, skimmed two lines, then slammed it down with an exasperated puff of breath. “They want to bring a seer. A child-seer. To ‘discern whether the Vale has gifted Lissette the blood of prophecy.’” She rolled her eyes skyward and muttered, “By the Veil, as if we’d let them dangle holy beads over her head like a pony at market. I see their design, they say for Lissette, but they want to evaluate me!”

  Eldric didn’t look up right away. He lifted his teacup calmly and took a slow sip as if bracing his soul against the tempest he knew was coming. Eldric offered a grunt. He had been counting the letters. “That’s the fourteenth inquiry.”

  “Fourteen that already wrote,” Seraphine said icily. “We could have twenty-three ride up to the manor without notice. Nobles and cousins. Half-claims from disinherited bloodlines. One family offered us two barrels of gold-aged wine in exchange for an hour’s conversation with Aldric—our son Aldric, not you.”

  Eldric allowed himself a dry chuckle. “I’ve never been worth that much wine.”

  “I know we did well in the trade,” Seraphine continued, flipping the letter down with a crisp snap, “but we are going to waste so much money—housing, food, protocol robes, house staff for visitors we didn’t ask for, all tramping through Avalon as though we’re a city waystation!”

  “Twelve houses, some I’ve not heard from in years, and now they’ve suddenly remembered their deep love for Avalon.” She plucked up another scroll and tossed it aside. “One of them even wants to introduce us to their third cousin—Eldric, they didn’t even offer their first cousin!”

  He chuckled low, a rumble like distant drums. “It was bound to happen, love. The moment our twin boys started shining—really shining—word was going to travel.”

  “They’re not twins.”

  “They might as well be. Joined at the mischief.”

  Seraphine gave him a long, narrow look that softened at the edges. “Don’t try to charm me with your calm. You weren’t the one who had to decline Lady Harrow’s request to bring her seer to the manor so she could divine their future betrothal. Of course, they did not call out Caelen specifically—no, no, it was just whoever was ‘worthy of the stars.’”

  Seraphine’s voice rose, her control slipping. “It is not just the boys; they want Lissette, Eldric. They want her now. And she’s thirteen. Thirteen! They speak of her as if she’s a vault to be unlocked. Some are already offering betrothal contracts, as though we’re fools desperate for coin or favor.”

  “She’s awakened,” Aldric said quietly. “And rumors move faster than messengers. You knew this would come.”

  “I hoped it would come later when she was grown. When she understood the weight of what they’d ask of her.”

  “They won’t pressure her,” he said.

  Seraphine looked at him sharply. “They won’t need to. They'll flatter. Bribe. Befriend. They’ll come dressed in silks and smiles and drip poison in her ear one clever word at a time.”

  Aldric nodded, folding his hands on the desk. “We’ll watch. Carefully.”

  “Not just her,” Seraphine snapped. “Aldric, too. Our son is seventeen. Nearly a man. The second he’s of age, the houses will swarm. Heir to Avalon? Already blooded in command? And not married? He’ll have more invitations than the crown’s nephews.”

  Her voice softened, a thread of worry replacing frustration. “He’s too kind, Aldric. He carries so much already. He hides his burdens, just like you. They’ll see it. Use it.”

  He looked at her gently. “You raised him. He’ll be better at this than we ever were.”

  He understood that the silence that followed felt fragile—a pause before the next blow.

  And then it came.

  She stood abruptly and paced to the open window, the morning breeze fluttering the sheer drapes like ghostly wings. “It’s not just the cost. Not the scheming. Not the furniture they’ll ruin or the footmen they’ll exhaust. It’s…” Her hands curled on the windowsill. “It’s Caelen. How do we protect him with so many eyes in the house?”

  She turned back to Eldric, her voice tight with rising fear. “Some will bring priests. Ministers. ‘Uncle healers’ with gifts they’ll want to ‘test’ against my son. And if word gets out about what he is, a whisper of artifacts, about what he made…”

  Eldric stood slowly, setting down his cup with deliberate care. He walked over and took her hands in his, pressing her fingers between his palms.

  Seraphine’s voice dropped to a near tremble. “He can walk now. But just. He’s still healing and still growing. And all these people will want to see him. To touch him. To test. To measure.”

  “They won’t.”

  “Oh, won’t they? The priests will come. Want to examine his soulbind. The ministers will bring laws to twist. And don’t think the nobles won’t bring some ‘clever’ daughter or son to test him socially. He is the boy who survived the eternal punishment. To them, he is an object to gain power. Not a child. Not our son.”

  Eldric stood then, moving around the desk to her. He rested his hand on hers, anchoring her.

  “He knows,” he said softly. “We don’t need to worry. He already has a plan.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Seraphine blinked. “A plan?” the question came quickly, her eyes thick with accusation.

  “He knows what’s coming. He already asked me about our position. Our weaknesses. What others want. He’s working with the freedfolk. The blacksmith. Baelric. Mirelle. He’s not hiding. He’s preparing.”

  Seraphine’s eyes flared. “So your solution is to let him live like some—some vagabond in the woods? A wounded prince skulking through the underbrush like a tale from the lowlands? I’ll not have Caelen eating roots in the rain so that we don’t have to tell House Fellmere ‘no thank you’!”

  Eldric tilted his head with a crooked smile. “He won’t be eating roots. The boy’s smarter than that. He’ll have pies. Probably sent by Lissette. And he’ll be better protected than most castles.”

  She glared at him, lips twitching. “You think this is funny.”

  “No. But we’ll prepare special places. Secured, trusted spaces in the forest, in the cliffs, on the river. Places that are his. He’ll walk into the wild not to hide, but to grow.”

  She looked up at him, wounded but believing. “You speak as if he’s already gone.”

  “No,” Eldric said, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “But he’s already moving. And you and I both know—we can’t stop our children from stepping forward. Only guide where they land.”

  She leaned against him, hands still trembling. “They’re just children. How did the world already come for them?”

  Eldric looked out the window, where the sun was rising over the distant mist-shrouded hills of the vale. His voice was calm, but firm.

  “Because they are Avalon.”

  …

  The courtyard basked in late morning light, shadows soft beneath the pillars, and the lavender bushes buzzing with bees. A gentle breeze stirred the linen banners that hung from the outer arches, while the scent of lemon oil drifted faintly from the freshly scrubbed stones.

  Lisette sat on the curved stone bench, one leg tucked under her, the other swinging idly as she plucked the leaves from a twig and flicked them onto the path like little green regrets. Across from her, Aldric leaned against a weathered column, arms folded across his chest, his face schooled into stillness—except for the way his eyes tracked his younger brother.

  Caelen sat not in his chair, but low on a thick pad set in the sun, legs outstretched, hands pressed to the warm flagstones behind him. His chair was near—within reach, as always—but unused. He looked brighter in the light. Stronger. More present.

  “I’m not marrying anyone named Pelgroth,” Lisette said abruptly, jabbing the air with the twig. “Or Valmeer. Or Orlen of Deeplake. They sent a goose, Aldric. A goose. With a bow.”

  Caelen blinked. “You eat goose?”

  Lisette laughed, the sound bright and airy. “I let it go. It chased poor Thomlin around the roses like a demon.”

  “I thought that was deliberate,” Aldric muttered. “Maybe you are a noble.”

  “Oh, hush,” she said. “I’ll marry when I want, and not because someone’s great-aunt twice removed decided I’d ‘elevate the bloodline.’ I don’t need elevating. I like my bloodline.”

  Caelen nodded solemnly. “Strong blood.”

  “Exactly.” She smiled, then dropped her gaze to her hands. “But they’re not really after me, are they? They’re after what I am. What I might be.”

  Aldric's eyes flicked to her. He didn’t interrupt.

  Lisette’s grin faded. She looked down at her hands. “Somanta warned me. She said some would look at me like… like I’m a festival prize. With tags. Weight, height, price.” Her voice lowered. “It makes my skin crawl.”

  “You’re not a prize,” Aldric said.

  Lisette’s eyes snapped up. “I know. That’s the thing, Aldric—I know. And I won’t let them charm me or corner me or fawn all over me to make a deal.” She jabbed a thumb at her chest. “I choose my own story. Somanta says they’ll try to write it for me. But I’ve got my own pen.”

  Caelen gave a soft nod. “Write loud.”

  Lisette chuckled. “Exactly.”

  “I know, Aldric. That’s what makes it worse. I know, and it still stings.”

  Caelen raised one hand and tapped his fingers twice on the stone. “You fight. No bow. No goose.”

  Lisette grinned at him. “See? He gets it.”

  Aldric smirked, but it faded quickly. “They’re already circling me, too. Father showed me a letter from House Grenfell. They want to meet me ‘informally.’ Which means wine, tests, and a girl wearing too much perfume.”

  “Oh, a pretty girl, how will you survive?” Lisette mocked.

  “I’m not worried about the girls,” Aldric muttered. “I’m worried about their fathers. And worse—priests or matchmakers. I don’t need some robed relic sniffing around my soul.”

  Lisette laughed again, but it was quieter now. “Or a minister whispering about lineage while scribbling in their little books.”

  “Or a seer.” Caelen’s voice was very soft. “Eyes like ice. Want… everything.”

  That chilled them both. Aldric turned to him slowly. “You saw one?”

  Caelen nodded. “Before. In dream. White eyes. Asked… too much.”

  The silence was sudden and thick.

  Lisette reached across and touched her brother’s arm. “You won’t see them now. Not while we’re here. Not unless we let them.”

  Lisette pulled her braid tighter, lips pursed. “Do you think they’ll come after Caelen, too?”

  Caelen didn’t wait for Aldric’s response.

  “Gone,” he said simply. “Walking. Hills. Vale.”

  Aldric raised a brow. “You’re leaving?”

  “Not leave,” Caelen said, fingers tapping the ground. “Walk. Camp. Hunt. Discover.”

  Lisette’s brow furrowed. “How long?”

  Caelen’s eyes hovered toward the trees beyond the wall. “Spring. Maybe.”

  “Spring?” she gasped. “That’s—” She stopped, then swallowed. “That’s long.”

  Lisette’s eyes blazed as she spun toward him, her voice sharp with frustration and barely-veiled jealousy.

  “You’re just going to vanish into the vale like some wild thing,” she snapped, “while we stay trapped here—paraded like prized cattle for every scheming, gold-grubbing noble in the Kingdom?”

  Caelen bobbed. “Better company. Better view.”

  Aldric shook his head with a chuckle. “He has a point.”

  Lisette tossed her braid over her shoulder and raised her chin, voice dancing with forced playfulness but edged with something sharper.

  “And what if—” she said, eyes narrowing just slightly, “—you find some wild girl out there? One who doesn’t wear perfume or curtsey like she’s supposed to? What then, Caelen?

  “Better than goose,” Caelen said solemnly, and they all burst out laughing.

  Aldric moved closer, crouching near his younger brother. “You’re serious about this.”

  Caelen looked up at him. “Not hide. Train. Build. Be ready.”

  Aldric smiled softly, then ruffled his hair. “You’ll scare half the nobles when you step into the light. Good.”

  Lisette wiped her nose quickly and stood up. “If you’re going to be gone that long, then you better write.”

  “Many slates,” Caelen promised. “Mirelle will fix them.”

  Lisette tried to smile, but her voice caught just a little. “You'd better bring me something from the wilds, okay?”

  She blinked quickly and looked away. “Not bones or bugs or anything gross. Just... something small. Maybe a pinecone. Or—” her voice softened, “an acorn that looks like a crown.”

  Caelen blinked, tilting his head. “Acorn. Crown?”

  Lisette gave a short laugh and wiped at her eye. “It’s a thing. You’ll understand when you find it. Promise you’ll look?”

  They all sat in the courtyard for a while longer, sunlight warming their skin, the laughter softening the edge of the weight that had slowly crept into their lives. Soon, the visitors would come.

  But for now, they were just three siblings in the sun.

  Preparing.

  Together.