Ren Canahy studied the two people before him with a sharp, assessing gaze.

  The large bonfire crackled and popped, sending sparks into the chilly night as hares roasted on spits above the flames. One of Ren’s soldiers, Magron, approached the fire and turned one of the hares with the tip of his sword, making sure it cooked evenly.

  “Thanks, Magron,” Ren said, nodding at the soldier.

  “So, how long did you say you’ve been here?” Ogren asked. Next to him, Hazel drew her blanket tighter against the cold, though Ogren himself wore only a vest and seemed unaffected by the chill.

  “About a year, I think,” Ren replied, his gaze fixed on Ogren.

  “We’re grateful you took us in last night, Chief,” Hazel murmured, her voice laced with sorrow. The loss of her parents was still fresh and raw.

  When Hazel and Ogren fled the capital and made their way south, they received troubling news: the senators had seized control of the government and were now allied with the Drakonians. It was obvious to anyone that this coup had been meticulously planned to topple the monarchy.

  What Hazel found most unsettling was how tightly the senators had concealed their intentions, keeping the plan under wraps until the moment of the attack. This was clearly an inside job, one aided by a powerful third party.

  The pieces had fallen into place quickly for Hazel. Prince Crimson had ensured she was absent when her parents were assassinated, and the senators were now in power .

  “You’re welcome, Princess,” Ren said, offering her a warm smile—a stark contrast to the piercing look he had been giving Ogren.

  “I’m still amazed—how did you turn this place around so completely?” Ogren asked, his gaze sweeping over the villa’s backyard, with its well-kept gardens and the peaceful buzz unbothered by the chaos gripping the rest of Aropia.

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  It was a fair question. Unlike the other regions, the south of Aropia was largely autonomous and unruly. Bandits and pirates raided frequently, making it a no-man's-land that few were willing to invest in despite its potential for a booming fishing industry.

  As a result, the south was sparsely populated, and those who stayed lived in fear and poverty, abandoned by a central government already overwhelmed by the country’s mounting crises.

  Ren leaned forward, his eyes momentarily distant. “It’s a fair question,” he admitted, rising from the log he’d been sitting on.

  “When I first arrived, the South was little more than a migratory zone. Livestock herding was all that kept people going, and even then, they were forced to move constantly—not because of weather, but because staying in one place longer than a week was a risk.” Ren’s voice was hard-edged, as if the memories themselves were harsh.

  “And yet we find a thriving town with a fortified wall around it,” Ogren continued, his gaze locked on Ren. “I can’t imagine this level of change in just a year—unless you had help. From outside.” His tone was heavy with accusation.

  Hazel’s breath hitched, her face paling. “Did you?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Her mind was racing, piecing together suspicions—was Ren, too, involved in treachery?

  Ren let out a weary sigh. “If I’d had foreign help, do you think your father would’ve sent you here?” His tone carried a hint of disappointment, his gaze briefly hardening as he looked at them.

  Hazel glanced away, chagrined. “I suppose you’re right,” she admitted quietly. Then, almost as if testing him, she added, “So was it my father who helped you rebuild this place? It seems you two knew each other… if not publicly.”

  Ogren nodded thoughtfully. “Despite the turmoil everywhere else, I assume rebuilding a small town wouldn’t be difficult for a king.”

  Ren’s expression shifted, unreadable yet tense. He was never one to parade his achievements; sharing the truth of his efforts here would bring him nothing but unwanted responsibilities—stuff he wasn’t ready for. He held his silence, letting them believe what they would.

  Magron, standing nearby, couldn’t keep quiet. “You two nobles really know nothing,” he muttered, voice taut with barely restrained irritation. “The chief built this place himself. No help from the king or foreign allies.”

  Ren shot him a sharp look, one of warning, but it softened almost as quickly as it appeared, leaving Ogren and Hazel none the wiser.

  Hazel’s cheeks reddened as Margon’s words sank in. She cast a quick, uncertain glance at Ren, a new respect creeping into her gaze. Meanwhile, Ogren looked at Ren more closely, as though seeing him in a new light.

  Ren’s lips pressed into a thin line. He hadn’t sought their admiration, but he could feel their perceptions shifting—and he knew it would complicate things.

  He decided to just explain things before they started theorizing all manner of possibilities.