Chapter 200: Secrets And History
"That cannot be true," Edric said, his composure finally cracking.
The King’s mouth curved faintly, but there was no real amusement in it. "On the sole assurance of your son, who insisted she was not the same person?" he asked, the sarcasm in his tone thin but unmistakable.
Edric swallowed hard and shook his head, more to steady himself than in denial. "I was informed by sources of the utmost reliability that she perished alongside her parents that night. The Archduchess’s assassins were said to have slain both mother and daughter, for the child carried the bloodline of—"
"I met her five years ago, Edric."
The King’s voice had gone quiet, and with it something in him seemed to tighten. As he spoke, his hand trembled faintly, not from weakness but from the weight of a memory he had clearly never made peace with.
"I, too, believed she was another," he said. "I thought the real one had died."
"Five years ago?" Edric repeated, stunned.
It was not merely surprise that struck him now, but a creeping shame so sharp it made his spine stiffen. He was the Spymaster. If secrets like this could slip past him, then what exactly had he been protecting all this time?
The King leaned back slightly, but his grip tightened around the armrest beneath his hand. "How do you think the Aetherstones were discovered?"
Edric frowned. He knew the official story well enough. "The written history says a traveler returning from Aurelmont found a curious stone in the forest. It later ended up in the Archduke’s possession, and he discovered its magical properties. He is credited as the discoverer of the Aetherstones, though he claims the credit is not truly his. The traveler was never found."
The King gave a slow, humorless exhale. "I am the traveler."
Edric stared.
"And I did not simply find a random stone," the King continued. His eyes had gone distant now, as though he were seeing something long buried and far more painful than he cared to admit. "That child gave it to me. Moonbeam Mount, in Aurelmont. I found her there, and she gave it to me, saying I would need it someday."
His fingers tightened visibly against the armrest.
"And I saw her..."
The room seemed to narrow around those words.
"She disappeared into the shadows," he said, his voice lowering further. "I thought she might be a Vantaris bastard. And she knew my son. She called him a friend."
For a moment, he looked away, and in that small movement Edric saw something far more unsettling than rage. Shame. Not the shame of a man caught in a lie, but the shame of a man who had made a choice and could no longer decide whether it had been right.
Edric’s throat felt dry. "You erased her memories?"
The King did not answer at once.
The more Edric listened, the more he began to realize how little of what he had believed could actually be trusted. He had never known the King had gone to Aurelmont. He had assumed the story had unfolded through reports, witnesses, and records.
But of course, the King could teleport. Of course, he could cross borders without leaving traces anyone could easily follow. And if he had personally witnessed what happened, then everything Edric had taken as history was suddenly in question.
It made him wonder, with an unease that settled deep in his chest, how much of the history written down for them had ever been true at all.
Especially when it came from the royal family.
"I erased the part where she met me," the King said at last, his tone cool again, almost detached. "And the part where she met my son."
Edric’s head snapped up. "His Highness went there?"
The King nodded once. "He went in pursuit of the Willowgrave girl. Unknown to me, he had learned teleportation without my guidance and traveled there alone. He lost his way in the mountains, and I was forced to find him... with that girl."
Edric could not find his voice.
His thoughts felt like they had been thrown into a fire and pulled out half-formed.
The King looked at him then, his expression turning hard in a way that made the room feel colder. "You sit in judgment of me," he said. "Then indulge me, Edric. I saw the girl command shadows. Tell me, in all the annals of Greenvale, has there ever been a union between House Blackwyre and House Vantaris?"
Edric shook his head.
"There have been lovers before," he said quietly, "ill-fated souls whose affections were met with disapproval. But what became of them?"
"They passed from this world without issue," the King replied. "For reasons no scholar has ever managed to explain, House Vantaris has never produced an heir with House Blackwyre."
The silence that followed carried more weight than the words themselves.
Then the King let out a long breath, almost weary.
"How, then," he asked, "could I allow my son to fall in love with a shadow-wielder, Edric, when he is heir to my throne?"
Edric said nothing.
He could not.
The answer had not been given to him in the way he might have expected, but there it was all the same: fear, history, blood, and the quiet cruelty of a king trying to justify the impossible choices he had made.
And for the first time, Edric was not sure whether he had spent his life serving a ruler.
Or a man who had been frightened by love before it ever had the chance to become safe.
"But if they were truly the Night Fox and the Dawn Hare, then~"
"Then it is more reason to keep them apart. Even the creator mandated the separation of light and shadows, although one cannot exist without the other," The King said.
Edric gulped and bowed his head.
So... they were fated to live apart?
-----
Aveline spent the rest of the day in the laboratory, turning over stone after stone with a concentration that bordered on stubbornness.
At first, she had been searching only because the king’s condition troubled her. The dark, coiling color she had seen around him still lingered in her thoughts like a stain she could not wash out. If she could find something in the stones that countered that sickness, then perhaps she could make a pill strong enough to help him.
She worked carefully, grinding, testing, adjusting, and at last one particular stone caught her attention. It seemed different from the others, almost strangely opposed to that black-purple danger she had seen wrapped around the king. There was a clarity to it, a steadiness that made her hopeful.
So she made a pill.
She tested it once, then again, then a third time, but the composition would not hold. The balance failed each time, and the final mixture dissolved into something useless before she could shape it properly.
Aveline stood there for a long moment, staring at the failed attempt, then let out a slow sigh and set the tools aside. She was disappointed, yes, but not defeated. She had learned enough to know that some things needed patience, and some things needed better hands than the ones she had used today.
By evening, she left the lab with her mind still full of unfinished thoughts.
That was when she found Aelion.
He looked better than he had the last time she saw him, the cold having finally eased from his face and voice. He was still as serious as ever, but there was less of that worn-out strain in him now, and Aveline decided at once that he would do.
"Teach me," she said without much preamble. "I am willing to help you with the raid if you teach me."
Aelion blinked. "You are not a lightning bender."
"But I could be," Aveline said. "We do not know yet. And if I gain control over it, it might help me."
"Lightning is dangerous," he replied at once. "You can never truly estimate how powerful it feels to create something like that. It takes a strange balance. Serenity and rage at the same time."
"Rage, I know," Aveline said. "Serenity, I know too."
He looked at her as though he wanted to argue, but in the end he gave in. She could see it in him, the moment he realized she was not asking out of vanity or curiosity alone.
She was asking because she wanted to help Theron get the cotton. She was asking because she did not want to put anyone else in danger if she could avoid it. If she truly had power she could not yet control, then she needed training. That much was obvious.
So he agreed.
Together, they began to make their way toward a more secluded place where she could start learning properly. The walk was quiet at first, until they turned a corner and saw a group of boys surrounding a girl in a linen uniform.
Their voices carried that ugly, careless kind of amusement that always sounded worse the more one listened. They were crowding her, laughing too loudly, touching too close, and from the shape of the scene it was immediately clear that their intentions were vile.
Aveline’s body moved before her thoughts could settle.
She took a step forward, outrage burning hot in her chest, but Aelion caught her sleeve.
"Wait," he said sharply.
"Let me get the guards," she said, already glancing toward the nearest path. "How can I walk away when this is happening?"
