Page 68 of The Crown's Awakening
He turns toward the door without waiting for agreement. “What are you waiting for? More men begging you for positions they do not deserve? Come with me.”
I stand. And follow.
CHAPTER 23
The Walk
In the hallway, the air feels different from the throne room, as though the weight of it has thinned just enough to allow breath to return. Korvis lingers where the others begin to move ahead, his energy refusing to settle into the quiet that follows us out.
“I have to go,” he says, though it sounds more like a delay than a decision. Before I can answer, he steps closer and pulls me into another quick embrace, easy and unguarded in a way that feels almost foreign after everything that has just passed. “If they won’t let you gamble in the capital, we will do it here. There is always a way if you are creative enough.”
I find myself smiling despite everything.
“We will include Uncle Uralish,” he adds, lowering his voice slightly as though sharing something conspiratorial. “He is terrible. We will make a fortune.”
A scoff sounds from ahead of us.
“You will lose everything you have and blame the cards,” Uralish says without turning.
Korvis grins as he releases me. “That remains to be seen.” He steps back, offering a brief, careless salute before turning away. “Another time, then.”
He disappears down the corridor with the same ease he entered, leaving behind a quiet that feels heavier for his absence.
We walk in silence.
Uralish does not speak again until we pass through a set of doors and into the gardens, where the air opens and the light shifts into something softer, filtered through branches that have not yet decided whether they will hold their leaves or release them entirely. The path curves beneath our feet, stone set carefully into earth that feels older than the palace behind us, and he gestures outward as though the land itself is something I should already understand.
“This was Ryaran’s,” he says, not looking at me. “She preferred this side. Said it felt less…constructed.”
I follow him, taking in what I can, the space, the quiet, the sense that this place has held more than it shows.
He waits until we are far enough from the doors, far enough that the palace feels distant rather than looming, before he speaks again. “You realize you are in danger here, don’t you?"
“Everyone keeps saying that,” I reply, “but I do not understand why.”
He exhales, long and unhurried, as though deciding how much of this he is willing to explain. “I will keep it simple. If you bond with Teorin Rathmor, Alarna renews its ancient alliance with the Threns.”
He takes a drink before continuing. “That means we are tied to them again. Trade improves. Movement between kingdoms opens. The wards loosen. People come and go like they did before.”
“Before?”
“Before the last bond ended,” he says, his voice carrying something pointed now, “and no new one began because Princess Asharanis was across the sea, under a veil.”
The implication sits between us. “I am not doing a bond with him,” I say.
“That is fine,” he replies. “I do not care, personally. Everything Rathmor is questionable at best. Teorin Rathmor thinking he should rule anything is the problem. He has never been anything worth trusting.”
I do not answer.
He continues as though my silence confirms something. “The ones who want the bond are called the Opens. Obvious name. They want the wards loosened, trade restored, movement returned. They need you alive long enough to make that happen.”
“And the ones who do not?”
“The Lights.” He lets out a short breath that almost resembles amusement. “They prefer things exactly as they are. Closed. Controlled. Unchanged. Your existence disrupts that.”
“Why would they hate me?”
“Because now the bond is possible,” he says. “Before, it was not. In their minds, if you had never returned, nothing would change. No alliance. No risk. No shift in power.”
