Chapter 4 - A Sip Before The Storm

Sunlight bathed the castle’s southern balcony in a soft golden hue. A mild breeze carried the scent of lavender and blooming roses from the gardens below, curling past white stone balustrades and fluttering pennants. From far beneath came the clang of steel in the training yard; above, swallows cut neat arcs through the sky.

King Joseph reclined in a carved wooden chair, one ankle balanced over the other, a porcelain cup warming his hands. Steam drifted up—amber, fragrant, steady. A rare smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Beside him, Queen Caroline sat with flawless posture, her lavender dress catching the light like dew on a petal. Across from them, perched forward in her seat with legs swinging above the floor, sat their twelve-year-old daughter, Princess Charlotte.

Her hazel eyes were bright, cheeks flushed from barely containing herself.
“Father, we should host a horse race in the outer fields!” she blurted. “I’ll design the track myself, and I’ll enter riding Everwind!”

Caroline set her cup down with a soft clink. “That sounds… ambitious. And dangerous.”

“She’s more capable than most of our riders,” Joseph said, chuckling. “Takes after me.”

“More reason to worry,” Caroline murmured, though her mouth betrayed pride.

Charlotte beamed, satisfied.

Footsteps approached from beyond the hedges. The balcony guard straightened as Fremont—the Royal Advisor—stepped under the archway and bowed, spine folding like a hinge.
“Your Majesties. Forgive the intrusion.”

Joseph arched a brow. “You rarely say that when you intrude.”

“Then take it as a novelty,” Fremont replied. “Sir Axl and an associate have entered the castle.”

Joseph’s cup paused midair. “Through the main gate?”

“No,” Fremont said. “Through your southern emergency access. The hidden one. They used an authorized key.”

“So he kept it,” Joseph murmured.

Fremont’s tone stayed dry. “Upon entry, they located your private tea, brewed it competently, and are now enjoying it in the lower courtyard. He sends his compliments.”

Joseph stared. “He touched my tea?”

“His exact words,” Fremont said, “were: ‘Tell the King his guests have arrived, and thank him for the invitation to afternoon tea. It was delicious.’”

Charlotte lit up. “He’s here? Sir Axl?” She half rose. “Can I—”

“No,” Joseph and Caroline said in unison.

Charlotte sank back, then crossed her arms with mock regality. “If he’s using your tunnel, then it must be serious.”

“It is,” Joseph said, rising and smoothing his cuffs. Sunlight threaded silver through his hair. “Fremont, bring them to the Great Hall. Minimal escort.”

Fremont bowed. “At once.”

Joseph turned to his daughter, his voice softening. “Go to your chambers. Please.”

“Father—”

“For me,” he said.

Caroline touched his wrist. “Be careful.”

“Always.” He kissed her hand, then Charlotte stepped in and hugged him tight.
“If it’s Axl, you can trust him,” she said firmly. “He saved us. People like that don’t show up without a reason.”

Joseph’s mouth curved. “Then I’ll take your word for it.”

Caroline ushered Charlotte inside, her braid swaying as she went.

When they were gone, Fremont glanced at Joseph’s cup. “If Axl knows where your tea is, you may as well serve it at the front gate.”

Joseph sighed. “It wasn’t just tea—it was my one untouchable stash.”

“I’ll find a new hiding spot.”

“Make it far. Somewhere Axl would need a map and three bad decisions to find.”

They left the balcony. The castle breathed around them—servants moving with baskets of herbs, the kitchen clattering, a lute drifting faint notes from a side hall.

“What made Axl go around the main gate?” Joseph asked.

“The sentry refused them,” Fremont said. “He waited thirty minutes, then used the key. No threats, no damage—just tea, and now he’s waiting.”

Joseph huffed. “And the guards?”

“Keeping their distance.”

“Smart men.”

They descended to a landing where Guard-Captain Garrick waited with calculated ease.
“Your Majesty,” Garrick said, bowing. “The visitors are contained.”

“Let them breathe,” Joseph said. “He doesn’t react well to cages.”

Garrick’s jaw shifted. “I remember.”

“Relax your shoulders,” Joseph added quietly. “Your men mirror you.”

Garrick blinked, then eased his stance. “Yes, sire.”

A serving girl rounded the corner too fast, nearly colliding with them.
“S—Sire!” she blurted, bowing so deep her tray rattled.

Joseph steadied the porcelain. “Careful—those cups are the reason we still have a budget meeting.”

She fled, cheeks red. Joseph smirked.

The Great Hall doors loomed ahead, carved with the histories of kings braver in stone than in life. Torches burned high, sunlight poured from clerestory windows, painting the floor in long banners of color.

Joseph slowed, eyeing the throne atop its platform. He climbed the steps and settled into it, the seat wrapping around him like an old cloak.

For a moment, a memory flickered—tea steam and a boy who hadn’t let himself be a boy for years. Eyes rimmed with sleeplessness. Hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. You’ve done enough, Joseph had told him. Rest now, son. The word had surprised him then.

He wondered if Axl had ever truly rested after that.

Footsteps. Garrick returned. “They’re ready, Majesty.”

Joseph nodded. “Bring them in. And keep the doors clear until I say.”

Fremont slipped out and the doors shut, leaving Joseph in the vast, quiet hall.

A smaller side door opened. A woman entered with silent, measured steps, posture straight, eyes scanning the hall before settling on him.

“Queen Caroline asked me to accompany you during this meeting,” she said.

“That will be fine,” Joseph replied.

Her gaze shifted toward the great doors. “Is it true? He’s here?”

“It’s him.”

Something flickered in her expression—nerves or anticipation. “It’s been a long time.”

“Not having second thoughts?” Joseph asked.

Her lips twitched. “No. Just wondering if he’s the same.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Joseph said. “You’ll speak when the time’s right.”

The great doors groaned open.

Light spilled in, stretching shadows across the stone.

Axl stepped through first—taller than memory, framed in the doorway. The red scarf at his neck caught the draft like a streak of sunset refusing to fade. His eyes were calm, but carried the weight of too many endings.

John followed, his boots steady, gaze sweeping the hall.

Their steps echoed until the doors shut, sealing the hall to just the four of them.

Joseph rose—not to tower, but to meet them.

Axl’s eyes found him first, carrying something heavy and unspoken.

“Joseph,” Axl said.

“Sir Axl,” Joseph returned. “You’ve caused quite the commotion.”

“Well, the guards wouldn’t let me in. I had to do something to get your attention.”

Joseph gestured toward a simpler chair near the throne. “Then you can also explain why my pantry isn’t safe anymore.”

Axl smirked. “I’ll deny everything.”

“I expect nothing less.” Joseph’s smile faded.

Axl’s gaze shifted to the woman beside the throne.

She met it for only a heartbeat before lowering her eyes, fingers brushing the edge of her sleeve as if smoothing an invisible crease. The faintest tightening of her jaw betrayed something unspoken.

Joseph caught it. “She’s with me.”

“If you say so.”

Joseph sat and leaned back in his seat. “Tell me, Axl—what shadow follows you into my hall today?”