Ch2: I Have No Proof

Vibe: Comptine d'un autre été, l'après-midi — Yann Tiersen | No One is Ever Going to Want Me — Giles Corey

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Three years ago.

The 683rd year of the Iletrian Crown. The seventh year without the princess.

The small audience chamber looked different in the morning. Stripped of ceremony — cold stone, a grey dawn breaking through tall windows, and two people sitting not on their thrones but simply beside each other, as if they had forgotten for a moment that the crowns belonged to them. Christopher had seen them like this before. He still could not accustom himself to it.

Empress Thalia held a sheet of paper in her hands. The same one — he recognized it by the edges, soft and worn where her fingers always rested. A portrait: childlike, imprecise. A girl and a garden. Moon-silver hair — even the paint had caught that shade with startling accuracy.

She wasn't reading it. Just holding it.

Emperor Yiorgos raised his head. Blue eyes — calm on the surface, but Christopher had learned long since to read what lay beneath them. A fathomless exhaustion.

"Your Majesties."

The Duke bowed.

"Christopher, sit."

He sat. The silence lasted a beat longer than it should have. Thalia set the paper on her knee at last. Christopher did not look directly, but he saw — her hand had not fully released it. One finger remained along the edge.

"You did not come for the monster raids," said Yiorgos.

"No."

He set a thin folder on the table. No seals, no official markings. Just pages, Oswin's even handwriting, a few notes in the margins.

"My people were in Ascos."

Thalia raised her head slowly. The silver in her eyes had lost its luster.

"The official response to the search request arrived three days after it was sent," Christopher continued. "Three days, from another kingdom. With a complete list of locations searched, witnesses questioned, routes closed."

Yiorgos watched him.

"That could have been prepared in advance."

"Yes. Without direct evidence, the Crown could demand nothing further from a neutral Ascos."

"Or they are simply efficient."

"One could say that. But my people noticed something else."

He opened the folder. Didn't hand it over — just angled it so Yiorgos could see.

"As soon as the request arrived, we had visitors. Unofficial. Two men from Ascos, without credentials, without introduction. They walked through the markets, spoke with traders, asked about children bought or found over the past several years. Girls, specifically. Light-haired girls."

Thalia did not move. Her fingers tightened on the paper.

"They were looking for her," she said quietly.

"They were looking for information about her," Christopher said, careful with the distinction. "That is not the same thing."

/"Men who want a child returned do not send agents without credentials."/

He did not say it aloud.

"Oswin tracked them for several weeks. They called off the search on their own — without any visible result. Either they found something we missed. Or they confirmed something they already knew."

Yiorgos was quiet for a long time.

"Your father," he said at last, "never brought me conversations like this without already having an answer."

"My father was wiser."

Yiorgos almost smiled. The faint expression vanished instantly.

"Gerrard Esterg fought beside me for twenty years. He never asked permission to defend what he believed was right. He simply did it." A pause. "As do you."

Christopher said nothing. He did not look away.

/"That is why I am here. That is why my people are there. Not under orders. Driven by the same reason that drove my father."/

"The official protocol was exhausted years ago. What remains are diplomatic requests," he said at last. "But I will continue with my own resources. Oswin knows the routes — we still have contacts from my father's time, people who do not need to be told why. If Ascos knows something, or is searching for something, we will know before they want us to."

Thalia looked at him. Something in her eyes did not soften — but shifted.

"You are not doing this for us," she said quietly.

Christopher did not answer at once.

"I am doing it because it is right."

The doors opened without a knock. Erebus entered as he always did — unhurried, without excess noise. Dark clothes, straight posture. A smile that did not arrive late, and did not look rehearsed.

"Father. Mother."

He bowed to them as naturally as breathing.

"Duke Esterg. I hope I haven't interrupted something important?"

Brief, courteous. The Duke answered in kind.

"Not at all, Your Highness," said Christopher. "We had finished."

He gathered the sheets. Calmly. Without hurry. So it would look natural rather than what it was.

/"But it was a retreat."/

Erebus moved closer to his parents and rested a hand on his mother's shoulder. Lightly, with care.

"You did not sleep again?"

Thalia barely raised her head.

"Better today."

"Good."

He withdrew his hand and sat beside her, keeping a measured distance. He picked up one of the official reports from the table and began to leaf through it. Unhurried. Claiming the space as his own.

/"He knows what was here."/

Christopher felt it before he could name it. Only the calm hands of the Prince. The even breath.

/"He does not ask what we were discussing."/

"The western searches turned up nothing," said Erebus, without raising his eyes from the report. "I spoke with the captain yesterday. He thinks we need to change direction — move closer to the Kriyldar mountains."

Yiorgos did not answer at once.

"The mountains again?"

"There are old mines there, and many paths no one uses."

"You proposed this two years ago."

"We have spent years checking the obvious. If she was hidden deliberately — one looks where there are fewer witnesses."

His voice level. No pressure, no irritation. Only a fact, set on the table. The Duke watched.

/"He does not ask whether there is news. He dictates direction from the first word."/

A small thing. Nothing Christopher could openly question. But...

Thalia raised her head.

"Do you think there is sense in it?"

"I think we have already checked everything else."

She looked at him for another second. And something in her eyes didn't change — but went rigid. Christopher noticed it too.

/"She felt something as well? Or she has simply stopped believing in any direction."/

He could not say which. But her hand did not leave the paper.

"Forgive me, Your Majesties, Your Highness — I must take my leave," said Christopher, rising. "There are matters that will not wait."

Yiorgos nodded. Thalia looked at him. Longer than courtesy required.

"Thank you for coming. You look so like your father," she said at last. "He used to say that some things are done not because anyone asks."

Christopher bowed. Erebus raised his eyes from the report.

"Your father served well," he said with a smile. "Just as obedient as you are."

The Duke exhaled slowly, his posture unchanged.

When he left, Erebus had already turned back to the papers. Thalia did not move. Yiorgos caught her eye with a quick glance. The look of someone with nothing left to give, and nothing left to take.

Christopher stopped at the door for a moment.

/"Seven years."/

Seven years they had sat in this chamber and waited. While the Prince sat with them, calm, attentive.

/"Too calm. But I have no proof. Only a feeling."/

He opened the door and went out.

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Count Alan was waiting in the corridor. One look at Christopher, and he understood there was nothing to ask. They walked in silence. Their steps carried down the long, seemingly endless carpet, the corridor empty around them, a grey morning pressing through the tall windows.

Christopher thought of Empress Thalia, her fingers white on the edge of the paper. About the people from Ascos. And about the Prince, who had appeared at exactly the right moment to bury the conversation.

/"Intentional? Or coincidence?"/

He did not know. And that was the trap.

Because if he was right — then beside his parents, day after day, year after year, sat the man who knew the truth. Who stayed silent. Who watched grief hollow them out from the inside. And if he was wrong — then the Duke suspected the Prince without cause. Both possibilities poisoned him equally.

The carriage stood ready, the coachman not looking in their direction. Alan raised his gaze, waiting.

The Duke held the palace's still silhouette a moment longer.

"Tell Oswin not to stop," he said at last. "And tell him to give more attention to Ascos. Not only what they are searching for, but who they report to."

Alan went still for a second.

"You think this is connected to the Prince?"

Christopher did not answer, continuing to study the cold palace walls.

"I think," he said at last, "'an obedient Duke' is not what I intend to be."

The carriage moved.

If the princess was alive somewhere — he would verify it himself.