Thorne and Dalen sparred in the courtyard, their swords clashing in a rhythm that spoke of long hours of practice. Dalen was putting up a decent fight, but Thorne was only half-invested, his mind still turning over the events of the previous night. He parried Dalen’s strike with ease, letting his body move on instinct while his thoughts drifted.

  “Come on, you’re holding back!” Dalen panted, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. “Where’s that famous fighting spirit that has me eating dirt every single battle?”

  Thorne smirked but didn’t respond. He could tell Dalen was getting better, but there was still a long way to go. “You’re improving, but you need to focus more on your footwork. It’s sloppy,” he advised, his voice almost bored as he sidestepped Dalen’s next attack and knocked his sword away with a quick flick of his wrist.

  Dalen stumbled back, nearly losing his balance. “I know, I know,” he muttered, frustration lining his features. “But it’s not like I’ve had as much training as you.”

  Thorne raised an eyebrow, watching him carefully. “That’s no excuse. If you want to get better, you have to put in the work. You can’t rely on the fact that you’re wearing armor and have a few defensive skills.”

  Dalen’s expression turned sheepish. “Yeah, well, you’ve got all those fancy active skills. I’ve seen what you can do, even without them. I’m just trying to keep up.”

  Thorne paused, considering his words. It was true; most of his victories didn’t rely solely on his skills but also on the ruthless training he’d endured since joining the guild. “You think it’s all about the skills?” he asked, lowering his sword slightly. “They help, sure, but without a solid foundation, they’re worthless. What skills do you even have?”

  Dalen looked uncomfortable, glancing away. “I... I don’t have any offensive skills. Just some defensive ones, like you said. Armor Boost, Reinforced Guard. Stuff like that.”

  Thorne frowned. “So you’re a sitting duck unless you’re wearing armor.”

  Dalen’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “Why haven’t you unlocked any combat skills?” Thorne asked, his voice sharp. “You’ve been working here long enough, and I know you’ve had opportunities.”

  Dalen shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Thorne’s gaze. “I guess I just... I don’t know, I never got the chance. Or maybe I wasn’t good enough.” He looked up then, meeting Thorne’s eyes with a mix of defiance and embarrassment. “Besides, I never thought I’d need them. I’m just a guard.”

  Thorne stared at him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. “That’s a dangerous way to think, Dalen. You’re not just a guard. You’re working for Uncle. And that means you’re a target.”

  Dalen swallowed, his expression growing serious. “I know. I just... I want to get better. But it’s not that easy.”

  Thorne nodded slowly, feeling a strange sense of responsibility. “You have to train every day, harder than you’ve ever trained before. Push yourself. You can’t rely on your armor forever. If you don’t unlock some combat skills, you’re going to be a liability.”

  Dalen looked thoughtful, nodding slowly. “You’re right. I’ll do it. I’ll train more.”

  “Good,” Thorne said, his voice firm. “Because if you don’t, you’re as good as dead.”

  Dalen’s eyes widened slightly at the harsh words, but he nodded again, determination hardening his features. “I understand. I'll give it my best.”

  Thorne nodded thoughtfully, lowering his sword. “How did you end up working for Uncle? He could have used some of his... other guards.”

  The younger man shrugged, looking down at his feet. “My mother knew him. She used to work for him years ago, before she got sick. When I needed a job, she asked him if he could find something for me to do. I started out running errands, then ended up here.”

  He glanced up at Thorne, a faint smile on his lips. “It’s not what I thought I’d be doing, but ever since I started working here, my ma and sisters have had food on the table every night. Can’t complain about that.”

  Thorne nodded, feeling a strange pang of empathy. He wasn’t used to feeling anything but suspicion or indifference towards others, but something about Dalen’s straightforwardness struck a chord with him. Maybe it was the fact that he had been around secretive and scheming people for so long.

  It was refreshing to be with someone so earnest for a change. "You're lucky to have a family to take care of.”

  Dalen’s smile turned a little sad, and he nodded. “Yeah, I guess I am. They’re good people. And Uncle... he’s been good to us. I’d do anything for him.”

  Thorne felt a strange sensation in his chest, almost like regret, but he pushed it away, focusing back on their training. He knew better than to get attached, to anyone. “Then let’s make sure you’re ready for anything.”

  He lunged forward, his sword slicing through the air, but pulled back at the last moment, just as Dalen’s blade came up to meet his. The younger man looked surprised, his eyes widening as he realized he’d almost countered Thorne’s attack.

  Thorne finally called for a break, noticing the sweat dripping from Dalen’s face and the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. “You’re getting better,” he said truthfully.

  Dalen’s face lit up with a small, grateful smile. “Thanks. Means a lot, coming from you.”

  Thorne shrugged, leaning on his sword. “Don’t get used to it.”

  They both laughed, a rare moment of camaraderie that felt oddly comforting. Thorne glanced up at the sky, feeling lighter than he had in days. The sweat and physical exertion had driven away the shadows that had clung to him since the duel, clearing his mind and giving him some much-needed clarity.

  But then, as if summoned by his stray thoughts, he remembered the chaos of the morning. Arletta had woken him at dawn, her face urgent as she relayed Uncle’s summons. Thorne had barely had time to splash water on his face before he was ushered into the study, where Uncle had been waiting, his expression a thunderstorm of barely-contained fury.

  He’d recounted everything—Lady Thornfield’s secret, Kellan’s near-death experience, the documents Devon and Rielle had found. Uncle had listened in silence, his eyes dark and calculating. When Thorne finished, Uncle had only given a curt nod before dismissing him, leaving Thorne feeling strangely adrift.

  The clatter of swords brought him back to the present, and he turned to see Dalen watching him curiously, his head tilted to the side. “What?”

  “You’re thinking again,” Dalen said, raising an eyebrow. “Never a good sign.”

  Thorne smirked, shaking his head. “Maybe you’re right. Let’s keep going. I need the distraction.”

  Dalen nodded eagerly, raising his sword, but just as Thorne was about to step forward, he noticed movement at the courtyard gate. Two figures stood there, and it took him only a moment to recognize them: Lady Rosalind Langston and her granddaughter, Sabine.

  Dalen’s eyes widened in recognition as well, and he quickly sheathed his sword, his back straightening. “Lady Rosalind,” he muttered under his breath. “What’s she doing here?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Thorne replied, his gaze never leaving the two women. He could see the tension in their postures, the way they glanced around the courtyard as if expecting someone to jump out at them.

  Dalen shot Thorne a quick, nervous look. “I should go get Arletta.”

  Thorne nodded absently, his attention focused on the Langstons. “Do that.”

  Dalen hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking between Thorne and the noblewomen before he turned and rushed into the house, his footsteps echoing through the courtyard.

  Thorne watched him go, then turned his gaze back to the Langstons. Lady Rosalind was speaking quietly to the guards, her expression a mixture of irritation and impatience. She looked every inch the formidable matriarch, her sharp eyes scanning the courtyard as if searching for hidden threats.

  Beside her, Sabine stood with her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze fixed on Thorne. There was a hint of curiosity in her eyes, a glint of something almost playful, but her posture was tense, her shoulders stiff as if she was bracing herself for something unpleasant.

  Thorne felt a pang of annoyance. The last thing he needed right now was to deal with more noble politics. But he forced himself to remain calm, his expression carefully neutral as he observed them.

  Dalen reappeared moments later, Arletta following close behind. Her face was calm, her eyes assessing as she approached the Langstons. She greeted them with a respectful nod, her voice polite but distant. “Lady Rosalind, Lady Sabine. We have been expecting you.”

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  Lady Rosalind’s gaze flicked to Thorne, her lips thinning slightly before she turned back to Arletta. “We need to speak with your master.”

  Arletta nodded, her expression not changing. “He is waiting for you. Please, come in.”

  As they entered the courtyard, Lady Rosalind’s eyes met Thorne’s again, and she gave him a brief, almost imperceptible nod. Thorne returned the gesture, his expression giving nothing away. Sabine, however, lingered for a moment, her gaze lingering on him with open curiosity.

  Thorne could see her whispering something to her grandmother, and his heightened senses picked up her words clearly. “I’ll wait here. I want to see what he’s like.”

  Lady Rosalind gave a curt nod, her attention already turning back to Arletta as they continued towards the house. Sabine, however, turned back to Thorne, a polite smile on her lips as she approached him.

  “Well, this should be interesting,” Thorne muttered to himself, lowering his sword as he watched her approach. He could already see the calculation in her eyes, the way she was studying him, weighing him.

  She stopped a few paces away, her smile widening slightly as she inclined her head. “Lord Silverbane, I presume?”

  Thorne raised an eyebrow, his Mask of Deceit skill kicking in, smoothing his expression into one of polite curiosity. “Lady Sabine. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Sabine’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes were sharp as they met his. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I thought it was time we finally met.”

  Thorne leaned against a small statue, his sword resting casually over his shoulder as he studied her. She was younger than he’d expected, her features delicate but her eyes sharp and calculating. There was a confidence in her stance, a self-assurance that told him she was used to getting what she wanted. He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of curiosity. What did she want from him?

  “Is that so?” he replied smoothly, his tone light. “And what, exactly, have you heard?”

  Sabine’s gaze flicked around the courtyard before settling back on him. “Oh, the usual gossip,” she said with a casual wave of her hand. “A mysterious southern lord, arriving out of nowhere and becoming Master Varyn’s favored guest. And now, apparently, the talk of Alvar.” Her smile turned playful, but there was a gleam of something else in her eyes. “You’ve been making quite an impression, Lord Silverbane.”

  Thorne’s expression didn’t change, but his mind was racing. She was probing, testing his reaction, trying to gauge just how much of a threat he posed. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “People love their gossip, don’t they? I assure you, Lady Sabine, there’s nothing mysterious about me. Just a man trying to make his way in the world.”

  Sabine’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her smile remained. “I’m sure,” she murmured. “But I must admit, I was surprised to see you speaking with Lady Selene Ravencourt last night. She’s not usually so... friendly with strangers.”

  Thorne’s gaze sharpened slightly, but he kept his voice light. “Selene? She was kind enough to show me around the party. A gracious host. Why? Did I step on some local toes by talking to her?”

  Sabine’s smile widened, and she took a step closer, her voice dropping slightly. “Not at all. It’s just... curious, don’t you think? A Ravencourt and a Thornfield supporter, getting along so well?”

  Thorne felt a flicker of irritation but kept it buried deep. She was digging, trying to provoke a reaction, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. Instead, he gave her a bemused smile, raising an eyebrow. “Thornfield supporter? I’m afraid I don’t follow. I don’t recall pledging my allegiance to anyone.”

  Sabine’s eyes gleamed with amusement, but there was something colder beneath the surface. “Oh, come now, Lord Silverbane. You’re staying with Master Varyn, aren’t you? Everyone knows he’s backing Lord Thornfield. So, naturally, you’re involved as well.”

  Thorne leaned back slightly, his smile widening as he felt his Mindguard skill pulse in the back of his mind, warning him. Sabine was using a skill on him, something subtle and insidious, trying to influence his thoughts. He felt a brief pressure against his mind, like a whisper in his ear, but it dissipated quickly. A moment later, a notification flashed before his eyes.

  Skill Level Up: Mindguard!

  He felt a surge of satisfaction but kept it hidden, his expression as smooth as ever. “Interesting theory, Lady Sabine, but I assure you, my relationship with Master Varyn is... complicated. I’m hardly his puppet, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  Sabine’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes flashed with something like annoyance. “Of course not. I would never suggest such a thing.” She tilted her head slightly, her gaze thoughtful. “But it does make one wonder... What is your role here, Lord Silverbane?”

  Thorne gave her a lazy shrug, his smile widening as he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Sabine blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before she let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re very good at this, you know. I almost believe you.”

  Thorne chuckled, straightening up and gesturing towards a nearby table under the shade of a tree. “Why don’t we sit down? It seems we have a lot to discuss.”

  Sabine hesitated for a moment, then nodded, following him to the table. Thorne motioned to Dalen, who was watching them from a distance, and the guard quickly approached. “Could you call for a maid? We’ll need some refreshments.”

  Dalen nodded, casting a wary glance at Sabine before hurrying off. Thorne watched him go, then turned back to Sabine with a pleasant smile. “Please, have a seat.”

  She did so, folding her hands neatly in her lap, her eyes never leaving his. “You’re quite the gentleman, Lord Silverbane. I’m impressed.”

  “Only when I want to be,” he replied lightly, sitting across from her. “So, Lady Sabine, what brings you here today? I assume it’s more than just idle curiosity.”

  Sabine’s smile turned coy, her fingers toying with the edge of her sleeve. “Well, you know how it is. One must stay informed, especially in times like these.”

  Thorne nodded, his eyes thoughtful. “Of course. Information is power, after all.”

  “Exactly,” she agreed, leaning forward slightly. “And I find it fascinating that you’ve managed to position yourself so... strategically. Associating with Master Varyn, getting close to Lady Selene... It’s all very... interesting.”

  Thorne felt his irritation rise again but kept his tone light. “Is that so? I wasn’t aware that having a few polite conversations was considered ‘strategic’.”

  Sabine’s eyes glinted with amusement, but there was a sharp edge to her smile. “Perhaps not. But one can never be too careful, don’t you agree? After all, alliances are shifting every day.”

  Thorne tilted his head slightly, watching her carefully. “And what about you, Lady Sabine? Where does House Langston fit into all of this?”

  Sabine’s smile faltered slightly, her gaze turning wary. “We’re... observing. Waiting to see how things unfold. It’s a precarious situation, after all.”

  Thorne nodded slowly, his mind racing. She was being cautious, which was to be expected, but there was something else there, something she wasn’t saying. He decided to push a little further, leaning back in his chair and giving her a casual smile. “I see. And have you observed anything... interesting?”

  Sabine’s eyes flicked to the house behind them, then back to him, her expression guarded. “More than I expected, to be honest. It’s... surprising, how quickly things are changing.”

  Thorne raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Is that so? What changes are you referring to?”

  Sabine hesitated, then shook her head, her smile returning. “Oh, nothing specific. Just... a feeling.”

  Thorne narrowed his eyes slightly. She was playing a game, and he didn’t like it. But he forced himself to remain calm, his smile never faltering. “Feelings can be dangerous, Lady Sabine. They can lead to all sorts of misunderstandings.”

  Sabine’s eyes darkened slightly, but she nodded, her tone cool. “Yes, they can. But they can also reveal a lot about a person.”

  Thorne wanted to roll his eyes but kept his expression as smooth as ever. “True enough. But I prefer to deal in facts.”

  “Facts are useful,” Sabine agreed, her gaze steady. “But they’re not always the whole story.”

  Thorne watched her carefully, feeling the tension between them. She was probing, testing him, trying to find a crack in his armor. But he wasn’t going to give her anything. Not yet.

  “Well,” he said finally, his tone light, “I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see how things unfold.”

  Sabine’s smile widened, but there was a hint of frustration in her eyes. “Yes, I suppose we will.”

  Dalen returned then, a maid following behind him with a tray of tea and refreshments. Thorne watched as she set the tray on the table, his mind still racing with possibilities. Sabine was hiding something, he was sure of it. But what?

  He picked up his teacup, his eyes never leaving hers as he took a sip. “I must say, Lady Sabine, you’re quite the conversationalist.”

  Sabine let out a soft laugh, picking up her own cup. “I do try. But I think you’re much better at this than I am, Lord Silverbane.”

  Thorne gave her a lazy smile, his mind already working on his next move. “We all have our talents.”

  *

  Sabine stayed for close to an hour, pushing him and testing, never letting him ease up. She was relentless, her questions veiled in pleasantries, her gaze sharp and calculating. Thorne maintained his composure, keeping up the charade of polite conversation, but it was exhausting. By the time she left, accompanied by her grandmother, he felt drained, like he’d been in a battle of wits rather than a simple conversation.

  As they disappeared down the path leading out of the estate, Thorne watched them go with narrowed eyes. Sabine Langston was no idle gossip, she was shrew and cunning, and she had an agenda. What that agenda was, he wasn’t sure yet, but he had a feeling he’d find out soon enough.

  He shook his head, letting out a long breath. “She’s like a blood hound,” he muttered under his breath, the irritation in his voice clear. “Won’t let go once she’s got a scent.”

  He stretched, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension that had settled there during their conversation. He didn’t like her. She was too clever by half, and she clearly didn’t trust him, which was fair enough. He didn’t trust her either.

  But he wasn’t about to let her rattle him. He had other things to worry about, like finding out what had transpired between Uncle and the Langstons. He made his way inside the house, his steps purposeful as he headed towards Uncle’s study. He needed answers.

  When he reached the hallway outside the study, however, he was met by Arletta, her expression unreadable. She stepped in front of the door, her arms crossed over her chest. “You can’t go in,” she said firmly.

  Thorne raised an eyebrow, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. “I just want to speak with him for a moment.”

  “He’s busy right now,” she replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You’ll have to wait.”

  Thorne clenched his jaw, but he didn’t push it. He knew better than to cross Arletta, especially when Uncle had given her a direct order. Instead, he let out a frustrated sigh and turned on his heel, pacing back down the hall.

  For the rest of the day, he waited restlessly, finding himself sulking in the hallway in front of Uncle’s study, his mind racing with questions and half-formed theories. People came and went, some unknown, some familiar from the guild. He even saw a couple of his former classmates accompanied by elder members, their expressions blank and professional. Whatever was happening behind those doors, it was important.

  He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the comings and goings with narrowed eyes. What the hell was going on in there? And why was he being kept out of it?

  It was late at night, long after the household had settled into an uneasy quiet, when the study door finally opened. Thorne straightened, his eyes locking onto Arletta as she stepped out, her expression weary but composed.

  “Master will see you now,” she said quietly, her gaze meeting his with a hint of sympathy.

  Thorne didn’t waste any time. He nodded curtly and strode past her, his heart pounding in his chest as he entered the study. Uncle was seated behind his desk, a mountain of papers spread out before him, his face drawn with lines of fatigue.

  He looked up as Thorne entered, his eyes narrowing slightly before he leaned back in his chair, gesturing for him to come closer. “Thorne,” he said, his voice measured, “come in.”

  Thorne approached the desk, his eyes scanning the papers scattered across the surface. Maps, letters, lists of names and numbers. It looked like the aftermath of a battlefield, the remnants of some grand strategy laid bare.

  Uncle watched him for a moment, then reached for a letter lying on top of the pile. He held it up, his expression unreadable.

  “You’re delivering this to the Thornfield fool.”

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