Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 472. Power and Temptation III
Angel raised a brow. "You want to check him?"
"Not with swords," she said calmly. "I know the signs. I'm from the Heart Family, remember? Mental defense is half instinct, half resonance. If I get close enough, I can tell how deep the corruption is."
Angel exhaled. "He won't let you."
"He doesn't have to know."
He gave her a look.
She gave it right back. "Come on. Just a quick check. You teleport me in. Five minutes. We see if he's clean or not."
"It's the middle of the night."
"You're awake."
"You're asking me to sneak into a prince's room," he said flatly. "A prince who currently thinks we might be his enemies."
Rose just smirked. "You've done worse for me."
Angel stared at her.
Then sighed. "He's defensive. You saw it. Even earlier, he kept his hand near his weapon the entire conversation."
"That's not his fault," she said. "If what you say is true, he's not even in control. That means he's not our enemy, he's a prisoner. One who could turn the entire court if we free him."
"He's also Pontus's best heir," Angel added. "And Jane's best chance."
"Exactly why we can't leave him like this."
Angel's fingers drummed against his knee.
"If Seraphine turned him," Rose said carefully, "then maybe it's because the real Roric refused her. Maybe he didn't want to play the game. Maybe he knew what she was planning. Maybe… just maybe… he was trying to protect Jane."
Angel looked at her. Fully. "And now he doesn't remember? Like among all… it should be the hardest to erase."
"Now he doesn't know who to trust."
They sat with that a moment. It sank in.
Angel tapped the air, just once, between them. A faint pulse shimmered, his teleportation prep. No words. Just a flick of power.
"You sure?" he asked.
Rose stood.
"I'm not going to hurt him," she said. "Just… feel. That's all."
Angel stood too. He reached toward her slowly, brushing his fingers over her shoulder, not as warning. As grounding. Then his other hand raised, fingers flexed, air thickening around them.
The world bent.
With a breath, they vanished.
And reappeared in darkness.
Stone walls, dim lamp light flickering near the far wall. Military neatness. Spartan but clean. Weapons on the wall. Boots by the bed.
And in the bed, Roric.
Asleep. Tense. Not snoring, not relaxed. The kind of sleep you have when your body rests but your soul doesn't.
Rose barely made a sound. She stepped forward slowly, barefoot, the hem of her robe whispering across the floor.
Angel stayed back. In the shadow.
She reached out.
Her fingers hovered just above his forehead.
Then…
A pulse.
She felt it instantly.
Static.
Friction.
It wasn't darkness. It wasn't full corruption. But it wasn't clean either. His aura had holes in it, small patches where something had grown over his memories like mold. Not invasive. Not violent. Just… persistent. Clinging.
And in the center of it, she felt the conflict.
A battlefield.
Two Rorics. One silent, scarred, loyal. The other, confused, wary, coiled like a blade with no hilt.
She pulled back gently.
He stirred.
Angel caught her wrist.
The movement was instinct. A flicker of tension in his eyes, dark as the shadows that clung to the corners of the room. Roric's brow furrowed, his breath catching for half a second. A sound escaped his throat, quiet, strained.
Rose didn't flinch. She simply reached into the folds of her robe and, with her free hand, tapped a small glass vial no bigger than her thumb. She uncorked it with a soft snap. A sweet, almost floral scent drifted into the air, subtle, barely there. Like crushed petals and dew.
Sleeping pollen.
Not strong. Just enough to nudge him back into slumber.
She leaned closer and let a single drop fall onto the edge of his pillow. The scent spread. Then vanished without a trace. Not even any evidence would be left if someone checked this place tomorrow.
Roric's body relaxed again, muscles softening. His breathing steadied.
Sleep returned to him.
Only then did Angel release her wrist.
They looked at each other, silent.
No words. Just understanding.
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