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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."
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