For the first twenty-eight hours in Ignia's library, Rune wept quietly over the same textbook — everything felt vital, and yet it slipped from her mind the moment she closed the page, no matter how many times she cross-checked it against the king's condition.

Cassidy, meanwhile, was thriving. She'd never had access to real textbook learning before — everything she knew, she'd pieced together from the streets, from people, from books she'd stolen along the way. This was the first time anyone had handed her both an education and a fine Silaxen dress in the same week.

"Aren't you supposed to be Silaxen royalty?" Percy teased, rubbing at his arm — bruised from when the palace guards had grabbed him and he'd flinched away from being called a freak. "Shouldn't your whole kingdom be obsessed with knowledge?"

Rune noticed the wince before she answered. She lifted her helmet, letting it scan every book they'd gathered so far and read the contents back to her, then crossed to Percy and took his arm — one firm motion, a soft crack, and the ache was simply gone.

"How did you—?" Percy stared at his own arm.

"Basic healing. Picked it up watching Lady Po — best physical therapist in Silax." She shrugged. "And I'm dumb, not stupid. There's a difference."

"What's the difference?" Cassidy asked, genuinely curious.

"Stupid people don't have logic or common sense in them at all. Dumb people have both — they just choose not to use them properly." Rune glanced at Vane. "When I say I'm the dumbest Silaxen alive, it's because I had the lowest scores in the entire royal education program. Not because I think I'm actually stupid."

Over the following days, the three of them taught Cassidy what medical knowledge they had, testing theories against holograms projected from Rune's helmet as it read aloud.

"Hm — no, this won't work. The king's lungs read normal. Not infected."

"Where are you even getting this?" Vane asked, startled.

"Heard it in one of the books my helmet read out," Rune said with a shrug. "Everyone learns differently. Cassidy's a sponge for text. Some people need to work things with their hands. And some — like me — need to hear it out loud before it sticks."

By the second week, the palace staff had warmed to them enough to slip them proper meals — food Cassidy and her siblings had never so much as seen before, let alone tasted. The children lit up at every mealtime, eating more in a sitting than they used to in a week back in the slums, always remembering their manners, always saying thank you, always helping clean up — half-convinced that if they didn't, someone would send them back. The older staff adored them for it regardless. Vane and Rune had shed their armor by now too, settling into plain, casual clothes for the first time in longer than either could remember.

One night, Cassidy woke thirsty. Passing Rune's bed, she found Dotty curled up beside her — the little girl had taken to sleeping there most nights now — Rune half-asleep, humming an old Silaxen lullaby under her breath.

Cassidy slipped out past the sleeping guards at the suite door and wandered into an older wing of the palace — a part steeped in Ignia's history, moonlight catching the windows in long silver streaks. The Crown Prince stood there alone, looking as tired as ever.

"Your Majesty? What are you doing out here, all alone?" she asked carefully, mindful not to provoke him.

He startled, then softened. "Nothing, really. Just needed somewhere else to be, before I go back to drowning in paperwork." His voice was looser than she'd ever heard it — unguarded, almost unrecognizable as the prince the rest of Ignia knew.

Cassidy sat beside him on the floor. "So what brought you here, of all places?"

"I used to come here with the Queen, when things got to be too much." He paused. "She used to tell me the seven crowns were united once — happy, even. Strong enough to beat back the first wave of the shadows, centuries ago. Ignia's gold had a gift back then — not healing, exactly, but it could dull sickness, dull the weight of whatever dark energy the shadows left behind. Then, piece by piece, our gold started disappearing. When my grandfather learned Silax was behind it — with help from the other crowns — Ignia sealed its borders to the rest of the world." He let out a breath. "I miss when things felt simple. When being crown prince still meant something, instead of fighting my own council every time I want to do what's actually right for this kingdom. I never thought royalty could be this judgmental, Cassidy."

Listening to him keep talking, Cassidy realized what this was — the rare, unguarded honesty of someone too tired to keep their walls up, sharing more than they ever would with someone they barely knew. She smiled gently.

"I probably don't have any right to say this," she said, stretching her arms, "but storms pass." A pause. "Not long ago, I was just a thief — the only thing I cared about was keeping food in my siblings' mouths. When Flint's illness got bad enough, I got desperate enough to beg for a meeting with you. And then, out of nowhere, an angel knight and her knights broke into my home and saved his life." She smiled faintly. "I was reckless enough to gamble the king's life on getting her into that meeting instead of mine."

The prince went quiet for a moment. "That's — quite the fearless loyalty." He huffed something like a laugh. "Wish I had an ounce of that from my own council."

"Your maj—"

"Please. Aiden. Aiden Evander." He smiled, a shy flush rising — the kind that only showed when the mask of crown prince wasn't on him. "I never really had a friend my own age, growing up."

Cassidy smiled as a passing cloud dimmed the moonlight for a moment. "Thanks, Aiden."