Night bled into dawn with the same hollow edge Rhys carried within his heart. His castle no longer stood, so he was accompanied by two of Alaric’s men to the House of de Guise, which stood no further away from the forest than the castle. The mountain’s peaks were more difficult to see over high jack pines Rhys believed tickled the sky as a child, but the House granted him a bittersweet nostalgia that did soothe his nerves. 

Foolish as it may have seemed to an outsider, Rhys slept in his parents’ bed, imagining they, too, were there, holding him in his grief. Instead, he was met with silence. The House seemed darker without the light of his family. He’d attempted to light a lantern, then a candle, but the flicker of the flame danced in his eyes like a taunt, and quickly, with trembling lips, he blew them out. Rhys had examined his mother's handmade basket that night, too, his fingers tracing the twine of oak, then he picked up his father's old sword ribbon—the string was frayed at the edges, Fern had sewn it for him before Rhys was born. He then found Aris’ stick collection. It was another basket Fern had made, but within it was nestled dozens of different twigs and sticks that Aris would pretend were swords. Rhys smiled sadly, recalling how Aris would pester him into playing knights for hours. Rhys did, of course, but only with the hope that, if he did, Aris would leave him alone to read for the evening. How he regretted not playing knights with Aris more.

Following Rhys’ rekindled feelings for all of the physical memories now placed carefully about the grand bed, he sobbed, finally alone, and too exhausted to fight off the desperate need to just cry as he clung to the blue quilt Fern had sewn himself for Rhys as a baby to his chest. His head hung low in his hands, tangled within the quilt, his spine bent, legs crossed beneath him as he choked on his own tears. He despised Alaric and that damned kingdom. He despised all of it. Despised that he was the last one standing, the one to sign that peace accord in an attempt to flush out his heavy grief. Alas, it did not work.

With dawn, the sky brought a mocking light. It was brighter than last night, but only through the eyes of one who’d not lost. Rhys found the thought ironic, for who in the kingdom of de Guise had not lost anything? Not even the royal family itself still stood.

Horses’ hooves clicked upon the gravel road paved from the castle to the House, Rhys finally did sit up to see who dared interrupt his peace, and at such an early hour.

With a huff and quiet reluctance, Rhys left the warmth of the bed, unable to tell who it was from where he sat. And, to his greatest displeasure, the Commander of Ash dismounted his stallion, staring at the door of the House for a moment longer than Rhys considered necessary. He was already here, so what would he be waiting for? An invitation? Ha. Rhys noticed, too, that Alaric had spared the garden next to the House carefully, even leaving his stallion tied on the opposite side so it would not trample over it. He’d been so distraught and tired, he had not noticed in the dark that, though there were no lilacs left at the castle, there were lilacs aplenty here. He softly sighed in relief.

Alaric raised his fist to knock, hesitating, before he lowered it and simply stepped inside. Rhys turned quickly, pretending he had not been staring, and decided to fix himself a cup of tea. Alaric would not be getting one. 

“Rhys.” A voice from the adjacent room spoke. Rhys did not acknowledge it. Alaric stepped into the kitchen, “How are you faring? You slept well, I hope.”

As well as he could with the boulder in his stomach, Rhys supposed.

Alaric dropped the topic with a solemn nod of his head, “Very well, then. I have postponed the wedding,” Rhys’ ears perked at that, “It will be in early winter instead of autumn.”

“Okay.” Rhys replied simply.

“Also, it will be in my kingdom” It was said so quietly, regretfully, that Rhys could hardly hear it.

A part inside of him was angered and wanted to cry all over at the idea, but the rational part of him understood. Rhys had no family to attend his wedding here, he’d no castle to hold it in, how would he truly be able to throw a ball there? Would there even be a ball?

“I know you would prefer it be your own castle,” Rhys heard Alaric shift behind him, “But the Council wants to rebuild yours completely for the new kingdom.” 

Rhys understood this, too, as painful as that was to admit. Castle de Guise was the perfect border kingdom—it had the most resources in the north, from vegetables to cattle to wheat to clean water and so on. It was also the largest kingdom of the north, considering it was the first ever built, so of course, the Council would want it to be where the peaceful, new kingdom would reside. Yet the thought of sharing it with the man behind him made his stomach twist. He pursed his lips, left eye twitching in the corner. Be it from exhaustion or anger or sadness, Rhys could not tell. 

He did finally turn then to face Alaric, meeting his eyes with a tilt of his head. “Why would you postpone it?” He suddenly asked. “Are you waiting for me to like you? To forgive you?” He quirked a thin, black brow. 

“Nothing like that.” Alaric assured, his expression stoic enough to twist Rhys’ own, usually serene, expression into a scowl. Though, Rhys supposed, he'd not been calm for the last day, now. “I assumed you would want to return to your castle the night of the wedding. It should be repaired enough that the King's bedroom is restored.”

Rhys nodded, then, in thought. He should not have felt guilty for raising his voice nor having suspicions, but there was a space deep within his heart that was Fern, and Fern never raised his voice. Not even to the enemy.

“Very well.” Rhys said finally. He was still Rhys enough to not thank Alaric as his mother would have.

Another click-clack came from outside then, Rhys wanted to scream and pull his own hair out. Though, pulling Alaric's would be more satisfying.

“Commander!’ A gruff, distressed voice called. Rhys tensed at the thought of this man rolling through the newfound lilacs, but Alaric was already outside to settle it. Rhys watched through the opened lattice, he could not make out everything they said, and certainly not enough to prepare for Alaric's entrance once more with, “Rhys, come with me. Someone was found alive at the castle.”