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POLITICAL THORNS

T he hidden council chamber beneath the city smelled of old stone and desperation. Carved from bedrock centuries ago, the room had witnessed countless conspiracies, rebellions, and desperate last stands. Now it played host to yet another gathering of the desperate and disillusioned, all looking to Silas for leadership he wasn't sure he could provide.

Nobles from lesser houses clustered in small groups, their fine clothes wrinkled from hurried travel through servant passages. Military officers in civilian dress stood stiffly at attention, years of training evident in their bearing despite the lack of uniforms. All of them carried the same expression: a mixture of hope and fear that made Silas's stomach churn.

“They're looking at you like you're their salvation,” Kai whispered from his position slightly behind Silas's right shoulder. “No pressure or anything.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Silas muttered, touching the living bracelet on his wrist. The tendrils of shadow and starlight shifted against his skin, pulsing with Thorne's heartbeat. It was his anchor in this sea of political scheming, a reminder of what truly mattered.

Diana stood at the chamber's entrance, directing newcomers with military precision. She'd changed from her uniform into nondescript clothing, but her authority remained unmistakable. As the last stragglers entered, she sealed the door with a complex series of locks and wards.

“That's everyone who could make it,” she announced, moving to stand beside Silas. “At least everyone we can trust.”

The gathered nobles fell silent as Silas stepped forward. He'd spent the morning practicing what to say, but now all his carefully prepared words felt hollow. These people had risked everything to be here. They deserved more than empty platitudes.

“Thank you for coming,” he began, his voice steadier than he felt. “I know what you've risked to be here. Sebastian's spies are everywhere, and the penalty for opposing him...”

“Is death,” Lord Blackwood finished grimly. The elderly noble had lost two sons to Sebastian's purges already. “We know the stakes, Lord Ashworth. What we need to know is if you have a plan.”

Before Silas could respond, the chamber's far door opened with a whisper of well-oiled hinges. Lady Evangeline swept in, her presence commanding immediate attention despite her advanced years. Two figures flanked her, both wearing the subtle gray of her personal guard.

“Forgive my lateness,” she said, though her tone suggested she'd timed her entrance perfectly. “I had to ensure we weren't followed.”

She moved to the chamber's center, producing a leather portfolio from beneath her cloak. “I believe I can answer Lord Blackwood's question about plans.” With theatrical flair, she spread documents across the ancient stone table.

The assembled nobles leaned forward as one, examining the evidence she'd brought. Correspondence between Sebastian and unknown parties, financial records showing mysterious payments, reports from spies Silas hadn't known existed. The scope of her intelligence network stunned everyone, himself included.

“All this time… you were laying the groundwork,” he said, looking at his grandmother with new eyes.

“Since before you were born, dear boy.” Her smile held edges sharp enough to cut. “The Ashworth name has been corrupted for generations. It was only a matter of time before someone like Sebastian tried to seize power.”

She pointed to one particular document, a report bearing a seal Silas didn't recognize. “This is what concerns me most. Sebastian has been meeting with foreign mages, practitioners of binding magic outlawed in every civilized kingdom.”

“To what end?” Diana asked, studying the report.

“To enslave the guardian permanently,” Evangeline replied.

The living bracelet tightened around Silas's wrist, responding to his spike of fear. He reached for his bond, seeking reassurance, but found only muted distance. The connection remained, but it felt muffled, as if Thorne had wrapped it in layers of cotton.

“He's shielding me,” Silas realized aloud, drawing confused looks from the others. “Thorne. He's blocking our bond.”

“Probably trying to protect you from feeling whatever shit's going down in the forest,” Kai suggested, though his casual tone didn't hide his concern.

A messenger burst into the chamber, breathing hard from running. “My lords, my ladies,” he gasped. “Sebastian has made his move. He's declared himself regent, claiming the king named him successor before...” He glanced at Silas. “Before his current condition.”

“That's impossible,” Lord Blackwood sputtered. “The king still lives. He can't name a successor while incapacitated.”

“Tell that to Sebastian,” the messenger replied. “He's already issuing decrees. Including one declaring all guardian forests enemy territory.”

Silas snatched the proclamation from the messenger's hands, scanning it quickly. His blood ran cold as he read the order for “total magical conscription”—forcing all beings with power into service of the crown. The implications were staggering.

“He wants to control all magic in the kingdom.”

“Which is why we must act now,” Evangeline declared. She turned to face the assembled nobles. “My grandson has the strongest legal claim to regency. If he challenges Sebastian formally, it forces a hearing before the noble houses.”

“A hearing Sebastian will surely corrupt,” Diana pointed out.

“Perhaps,” Evangeline conceded. “But it buys us time and forces him to defend his claim publicly. Every lie he tells becomes a weapon we can use against him.”

The room erupted in debate. Some supported the plan, others argued for more direct action. Silas listened with half an ear, his thoughts drifting to Thorne. The partial silence of their bond felt like a missing limb, an absence that left him off-balance and uncertain.

You chose your forest over us , whispered a voice that sounded disturbingly like the shadow entity. Left me to handle this alone while you play guardian.

Silas shook his head, trying to dispel the poisonous thoughts. Thorne hadn't abandoned him. They'd made this choice together, each fighting where they were needed most. But doubt had found fertile ground in his isolation.

“Silas?” Kai's hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present. “They're waiting for your decision.”

He looked around the chamber, seeing expectation on every face. These people had placed their lives in his hands, trusting him to lead them against Sebastian's tyranny. The weight of responsibility pressed down like a physical force.

“We'll do it,” he said finally. “I'll challenge Sebastian's claim formally.”

The decision made, the meeting shifted to practical matters. Legal scholars were summoned to craft the perfect challenge, each word scrutinized for potential weakness. Silas found himself swept into preparations, barely having time to think as advisors dressed him in formal court attire.

* * *

The throne room seethed beneath its ceremonial polish.

Sunlight filtered through high stained-glass windows, casting fractured colors across the marble floor and the assembled nobility. Gold-threaded banners hung stiff against the walls, the kingdom's crest fluttering like a wound trying to stay closed. Courtiers stood in rigid clusters, fanning themselves not for heat but to signal allegiances. The air crackled with whispers and expectation.

At the center, seated just below the true throne, was Sebastian.

He wore the regent's mantle with the arrogance of someone born expecting it. His posture was casual, legs crossed, one hand curled around the lion-headed cane that once belonged to the former king's chief advisor. He did not sit on the throne itself—no, not yet—but he let his gaze rest on it, as if calculating how soon it might be his.

Then the doors opened.

Silas entered with slow, deliberate steps. Diana walked to his left, Elena to his right. Behind them, Kai lingered at a respectful distance, eyes scanning the chamber like a hawk. The room silenced itself as though under a spell.

Sebastian's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. “Well, well. The would-be regicide returns. Come to finish what you started at the hunt?”

Silas's hand twitched, but he kept his voice level. “I come to challenge your claim to regency.”

His voice rang through the chamber—measured, clear, and courtly. Every noble turned to look, the weight of old bloodlines stirring in their minds.

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, amusement sharpening to interest. “By all means, cousin. Entertain us.”

“I invoke the right of petition,” Silas continued. “As direct blood of House Ashworth, I demand that the High Council review the legality of your appointment.”

Now the court murmured louder. Sebastian's mouth twitched.

“The king named me successor in his final conscious command.”

“He never abdicated. He never died. That means the law defaults to the next of blood—unless they refuse. I never did.”

“You vanished. You opposed crown policy. You bred treason with every guardian-lover fantasy.”

“I saw what you became at the hunt,” Silas shot back, rage finally bleeding through.

The court rippled with shocked murmurs. Sebastian's casual facade cracked.

“You know nothing of what you saw.”

“I saw enough. I watched you call shadow magic to kill the king. To murder Thorne. All for power you claim you never wanted.”

Sebastian stood. The move was subtle, but the energy shifted. His voice lowered as he spoke again—no longer to the room, but directly to Silas.

“And what did you learn in Thornhaven, cousin? How to speak to trees? How to let monsters touch your skin and call it love while the realm burns?”

Silas held his gaze. “I learned what it means to protect something without expecting power in return. Something you forgot when you summoned that shadow.”

A silence fell. Somewhere, a noble cleared his throat too loudly and went still. Elena shifted slightly, just enough to let the light catch her family ring—reminding the court that old alliances still held weight.

Diana stepped forward to add precedent, citing language buried in centuries-old charters. Silas listened, but his eyes never left Sebastian.

He was watching him unravel—not into chaos, but into something darker. There was something in his cousin's face that didn't fit the mask. A flicker behind the eyes. Something wounded and desperate.

And when the arguments subsided and the court withdrew to deliberate, Sebastian stepped down from the dais and crossed the floor like a knife through velvet.

He caught Silas by the arm and pulled him into a shadowed alcove behind one of the marble pillars.

Silas yanked his arm free, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “If you think threatening me in secret will work?—”

“Where have I threatened you?” Sebastian asked. “At the hunt? When I could have ended you with Thorne?”

“You tried to murder my father. Our king. Your uncle.”

“Your father was already dead.” Sebastian's voice was sharp, cold. “That shadow had him. The real Thomas died weeks ago. What walks the palace halls is something wearing his skin.”

Silas blinked. “You're insane.”

“Am I?” Sebastian's face shifted, the sneer gone. For the first time, he looked—desperate. Not weak, not weary. Desperate. “Ask me, Silas. Ask me what I saw that night. What any mage with true sight can see.”

Silas hesitated.

“…What did you see?” he asked finally, the words feeling colder than he'd expected.

Sebastian exhaled slowly. “The truth. The rot eating this kingdom from within. You think I wanted any of this? That I woke up one day and decided to call shadow magic at a royal hunt?”

Silas said nothing.

“I was trying to cut out the infection,” Sebastian continued. “Before it spreads further. The shadow entity doesn't possess—it invades. Once it has a foothold in someone's bloodline...” He trailed off, eyes haunted.

“My father is alive. I spoke with him. Touched him.”

“Did you really? Or did you speak to something that knew how to answer? That understood every memory, every gesture?” Sebastian leaned closer. “The king you knew is gone. That's why I swore the regent's oath. To contain what's left.”

Silas pulled back. “You're lying. This is just another way to justify?—”

“Justify what? Nearly dying myself? Nearly destroying the guardian I need alive to face what's coming?” Sebastian's voice cracked with something like panic. “You think I don't know what I'm doing? What I've become?”

“You've become someone who murders family for power.”

“I've become someone who tries to save what's left!” Sebastian grabbed his arm again, grip iron. “You want to know why the shadow chose me? Because I was already halfway there. Because I'd already seen what happens when duty fails.”

Silas looked at the hand gripping his arm, then back at Sebastian's face. “You haven't crossed the point of no return. Not yet.”

“Haven't I?” Sebastian released him. “I summoned forbidden magic. I nearly killed my uncle—our king—whatever he's become. I've taken the regent's oath knowing what I am.” His laugh was hollow. “The point of no return isn't a line you cross. It's a descent. And I've been falling so long, I don't remember what solid ground feels like.”

“Then step back from the edge,” Silas said. “Help me. Help us find another way.”

Sebastian looked away. “The only way forward is through. And you're still too blind to see what that means.”

He stepped back into the light, reaffixing the regent's calm like armor.

“This kingdom doesn't need another naive heir,” he said. “It needs someone willing to do what you cannot. Someone who's already stained with necessary evil.”

“If you come near Thorne again?—”

“Oh, I won't hurt him,” Sebastian said smoothly. “I'll bind him. Make him serve. You want to bring back the old ways? Fine. Let's start with the guardian oath. Chain him to the court. Let the people see their savior in a collar.”

He turned, robes flaring like a drawn curtain.

“Walk carefully, cousin. The closer you get to the center, the less you'll like what holds it together. And the more you'll understand why I did what I did at the hunt.”

And then he was gone, swallowed back into the court like he'd never been anything but noble.

* * *

Alone in his chambers that evening, Silas paced like a caged animal. Sebastian's threat echoed in his mind, feeding his anxiety about Thorne's silence. He pressed against their bond with all his strength, desperate for any connection.

The effort left him gasping, but he caught a fragment—images of the forest burning, Thorne spread impossibly thin trying to hold failing wards. The glimpse lasted only seconds before the shield slammed back into place, but it was enough. The Eldergrove was under attack, and Thorne was fighting alone.

“Fuck,” Silas breathed, slumping against the wall.

“That bad?” Kai asked from the doorway. He carried a tray with food and wine, though Silas had no appetite.

“Worse. The forest is burning, and Thorne's trying to handle it alone.”

Kai set the tray down, his expression serious. “So what do we do?”

“I don't know.” The admission hurt. “If I leave now, Sebastian wins by default. But if I stay...”

“Thorne might lose everything,” Kai finished.

A knock interrupted them. Diana entered, her face grim. “We have a problem. Several, actually.”

She spread reports across Silas's desk, each one worse than the last. Sebastian's forces were moving toward the Eldergrove ahead of schedule. Foreign mages had been spotted entering the city. And most concerning, several noble houses that had promised support were wavering.

“He's putting pressure on everyone,” Diana explained. “Threats, bribes, blackmail. We're losing allies by the hour.”

As if summoned by the discussion of problems, a servant announced the arrival of an unexpected guest. Prince Ash of the Summer Court materialized in the center of the room, bypassing all security through fey paths.

“Lord Ashworth,” he purred, bowing with exaggerated grace. “Or should I say, Prince Silas?”

“What do you want?” Silas asked bluntly, too tired for fey games.

“Direct. I like that.” Ash circled the room, examining the furnishings with affected interest. “I come with an offer of alliance. The Summer Court stands ready to support your claim.”

“At what price?”

“Clever boy.” Ash's smile revealed too many teeth. “We want guarantees. Autonomy for all fey territories. No more human oversight or interference.”

“You want your own kingdom,” Silas translated.

“Essentially, yes.” Ash moved closer, his presence carrying the warmth of summer sunshine. “Is that so unreasonable? Your bond with the forest guardian shows you understand our ways. Surely you see the benefit of separation?”

His flirtation was obvious, testing the strength of Silas's connection to Thorne. The fey prince radiated sensual energy, his offer carrying implications beyond mere politics.

“I'll consider your proposal,” Silas said carefully, stepping back to maintain distance.

“Do.” Ash's smile turned predatory. “But don't take too long. The Winter Court makes their own offers, and Mab plays for keeps.”

He vanished as suddenly as he'd appeared, leaving behind the scent of summer flowers and possibility.

“Well, that was uncomfortable to watch,” Kai commented.

“Sometimes I wonder if your father was right,” she said quietly. “Not about his methods, but about the danger of depending on magic we don't understand.”

“You can't mean that.”

“Can't I?” She gestured to the reports covering his desk. “Look at what we're dealing with. Ancient entities, fey politics, magic that corrupts everything it touches. Maybe humans should stick to human problems.”

The conversation left Silas more unsettled than ever. He trusted Diana's judgment, had relied on her strength since this began. To hear her express such doubts shook his confidence further.

* * *

Sebastian had accelerated his timeline again.

Silas noticed a folded note on his pillow that hadn't been there moments before. The paper felt old, the ink slightly faded.

The forgotten heir awaits. Come alone to the Old Mill at midnight. Bring proof of your commitment.

“This is obviously a trap,” Kai said, reading over his shoulder.

“Obviously,” Silas agreed. “But it might also be our only chance to contact Nathaniel.”

“You can't go,” Diana protested. “We need you here for the legal challenge.”

“And Thorne needs help now, not in three days.” Silas made his decision. “I'm going.”

He spent the next hour writing detailed instructions for Diana, outlining legal strategies and fallback positions. If something happened to him, she would need to continue the fight.

“This is stupid,” Kai announced as Silas prepared to leave. “Which is why I'm coming with you.”

“The note said alone.”

“The note can fuck off.” Kai's grin held no humor. “You think I'm letting you walk into an obvious trap by yourself? Please. I've been saving your ass since we were kids.”

Silas didn't argue further. Truth be told, he was grateful for the company.

They slipped out of the palace using servant passages Kai had memorized years ago. The living bracelet pulsed warnings against Silas's wrist, but he pushed forward, driven by desperation for any advantage.

The Old Mill stood at the city's edge, a hulking shadow against the night sky. Once the heart of the city's grain production, it had fallen into disuse when magical processing methods were introduced. Now it served as a meeting place for those who preferred to avoid official notice.

As they approached, Silas felt layers of wards and protections, magic so old it had seeped into the stones themselves. The building remembered a time before the current conflicts, when magic and mundane coexisted more peacefully.

Inside, a single lantern illuminated a figure in a hooded cloak. They stood motionless, waiting.

“I said come alone,” the figure spoke, their voice carrying an accent Silas couldn't place.

“I don't follow orders from anonymous notes,” Silas replied. “You wanted to meet. Here I am.”

The figure laughed, pushing back their hood to reveal a woman's face. She appeared to be in her thirties, with features that suggested mixed heritage—human and something else.

“Fair enough,” she said. “I am Lyra, daughter of Nathaniel Ashworth.”

“I didn't know he had a daughter.”

“There's much you don't know about our family.” She gestured to a ritual circle carved into the mill's floor. “But first, you must prove your commitment to the old ways.”

Lyra stepped forward, studying Silas with eyes that held centuries of Ashworth heritage despite her youth. “Before we can trust you with the location of my father, you need to prove your commitment isn't just noble words.”

“I came here, didn't I?” Silas challenged. “Left the capital, accepted your terms?—”

“Words cost nothing. Actions less,” Lyra interrupted. “My father has waited decades for the right moment to emerge from exile. He won't risk everything on promises alone.”

She drew a silver dagger from her sleeve, its blade etched with symbols that seemed to shift when viewed directly. The metal hummed with old magic, resonating with the forest around them.

“There's a ritual,” she continued. “A blood oath that was used by Lysander's line to bind allies. Not compulsion, but voluntary witness. The forest itself becomes party to the promise.”

“That's all?” Kai asked, suspicious. “Just blood?”

“Blood carries memory,” Lyra explained. “And in Ashworth blood, that memory runs deep. The ritual will reveal your true intentions. Any deception, any hidden agenda—the forest will know.”

Silas stared at the blade, mind racing. This wasn't just about trust—it was about laying bare his soul to powers far older than crown politics. He thought of Thorne, of quiet mornings in the forest, of love that asked nothing but truth. The choice crystallized.

“I'll do it,” he said.

Lyra smiled approvingly. “Then we begin.”

She guided him to the center of the ritual circle, tracing the edges with her fingertips as she walked. The carved stones began to glow faintly, responding to her presence. The air grew heavy with potential, charged like the moments before a storm.

“Speak these words,” she instructed, placing the dagger in his hand. “I, of Ashworth blood, seek passage beyond walls built by fear. I offer proof of purpose, bound in blood and bone.”

Silas repeated the words, feeling power gather around him. The trees leaned closer, branches reaching toward the circle as if drawn by invisible currents.

“Now the offering,” Lyra whispered.

He cut across his palm with one smooth motion. The pain was sharp but brief, awareness quickly overtaken by something else—a vast consciousness pressing against the edges of his mind. The forest, awake and watching.

Blood dripped onto the carved stone, each drop creating ripples of light that spread outward like waves in a still pond. The symbols on the stone's surface drank eagerly, and Silas felt himself pulled into something greater than himself.

His love for Thorne blazed bright and true. His determination to bridge two worlds. His rejection of the crown's false power. The genuine grief and anger at Sebastian's betrayal.

Then deeper still. Old memories awakened by Ashworth blood. Marcus's first meeting with the guardians, charged with hope and ambition. Lysander's quiet defiance, choosing love over title. The slow corruption of what had once been pure alliance, twisted by fear and greed.

“Let the forest witness,” Lyra intoned, her voice joined by whispers from the trees themselves. “Let truth be known and alliance be forged.”

The power crested like a wave and receded, leaving Silas gasping. The glowing symbols faded to darkness, the circle releasing its hold.

“It is done,” Lyra said, satisfaction evident in her voice. “The forest has read your heart and found it true to your words.”

Kai approached cautiously. “So that's it? We're good?”

Lyra wrapped Silas's bleeding hand with a strip of cloth drawn from her satchel. “The circle has accepted him. His commitment is witnessed and sealed. More binding than any crown oath—this promise, he cannot break without the forest itself knowing.”

As the cloth tightened around his palm, Silas felt the weight of his choice settle into him. No longer just words spoken in passion, but a pact sealed in magic and blood. The path forward had narrowed to a single course.

“Welcome to the true resistance, cousin,” Lyra said, helping him to his feet.

They walked in silence for several minutes, following a path that seemed to reveal itself only when Lyra stepped forward. The forest canopy grew thicker, filtering sunlight into ethereal columns that danced with motes of pollen and dust.

“I have to ask,” Silas finally broke the quiet. “How long have you known? About Sebastian? About what's happening to our bloodline?”

Lyra glanced back at him, considering. “My father was thirteen when he first saw the patterns. Young enough to think he could warn everyone. Old enough to understand why no one would listen.”

“The King's council threatened to have him executed if he kept talking about 'ancestral corruption,'” Kai added, then caught Lyra's questioning look. “Diana told me. Before we left the capital.”

“They feared the truth,” Lyra confirmed. “That the shadow entity had been guiding our family for generations. Pushing us toward this moment.”

Silas stopped walking. “What moment?”

Lyra turned to face him fully. “The complete merging of realms through corruption rather than cooperation.”

“Sebastian's just the latest vessel,” she continued. “Marcus was one of the first. The entity whispered to him, made him believe guardians were threats to be controlled rather than allies to be cherished. Each generation of Ashworths after him became more receptive to its influence.”

“Until it found the perfect candidate,” Silas said bitterly. “Sebastian was always ambitious. Always resentful of limitations.”

“Exactly. The entity doesn't create character flaws—it exploits them. It traces corruption back to the founding of our house, when the first Ashworth made a bargain he didn't fully understand.”

They reached a small clearing where ancient stones formed a natural amphitheater. Lyra paused, turning to face them with an apologetic expression.

“I need to ask something difficult,” she said. “My father has been in hiding for decades. His location must remain protected.”

Silas nodded, understanding immediately. “You want me to come alone.”

“I'm sorry,” Lyra said, glancing at Kai. “It's not about trust. It's about necessity. The fewer who know his sanctuary's location, the safer he remains.”

Kai bristled slightly but kept his voice level. “I understand. Information is a weapon in the wrong hands.”

“Please don't take offense,” Lyra continued. “Your loyalty to Silas is clear. But my father's paranoia has kept him alive when others who spoke out against the shadow's influence mysteriously died.”

“You don't need to apologize to me,” Kai said, surprising them both with his calm acceptance. “Diana will want a full report anyway. I should return to coordinate with her.”

She offered to take Silas to Nathaniel immediately. “He has information that could turn the tide. But we must leave now. Sebastian's forces are closer to the Eldergrove than anyone realizes.”

Silas faced yet another impossible choice. Abandon the political fight to save Thorne, or stay and risk losing everything to Sebastian's military might.

“Go,” Kai said quietly. “I'll stay and help Diana. Someone needs to keep the legal challenge alive.”

“Don't argue. We both know Thorne needs you more than the court does.” His smile was crooked but genuine. “Besides, I've always wanted to play politics. Think of the chaos I can cause.”

They embraced quickly, years of friendship requiring no words. Then Silas turned to Lyra.

“Take me to Nathaniel.”