Caidren strode from the courtyard without another word. The soldiers remained silent behind him, not daring to speak, not even to whisper among themselves.
He had made his point.
By the time he reached the war room, his blood was still humming, the tension in his body refusing to fade. He had disciplined his men. Reestablished control. Put an end to their stupidity.
That should have been enough.
So why did the unease still cling to him?
"Well."
Dain's voice was laced with amusement as Caidren entered.
"You certainly made an impression."
Caidren didn't answer.
He moved to the table, resting his hands on the rough wood, staring down at the maps as if they held the answer to whatever this was.
Dain didn't take the hint.
"Never seen you that worked up over discipline before," he mused, flipping a dagger between his fingers. "What was it you said? 'You will never lay a hand on something that belongs to me again'?"
Caidren's fingers curled against the table.
Dain grinned. "Possessive words, my lord."
"Enough."
The command was sharp, final.
Dain tilted his head, but for once, he obeyed.
For a moment, there was only silence. The crackling of the fire. The faint murmur of men outside. The ever-present weight of a coming war.
Then, quietly:
"You don't even see it, do you?"
Caidren exhaled through his nose. "See what?"
Dain leaned forward, elbows braced against the table. "You could've ignored it," he said. "Could've let the boy fend for himself. That's what you should have done, if he truly meant nothing to you."
Caidren's jaw tightened.
"But you didn't," Dain continued. "You disciplined your men—not just as a show of power, but because what they did bothered you." His smirk returned. "And that, my lord, is not like you."
Caidren finally looked at him, eyes cold. "You think you understand me?"
Dain only shrugged. "I think you're trying very hard to convince yourself that you don't care."
A muscle in Caidren's jaw twitched.
Dain chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine," he said, pushing away from the table. "Keep lying to yourself. But if you ask me—"
He paused at the door, glancing back.
"—you don't protect something unless it matters."
And then he was gone.
Caidren remained still.
His fingers drummed once against the table, slow and deliberate.
Then he turned away from the maps.
And without another word, he left the war room.
The Line Between Possession and Concern
He did not go to his quarters.
But he did stop outside the door.
For a long moment, he simply stood there.
He told himself he was only checking. That he needed to be certain Elias had not worsened overnight. That this was still responsibility and nothing more.
But he did not open the door.
Because if he did—if he saw Elias awake, saw the wariness in his eyes, the quiet acceptance of whatever fate would bring—
He might remember Dain's words.
And Caidren was not ready for that.
So instead, he turned away.
And told himself this was the last time he would let the boy occupy his thoughts.