The King's Guard

Chapter 50

Most of the squad had drifted into sleep that night. Kael sat alone at the desk by the window, his journal open, pen poised but unmoving.

He whispered the words before he wrote them.

“Where am I now?”

Reyna’s voice drifted from the shadows. “Talking to yourself again?”

Kael didn’t look up. “It helps.”

“Helps what?” She stepped closer, dropping onto the edge of his bunk. “You never actually answer that.”

Kael set the pen down, exhaling slowly. “Helps me not forget.”

Reyna folded her arms. “You mean the rebel. The one you killed.”

Kael’s hand tightened over the page. “That. And everything else. Since the tower. Since Dag. Since the Rift first pulled me apart.”

Reyna tilted her head. “You say his name like it’s still stuck in your throat.”

Kael’s gaze dropped. “Maybe it is. I hear it when the hall’s too quiet. I hear it every time I draw this pen across the page.”

“You’re not the only one who’s lost someone, Kael.”

He looked at her sharply. “Don’t make this about everyone else.”

“Why not?” she pressed. “Because it’s easier if you’re the martyr? Because if it’s only your grief that matters, no one can touch it?”

Kael clenched his jaw. “It’s not about mattering. It’s about…” He broke off, fingers curling against the journal. “It’s about not letting myself forget what I’ve done.”

Reyna leaned forward, her eyes remaining steady. “And you think forgetting is the same as forgiving.”

Kael’s laugh was short and bitter. “Forgiving? I don’t deserve that.”

“Then maybe remembering isn’t punishment,” she countered. “Maybe it’s the first step to something else.”

He shook his head. “You sound like you believe that.”

“I do.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Reyna held his gaze. “Why not?”

“Because if you start believing there’s redemption for me,” Kael said quietly, “you’ll only be disappointed when there isn’t.”

The silence stretched, filled by the faint creak of the rafters.

Reyna leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “So write it down out loud. Tell me what you’d put on the page.”

Kael gave her a sharp look. “You want me to dictate my nightmares?”

“I want you to stop carrying them like you’re the only one here with weight.”

He let out a breath, steadying himself. “Fine. I’d write… I don’t trust half the orders we’re given. I don’t trust Archon, I don’t trust Velreth. Darius tells me to wait, but waiting feels like drowning. Every mission feels like we’re being fed scraps of a bigger plan. And I’m sick of pretending I don’t see it.”

Reyna didn’t move, didn’t flinch. “Good. Now keep going.”

Kael tapped his fingers against the wood. “I’d write that I’m tired of Jared. Of his games. Of his smirks. But I’d also write that he’s sharper than we give him credit for, and that scares me. Because I don’t know who he’s playing for.”

Reyna tilted her head. “You think he’s reporting to someone?”

“I know he is,” Kael said quietly. “He doesn’t act without reason, not really. Every insult, every shove…it’s not random. He wants a reaction. From me especially, from everyone. And I hate that part of me notices.”

“You notice because you’re paying attention,” Reyna countered. “That doesn’t make you weak.”

“It makes me vulnerable,” Kael muttered. “If I keep thinking about him, I’ll miss the knife coming from somewhere else.”

Reyna leaned back slightly, studying him. “Or maybe you’ll see it first. That’s what scares him, you know.”

Kael frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He wouldn’t cling to you so tightly with his barbs if he didn’t feel threatened,” she said softly. “That boy is fire: loud, consuming, and desperate for air. You’re stone. He burns himself out against you, and he hates that he can’t break you.”

Kael almost laughed. “Stone cracks. Fire wins, eventually.”

“Not always,” Reyna said, steady. “Sometimes fire just leaves ash.”

Kael looked away, unsettled by her certainty. “You make it sound simple.”

“It’s not simple,” Reyna admitted. “But it’s honest. And that’s what you’re writing here, isn’t it? Honesty.”

Kael’s hand lingered on the journal, the pen hovering. “Honesty gets people killed.”

“So does silence.”

Her words landed heavier than she expected, and Kael met her gaze, searching for an argument. None came.

Reyna’s gaze softened, just a little. “That’s the first honest thing you’ve said all week.”

Kael frowned. “And you?”

She shrugged. “I’d write that Kael Estaran thinks too much and sleeps too little. That he still hasn’t figured out the people around him want to share the weight, not steal it.”

Kael almost smiled. Almost. “Not everyone.”

Her voice dipped low. “Not Jared. But me. And Kyna. And Darius, in his own way. You should know that by now.”

The silence held again, this time warmer. Kael shifted his pen, wrote a single line:

> I’m not alone. I just keep acting like it.

Reyna stood, brushing her hands together. “There. Better than whispering to yourself.”

As shegot ready to leave, another voice cut from the far end. Jared, leaning against the post, smirk half-hidden in the dark.

“Touching,” he drawled. “The two of you, sharing secrets like it’s story hour.”

Reyna straightened. “Go back to bed, Jared.”

“Can’t sleep,” he said. “Too busy wondering why our dear Kael always gets the midnight therapy sessions. Special privilege?”

Kael closed the journal slowly. “What do you want?”

Jared stepped forward, voice soft but edged. “Only to remind you both that while you’re busy unburdening, the rest of us are watching. Some of us learn more by listening than whining.”

Reyna shot him a glare. “You’re not invited to this conversation.”

“Then stop speaking so loud,” Jared said lightly. He leaned closer to Kael, eyes glinting. “Careful with your words, Estaran. They tend to echo.”

Kael didn’t rise to it. “Noted.”

For a moment, Jared lingered, as though expecting a reaction. When none came, he turned with a mocking bow and slipped out into the corridor.

Reyna muttered under her breath. “He’s getting worse.”

Kael kept his gaze on the closed door. “He’s listening harder. That means someone told him to.”

Reyna frowned. “You think it’s his father?”

Kael’s jaw tightened. “Or Velreth. Or both. Doesn’t matter. Either way, I have to stay ahead of it.”

Reyna’s tone sharpened. “Not you. Us. Don’t start cutting us out again.”

Kael finally met her eyes, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “I’ll try.”

“You’d better,” she said, settling back. “Because if you start carrying this alone again, I’ll knock it out of you.”

Kael almost laughed, but the sound stuck in his throat.

He opened the journal again once she lay down, and wrote in small, steady strokes.

> Archon watches. Velreth waits. Jared listens. Darius warns. Reyna pushes. Kyna steadies. I survive. For now.

He paused, then added another line beneath.

> Whatever the Shadow Corps was built for, it’s not what they tell us. And I’ll find out.

The candle burned lower, wax spilling across the desk.

Darius’s voice broke the quiet from the doorway. “Writing again?”

Kael turned, startled. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” Darius said, stepping into the dim light. “Reyna’s right. You don’t need to hold the weight alone. But you do need to decide what you’re carrying. Guilt? Or purpose?”

Kael swallowed. “What if it’s both?”

“Then purpose has to win,” Darius replied. He looked down at the journal. “And when you write, make sure you’re writing for yourself. Not for the people you think are reading over your shoulder.”

Kael closed the book. “You mean Jared.”

“I mean everyone,” Darius said. His gaze was steady, unreadable. “The more you learn, the more dangerous you become. That means more eyes. Don’t forget that.”

Kael nodded slowly. “Understood.”

Darius lingered a moment longer, then turned to leave. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, everything changes.”

Kael didn’t ask what he meant. He knew better.

He blew out the candle, but the words on the page burned brighter in his mind.

> I will uncover the truth. I will protect Veridale. No matter what it costs.