By daylight, Crown Prince Kael of Tharion was the image of restraint: poised in velvet, armored in silence, every word calculated like a blade's edge.
But under moonlight, he became someone else.
The people of the capital whispered of a masked man in the slums—one who walked like a soldier and listened like a priest. They called him many things: Ghost, Hound, Watcher. They did not know he was the very man whose face adorned their palace walls.
Kael had grown up in corridors of power, but he had never belonged to them. He was a prince, yes, but the kind the throne kept at arm's length. As a child, he had watched his uncles poison each other over trade seats, and his cousins forced into alliances like livestock. The politics of court had taught him that loyalty was currency and blood was negotiable.
His mother, Queen Serel, had been the only softness in his world. When she died—sick and silenced by the physicians who served the king's interests—Kael had been fifteen and angry. He remembered the feel of her hand going cold in his, and the cold applause in court the next day when his father remarried a foreign bride to secure an alliance. From that moment on, Kael understood: he would never be free inside the palace.
So he created a new name. A new life.
At seventeen, he vanished for years under the pretense of study. In truth, he wandered the outer provinces dressed as a commoner. He trained in taverns, watched mercenaries fight, learned how to blend in. When he returned, he carried stories no royal tutor could have taught.
Now, at twenty-five, he was both prince and ghost.
By day, Kael entertained nobles and signed treaties.
By night, he walked the alleys under a second identity: Captain Corwin, a former scout and mercenary-for-hire with a reputation for working in the city's darkest corners. To most, Corwin was a dangerous, elusive figure with no known allegiance. Only Captain Rhyn, commander of the palace guard, knew the truth—that Corwin was Kael, and Kael was fighting to understand the kingdom he was born to rule.
Tonight, Kael stood in the broken shadow of a half-burnt tavern in the East Ward, speaking to a boy no older than seven. The child's clothes were threadbare, and his hands trembled as he held out a dented tin cup.
"My brother—he took bread. Just one piece. They dragged him away. I don't know where."
Kael knelt, eyes level with the boy's. "Did they wear red sleeves with gold sun pins?"
The boy nodded quickly. "One had a scar. Across the eye."
Rhyn exhaled through his nose. "South Barracks again. That bastard Carven."
Kael pulled a small pouch from beneath his cloak and placed it in the boy's hands. "Stay near the Temple Sanctuary. They won't take you there. Say Captain Corwin sent you."
The boy looked up, eyes wide with silent gratitude.
Kael rose and stepped back into the shadows.
Behind the palace walls, he was trapped in gold.
But here, he was free. For now.
Far from the city, a girl walked with dust on her boots and fire in her chest.
Aeryn's journey had led her to the outskirts of a roadside market two days from the capital. The stalls buzzed with activity, most of it shallow—perfumed women giggling too loud, adjusting their corsets, batting lashes at passing caravans in hopes of catching a wealthy man's gaze.
She stood back, observing, invisible beneath her cloak.
One girl, no older than Aeryn, wore a gown several years too faded and whispered to her friend, "He said if I looked proper, he might take me to Valara."
Aeryn felt a bitter taste rise in her throat.
She moved to the edge of the road, where wagons gathered for rest, and there she met her.
The woman looked about twenty, sitting on a crate with a worn pack and an even wearier expression. Her cheeks were pale, her lips cracked, but she smiled easily when Aeryn sat nearby.
"You headed to the capital too?" the girl asked.
Aeryn nodded once. "Yeah."
"I'm Mira," she offered, extending a hand.
Aeryn hesitated, then shook it. "Aeron."
Mira grinned. "First time to Valara?"
"Something like that."
"It's been years since I've been. My brother lives there. Fancy place. He's... well, important." She laughed to herself. "We haven't talked in a while. I got sick and stayed in the coastlands. Thought maybe if I showed up healthy, he'd remember I exist."
Aeryn raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound sure."
"I'm not," Mira said. "But maybe Valara has a place for people like me. People who don't fit in where they were born."
Aeryn looked away quickly, throat tight.
Mira didn't press. Instead, she kept talking—about herbs that soothed her cough, about a hawker who offered her a ring for free, about how she always wanted to ride a warhorse.
Aeryn didn't say much. But when Mira dozed off that night beside the fire, Aeryn gently draped her own cloak over the girl's shoulders.
In the morning, they parted ways without words.
Aeryn watched Mira disappear down the western path, heart heavy but sure.
She turned east.
Toward the capital. Toward her future. Toward the prince she had not met.
And in the shadows of Valara, Kael stood watching a kingdom that no longer knew him.
Two strangers. Two secrets. One storm building between them.