Page 106 of Shattered Crown

After a moment of consideration, during which her silvery eyes seemed to calculate countless possibilities, she straightened to her full regal height. “The Winter Court honors its commitments. Our alliance stands. The territories remain as agreed.” She lifted her chin imperiously, frost crystals forming in her hair as the temperature around them plummeted. “However, know this—should the dispersed Shadowblight reform, should your Bridge remain incomplete, our terms will be revisited.”

Silas nodded, understanding the layers of meaning in her words. “Fair enough, Your Majesty. We appreciate the Winter Court's continued support.”

“Support,” Mab echoed, amusement coloring her voice. “Such a human concept. Let us call it... enlightened self-interest.” She turned to leave, then paused. “The Bridge has potential, Ashworth. Don't waste it dying before its completion.”

With that oddly personal warning, she dissolved into a shower of snowflakes that vanished before touching the ground, leaving only a lingering chill and the faint scent of winter roses.

Thorne and Silas exchanged glances, both recognizing that Queen Mab's continued alliance represented both opportunity and vigilance. The Winter Court would remain true to their word—but would also be watching, waiting, evaluating.

“Another reason to finish what we started,” Silas said quietly.

“Among many,” Thorne agreed, drawing him close once more.

24

CROWN AND FOREST

Silas stood at the threshold between worlds, watching his father's procession approach through the trees. King Thomas had come with only a dozen guards, a gesture that spoke volumes in the language of royal politics. Whether it was trust or calculation remained to be seen.

“He's actually here,” Kai murmured beside him. “Never thought I'd see the day your old man set foot this close to the Eldergrove.”

“Neither did I,” Silas admitted, adjusting his formal attire for the hundredth time. The clothing felt foreign after weeks in forest gear, but ceremony demanded its due. He could sense Thorne's presence deeper in the grove, a steady warmth in his mind that both reassured and concerned him. Since the ritual, Thorne had struggled to maintain a form that wouldn't overwhelm human senses. His transformation had left him with cosmic awareness that made simple interaction a constant challenge.

“You're sure about this location?” Diana asked, scanning the neutral ground they'd chosen. Neither fully forest nor completely human territory, the clearing existed in a liminal space that belonged to both and neither.

“It's perfect,” Lady Evangeline replied, leaning on her walking stick. “The old treaties were signed in places like this. Where neither side held advantage.”

The royal party entered the clearing, and Silas's breath caught. His father looked older than he remembered, the recent crisis having etched new lines into his face. But he walked with the same rigid dignity, crown glinting in the filtered sunlight. For a fleeting moment, Silas thought he detected uncertainty in his father's bearing—quickly masked behind royal composure.

“Father,” Silas greeted, bowing precisely as protocol demanded.

“Son.” Thomas's eyes swept the assembled group, lingering on the forest spirits who hovered at the edges. His gaze betrayed not so much disdain as careful assessment. “I see you've been busy.”

“Necessity makes strange allies,” Silas replied carefully, watching his father for any reaction.

“So it seems.” Thomas glanced around the clearing. “I was told the guardian would be present.”

A ripple in reality announced Thorne's arrival. He materialized gradually, clearly fighting to contain his transformed nature. Even dimmed, his presence made several guards step back involuntarily. Silver patterns traced his skin like living constellations, and his eyes held depths that seemed to stretch into infinity.

“Your Majesty,” Thorne's voice resonated with harmonics that made leaves tremble. “I am Thorne, Guardian of the Eldergrove.”

Thomas stared, visibly struggling to reconcile this ethereal being with his expectations. Silas recognized the look, having worn it himself when first confronting Thorne's new form. But what surprised him was what followed—his father's shoulders straightened, his chin lifted slightly. Not fear, but the posture of a man determined not to be diminished.

“Guardian,” Thomas managed, his diplomatic training asserting itself. “Your message spoke of urgent matters.”

“The world as we know it stands at a precipice,” Thorne replied. “What threatens us cares nothing for the boundaries we've drawn between our peoples.”

The tension crackled like summer lightning. Silas stepped forward, positioning himself between the two powers he loved most.

“Perhaps we should sit,” he suggested, gesturing to the circle of stones they'd prepared. “There's much to discuss.”

As they settled into negotiations, Silas found himself constantly translating—not just words, but entire concepts that each side struggled to grasp. His father's rigid worldview collided repeatedly with Thorne's expanded consciousness.

“You speak of shared defense,” Thomas said, frustration creeping into his voice. “But how can my soldiers coordinate with beings they can barely comprehend?”

“The same way they learned to work with cavalry after fighting only on foot,” Nathaniel interjected smoothly. “Through training, familiarity, and necessity.”

Diana nodded, adding her military perspective. “We've already begun integration drills. The results are promising.”

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