Page 110 of Shattered Crown

“Curious. Respectful. Afraid, but willing to move beyond fear for the sake of knowledge.” Thorne studied Thomas carefully. “Qualities that seem to persist in your bloodline.”

Something flickered across the king's face—not quite acceptance, but perhaps recognition. His gaze shifted to Silas. “You are... different from me. From what I wanted you to be.”

The admission stung, even though it was nothing Silas hadn't known for years.

“And yet,” Thorne observed quietly, “he may be exactly what your kingdom needs.”

Thomas turned away, his gaze lifting to the canopy above. “When he was born, I had such plans. Such expectations. A proper heir, shaped in my image.” A note of something like regret entered his voice. “I never considered he might have his own path.”

“A better path, perhaps,” Thorne suggested.

“Better?” Thomas turned back, eyes narrowing. “My son consorts with forest spirits, bonds himself to a guardian, sacrifices his very nature in magical rituals. Is that better?”

Silas felt the familiar weight of his father's disapproval, but before he could respond, Thorne spoke.

“He bridges worlds that have been separate for too long,” Thorne replied evenly. “He sees beyond artificial boundaries to the truths beneath. And he chose sacrifice not from weakness but from extraordinary strength.” The guardian's transformed features softened slightly. “Qualities any father might take pride in, I would think.”

The king was silent for a long moment, truly considering these words. His eyes found Silas, studying him as if seeing something new. Finally, he spoke with unexpected candor.

“I don't know how to be proud of what I don't understand.”

The confession, offered without calculation or political maneuvering, left Silas momentarily speechless. Never had his father admitted to such limitation, such uncertainty.

“Understanding begins with willingness to learn,” Thorne said. “You have demonstrated that willingness by coming here today.”

Silas found his voice. “And by allowing me to be part of this conversation, rather than shutting me out as you once would have.”

Thomas acknowledged this with a slight incline of his head. He circled the great oak slowly, trailing his fingers along its bark. “You know, my advisors counseled against this meeting. They said it was beneath my dignity to negotiate with forest beings.” A faint, ironic smile touched his lips. “Some even suggested you might enchant me.”

“And yet you came,” Silas observed.

“Yes.” Thomas stopped, looking directly at Silas. “Because despite our... differences, I have never known you to be a fool.” His gaze shifted to include Thorne. “Either of you.”

Silas felt something in his chest loosen—not forgiveness or reconciliation, but perhaps the first acknowledgment of respect.

Thomas's expression grew more serious. “Tell me truthfully, Guardian. What does the future hold if we pursue this alliance? Not diplomatic assurances—the truth as you see it.”

Thorne considered the question, his cosmic awareness searching possibilities that stretched beyond normal perception. Silas had experienced glimpses of this awareness during his brief time as the Bridge, and watching Thorne navigate it reminded him of the vast differences in their perceptions now.

“Difficulty. Resistance. Danger from both the Shadowblight and those who fear change,” Thorne finally answered. “But also... potential. Growth. Understanding that could transform both our realms.”

“And my son?” Thomas asked, his gaze returning to Silas. “What future does he face after what he's done?”

The question carried genuine concern beneath its formal phrasing. Silas recognized it for what it was—the worry of a father, however imperfectly expressed. It touched him more deeply than he wanted to admit.

“I'm standing right here,” Silas said with a hint of the impatience he'd felt throughout his youth. “You could ask me directly.”

A flicker of the old frustration crossed Thomas's face, but he surprised Silas by doing exactly that. “Very well. What future do you see for yourself, Silas? After everything that's happened?”

Put on the spot, Silas found himself searching for words. “I'm... changed. The ritual marked me in ways I'm still discovering.” He touched the faint runes that remained visible on his skin. “But I'm still myself. Still your son, still an Ashworth. Just... more than I was.”

“And what do you want?” Thomas pressed. “From this alliance. From the future.”

The directness of the question was so unlike his father that Silas needed a moment to formulate his answer.

“I want to build something that lasts,” he finally said. “Not just a temporary alliance against current threat, but a new way of existing together. I want to use what I've become—what the ritual made me—to create bridges that won't collapse when immediate danger passes.”

He met his father's gaze steadily. “I want to make something better than what came before, for both our peoples. Something worthy of the Ashworth name, even if it's not what you imagined.”

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