Page 111 of Shattered Crown

Thomas absorbed this, his expression unreadable. Then he turned back to Thorne. “And you, Guardian? What do you want from my son?”

“Want?” Thorne considered this. “I want his happiness. His safety. His fulfillment.”

“Those are platitudes,” Thomas dismissed. “Everyone wants such things for those they claim to love.”

“Then perhaps what I want matters less than what I'm willing to give,” Thorne replied. “Which is everything I am, everything I have, everything I might become. Without reservation or condition.”

The king studied him with new intensity. “You speak of devotion fit for poetry, Guardian. But the practical world requires more concrete foundations.”

“Does it?” Thorne asked simply. “Or does it merely claim to, while secretly resting on the very devotions you dismiss?”

Thomas had no immediate answer for this. He looked between them, father studying son and the being who loved him.

“You've both changed,” he finally said, addressing Silas directly. “You're not the boy I raised, and he's clearly not the forest spirit I was warned about.”

“Is that disappointment or observation?” Silas asked carefully.

“Perhaps,” Thomas said, with the faintest hint of what might have been humor, “it is merely an acknowledgment that my expectations have proven... insufficient.”

For Thomas, this was as close to concession as Silas had ever witnessed. Not acceptance, not approval, but an opening—a crack in the rigid worldview that had separated them for so long.

“We should return,” the king said, resuming his formal bearing. “Before they wonder if the forest has swallowed us whole.”

As they walked back toward the meeting clearing, Silas felt a strange mixture of emotions. The conversation had revealed more of his father's thinking than years of formal interactions. Not healing, not resolution, but perhaps the beginning of understanding.

Thorne moved ahead slightly, giving them a moment of privacy.

“He is... remarkable,” Thomas said quietly, nodding toward Thorne. “Not at all what our intelligence suggested.”

“Most things about the forest aren't what reports claim,” Silas replied.

Thomas glanced at him sidelong. “Including you, it seems.”

In this moment of unusual candor, Silas found the courage to voice the question that had haunted him since the alliance began taking shape.

“What happened with the trial?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral. “For your role in persecuting guardians, the shadow corruption, Nathaniel's exile. Diana said the council was considering formal proceedings.”

Thomas's stride faltered almost imperceptibly, then resumed its measured pace. His expression tightened, the momentary openness receding behind practiced composure.

“The council... reconsidered,” he said after a long pause. “Given the current crisis and the need for stability.”

Silas studied his father's profile, sensing there was more to the story. “That seems remarkably convenient.”

“Politics often is,” Thomas replied dryly. “Though I wouldn't call the compromise 'convenient' for anyone involved.”

“Compromise?”

Thomas sighed, a rare display of weariness. “In exchange for suspending the trial, I agreed to certain... concessions. A council of oversight for royal decisions. Restrictions on crown authority regarding magical matters. Formal reparations to those wrongfully accused.”

Silas absorbed this, understanding the magnitude of what such limitations would mean to a man who had ruled with near-absolute authority for decades. “That must have been difficult for you to accept.”

“It was necessary,” Thomas said simply. “The alternative was prolonged internal conflict while the Shadowblight grew stronger.” A hint of irony touched his voice. “As someone recently pointed out to me, division serves our enemy's purpose.”

“And Nathaniel?” Silas pressed. “What of his specific claims?”

Thomas was silent for several steps, clearly weighing his response. “Your uncle and I have reached a private understanding. His exile has been formally rescinded, his properties and titles restored.” He hesitated, then added, “Some wounds cannot be healed by royal decree or political settlements. Those... remain between us.”

The admission surprised Silas with its honesty. No justifications, no deflections—just acknowledgment of damage that couldn't be undone.

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