Page 14 of Shattered Crown

“Fuck the patterns.” Silas's vehemence startled a laugh from Thorne. “Fuck destiny and bloodlines and ancient feuds. I chose you. I choose you every day. That's what matters.”

He punctuated each declaration with a kiss. Forehead. Cheeks. Lips. Each touch carried warmth that pushed back Thorne's spiraling despair.

Gradually, the storm calmed. Wind died to whispers. Branches stilled. The temperature crept back toward normal.

* * *

Thorne led Silasinto the deepest parts of the Eldergrove. The path wound through increasingly primordial forest until they reached a grove that looked ordinary except for the way reality seemed to fold around it.

“The Archive Grove,” Thorne explained. “Where the forest stores memories.”

Each tree bore marks like writing, though no human alphabet could capture their meaning. The bark held centuries of history, preserved in living wood.

“I haven't been here since...” Thorne's voice failed him.

“Since the betrayal,” Silas finished gently. “I understand.”

“Do you?” The question came out sharper than intended. “This place holds everything. Every moment of trust before it shattered. Every lie I was too blind to see.”

Silas took his hand. “Then let's see it together. All of it. The good and the bad.”

The ritual required constant physical contact. Thorne positioned Silas before a particularly ancient oak, then pressed against his back, arms encircling him. Their joined hands rested on the bark.

“Open yourself,” Thorne murmured against Silas's ear. “Let the memories flow through you. Don't try to hold them, just... witness.”

Power built between them, Thorne's ancient magic mixing with Silas's Ashworth blood. The combination created something neither could achieve alone, a key that unlocked centuries of stored memory.

Images flooded their minds.

Two sets of lovers meeting in secret groves.

Thorne and Marcus, planning and plotting; Lysander and his beloved, simply loving.

Arguments that shook the forest — Marcus insisting on duty, on using their bonds for power, while Lysander refused, choosing heart over ambition.

The final confrontation of brother against brother, with words that cut deeper than swords.

Through it all, Thorne saw what he'd missed through pain-clouded memories — that Lysander hadn’t just refused to betray his lover; he had actively tried to stop Marcus. He had warned Thorne, though the warning had come too late.

Tears streamed down both their faces as the memories faded. Thorne realized he was holding Silas too tightly and loosened his grip, but Silas turned in his arms instead of pulling away.

“He chose love,” Silas whispered. “Like I did. Like we did.”

“And paid for it.”

“Did he?” Silas challenged. “His line survived. Thrived. While Marcus's legacy is what? Corruption and lies?”

Lysander hadn't lost. He'd chosen differently, and that choice echoed through generations.

“We need to find them,” Thorne decided. “These descendants. These allies we never knew existed.”

Back at Thornhaven, they spread maps across the war table, marking locations mentioned in the tree-memories. Ancient paths between forests, hidden groves in distant lands, places where guardian magic still thrived untainted.

“If Lysander's line maintained guardianship,” Silas mused, tracing routes with his finger, “they'd know things we've forgotten. Techniques for protection, ways to counter corruption.”

“And they'd understand our bond,” Thorne added. “Not as aberration but as tradition.”

Their planning shifted seamlessly into preparation. Thorne began teaching Silas advanced magic required for traveling between territories. The lessons demanded intimate contact, skin to skin for proper power transfer.

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