Chapter 11 -Rhydon-
\-Rhydon-
I don’t move when I first see them. There is no need to announce myself immediately when observation will serve me better. I stand at the far end of the corridor, positioned just outside their awareness, and take in the scene without interruption.
I cannot hear what Avianna is saying. That is unfortunate. What matters is not the content of the conversation but the way she stands in it. She is facing him fully, not angled, not guarded, not performing. There is a difference between the version of her that sits beside me in council, measured, composed, every word considered, and the one standing in front of Caylix now, and I recognize it immediately.
This version is not composed for an audience, it feels real. My gaze shifts to him. Caylix stands too close for my liking. Not in a way I can challenge without cause. Not in a way that would draw attention from anyone who is not looking closely.
But I am looking closely.
There is a familiarity in the distance between them that does not belong to a guard and a princess. He is not speaking much, I can see that from here. But he is listening as though nothing beyond her requires his notice. It is not duty, but something else
And I do not like it.
Avianna says something quieter, and I watch the shift in her expression. A moment where she is not managing herself. Where she is not aware of how she is being perceived. Where she is simply…being.
I feel something tighten in my chest, and I dismiss it just as quickly. Whatever exists between them, will not be for long. I step forward then, my approach measured, deliberate. I allow the sound of my movement to reach them only when I am close enough that it cannot be ignored.
They do not notice me immediately. That, in itself, is unacceptable.
“Princess.”
She turns at once. The change is immediate.
Whatever was present a moment ago disappears beneath composure so practiced it would be convincing, if I had not already seen what it replaced.
“Prince.”
Her voice is flawless. Caylix shifts slightly, but not in retreat. He does not create distance. He simply adjusts, as though my presence requires acknowledgment but not concession.
I take note of that.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything of consequence,” I say, my tone even, carrying just enough weight to test the moment without forcing it.
“You’re not,” she replies.
That is not true but I allow the faintest suggestion of a smile.
“Good,” I say. “It would be unfortunate if matters of importance were being handled outside the space intended for them.”
She does not rise to the implication. Interesting. I let my gaze move between them, briefly, deliberately, before shifting my attention to Caylix. He meets my gaze and holds it, not in defiance, but without the adjustment most men instinctively make. No recognition of hierarchy beyond what is required to avoid offense.
I have seen men like him before. Men who spend enough time at the edge of power that they begin to mistake its proximity for permission. They learn the rhythms of those they serve, anticipate needs before they are spoken, and in doing so, convince themselves they have become something more than what they are. Usefulness is a dangerous illusion. It grants access, invites trust, and eventually, if left unchecked, it breeds entitlement.
But usefulness is not authority. And it is certainly not position.
I let the moment stretch just long enough to observe how firmly he holds himself within it, how little of that assumption he bothers to conceal. Then I release it, for now. There is no value in pressing too early when a clearer pattern is already beginning to form.
“Everything from the council has been settled,” I say, returning my focus to Avianna. “We move forward as planned.”
“We do,” she replies.
“Then it would be wise to avoid unnecessary complications,” I add, my tone even, allowing the words to settle where they will, whether taken as guidance or warning.
She does not respond and he does not react. And that, more than anything, sharpens my attention. Most men would shift. Clarify. Correct. He simply remains.
“Princess,” I say, stepping back just enough to reestablish the expected distance, restoring the balance he chose not to acknowledge, “I will see you this evening.”
“Prince.”
I turn before either of them can say more and head to the training grounds. Because I’ve gotten what I needed. They move as I do, she steps away first and he follows without hesitation. The distance between them adjusts immediately, precisely, as though the shift has been practiced. But I have already seen what exists when it is not. And that is what matters.
The training yard is quieter than it should be at this hour, but it has not emptied entirely. Steel still rings somewhere in the distance, the rhythm steady, controlled. I walk through it without announcement. No one dares to stop me. The captain notices me and quickly approaches.
“Prince.”
“I won’t keep you long,” I say.
“Of course.”
My eyes scan the yard before returning to him, as if the question has only just occurred to me.
“It is your guard I am interested in,” I say. “Caylix.”
There is a shift in him, small, but present.
“He serves the princess,” the captain replies.
“Yes,” I say. “I am aware.”
I step closer. “I am more interested in his background.”
A pause.
“He was brought into service young,” the captain says.
“Where did he train?” I reply evenly.
Another pause, longer this time.
“We don’t know.”
I hold his gaze.
“You are responsible for every man who serves within these walls,” I say. “And you do not know where one of your most capable was trained.”
“He came to us already capable,” the captain says. “More than capable.”
“How old was he?”
“Young,” he replies. “Too young to be what he already was.”
That confirms it. Something about Caylix does not start here.
“And no one questioned that?”
The captain meets my gaze. “We did,” he says. “We still do.”
“Yet he remains at her side.”
“He earned that position.”
I consider that carefully. “On what basis?”
The captain does not hesitate.
“He has never failed, not once.”
I let that settle. Men fail, even the most disciplined, even the most experienced. Perfection is not natural.
“I see,” I say.
I step back, the conversation already resolved in my mind.
“That will be all.”
“Prince.”
I pause.
“If you are concerned about his loyalty,” the captain adds, “you will not find fault there.”
I glance back at him.
“That was not my concern.”
Loyal men can be just as dangerous as disloyal ones. Sometimes more so. I leave the yard without another word, my thoughts already moving ahead of me. Caylix is not simply a guard. He is something placed. Something positioned. Whether by design or by chance is not yet clear. But I do not believe in chance. Not here, not at this level. And certainly not this close to her.