The Prince and His Loyal Hound

While the group continued exchanging theories and observations, a knock came at the door.

A servant entered quietly, head bowed, and stepped over to Alaric. He leaned in to whisper something, then stepped respectfully to the side.

Alaric cleared his throat, his voice cutting cleanly through the ongoing discussion. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him.

"I've just been informed," he said, pausing for effect, "that the number of monster sightings has started to decrease."

A beat.

Then, a rare smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Significantly."

Murmurs stirred around the room.

"Especially," Alaric added, "since the troops stopped reacting emotionally. No panic, no fear — just discipline."

He looked at the gathered group — all tired, still healing, but present and alert.

"It seems," he said, "this expedition was a success."

The room went still for a heartbeat.

Then—

Ryeon let out a sharp breath of relief. "Finally," he muttered, a grin spreading across his face.

Tae threw his hands in the air. "I knew my plan of not screaming would work!"

"You screamed the loudest," Eren said dryly.

"That was actually Arin, not me!" Tae protested.

"Wha— I did not scream!" Arin gasped, then looked off to the side. "...That loud…" he mumbled.

"Right… must've been a dying squirrel," Eren added, expression unchanging.

"It was a strategic scream!" Arin declared.

"Sure," Ryeon said, raising an eyebrow. "Very tactical."

"To be fair," Caelan cut in, barely hiding her laughter, "we wouldn't have known they reacted to fear if it weren't for his scream."

"See?! I told you it was a strategic scream!" Arin said, puffing his chest out proudly.

The room burst into laughter.

Alaric pushed away from the table and stood tall, a rare grin on his face.

"All right, this calls for a celebration!" he declared, slamming his hands on the table for emphasis.

"A celebration?" August raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," Alaric replied smoothly. "One — to honor Caelan for saving my sister. And two — for the success of this mission."

August considered that, lips tugging slightly at the corners. "I suppose you have a point."

"Of course I do," Alaric said with a confident grin.

August's eyes drifted toward the group — toward Caelan, who was ruffling Arin's hair as the boy grumbled under his breath. The others laughed around them, the room alive with warmth for the first time in days.

He smiled faintly.

Yeah… a celebration sounds nice.

It reminded him of when they were younger.

Caelan had always been like that — headfirst into danger, the first to draw her sword, the last to complain.

Laughing off her wounds like scraped knees.

Always standing between others and harm, never thinking twice.

Even now, wrapped in bandages and clearly sore, she still made space for everyone else. Still carried them — even when she shouldn't have to.

August looked down at his hands, that small smile still lingering.

Yes. She deserved this. They all did.

◇◇◇◇

Later That Evening...

The west hall of the Thorne estate was transformed by candlelight and laughter.

Long tables were pulled together and covered in linen, while dishes from the kitchens arrived in waves — warm bread, spiced meats, roasted vegetables, and desserts Caelan couldn't pronounce but eagerly ate anyway.

The knights shed their armor for more comfortable tunics, though the bruises and bandages still peeked through sleeves and collars. They gathered together — not as soldiers, but as comrades.

Alaric stood near the center, cup in hand, offering his version of a toast.

"To Caelan Grey," he declared, loud enough for the whole room to hear, "our sword-arm, our disaster magnet, and the only person terrifying enough to keep Arin in check!"

The room erupted in laughter and cheers.

Caelan, seated near the hearth with a half-filled plate and her leg propped on a small footstool, rolled her eyes.

"I save your sister and this is the speech you give?"

Alaric grinned. "You wanted sincerity? Should've bled less dramatically."

More laughter.

Tae raised his own cup. "To strategic screams!"

"Absolutely not," Eren said flatly.

Arin raised his hand with mock dignity. "I second the toast."

Eren didn't even look up from his cup. "You can't toast your own screaming."

"Well, I just did," Arin replied with an exaggerated shrug.

A beat.

Then the room broke into another wave of laughter.

Even Caelan snorted into her drink, nearly choking.

"Strategic delusion," Tae muttered, grinning.

Alaric raised his glass higher. "To delusions and victories!"

"To our commander!" someone else shouted.

"To not dying!" added another.

The cheers echoed again, warm and alive — the sound of people who, just days ago, weren't sure they'd all be here to laugh.

August stood a little to the side, watching. He wasn't the kind to mingle easily, but tonight… was different. The fear was gone — for now — and the tension in his shoulders had eased. Even he laughed when Mary marched in wearing a crown of wildflowers, declaring herself Queen of the Party.

She tugged on his sleeve. "Come sit!"

And he did.

For once, he let himself just be. Surrounded by the sound of people who had survived something together — who had earned this moment.

And at the center of it, like always, was Caelan.

Still pale. Still aching. Still smiling.

The celebration went on until dawn.

People were fed, happy, and exhausted. Some passed out on chairs, others on the floor — Arin somewhere in between.

Alaric let out a soft chuckle as he gently scooped up his sleeping sister. "Well, I suppose we can call it a night," he said as he exited the room.

Caelan smiled after him, then turned toward August, who sat quietly, gazing into the hearth.

"Did you enjoy the evening, Your Highness?" she teased.

He scoffed. "You stopped calling me that a long time ago. Why the sudden return?"

"To lighten the mood," she replied, stretching her arms behind her head with a grin.

August finished the last of his drink and set the glass down on a nearby table, then leaned back into the lounge beside her.

"I suppose I did enjoy tonight," he admitted. "Better than any royal ball I've ever attended."

"Then should me and my ragtag troop start crashing the royal balls?" Caelan asked with a smirk.

He chuckled softly. "That would be a great experience… and an absolutely terrible idea."

"Fair enough," she sighed, her voice low and content.

They didn't remember when it happened — somewhere between quiet laughter and shared silence, the night slipped away.

And they fell asleep on the lounge together.

Caelan stirred first, the gentle warmth of midmorning sun brushing across her face. Her eyes fluttered open slowly — heavy with sleep, her body stiff from the awkward position.

But she didn't care.

Not when she felt it.

A quiet weight settled on her shoulder… another along her side. Soft warmth. Steady breath.

Her gaze drifted down, and her breath caught ever so slightly.

August.

His head was resting against her shoulder, eyes closed, lips parted faintly in sleep. His body slumped gently into hers, like it belonged there.

Her fingers twitched. A rush of something sharp and sweet crawled up her spine.

So close.

Her mind, usually so sharp and composed, spiraled a little — imagining how easy it would be to turn just a bit more and bury her nose in his hair. To pretend — just for a moment — that he was hers to keep.

The ache in her shoulder? She welcomed it. The stiffness in her side? She barely noticed.

Because he was touching her. Trusting her.

And not out of fear or need.

But comfort.

A slow grin tugged at the corner of her lips, soft and feral all at once.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes again.

Just a little longer.

She could indulge in this... just a little longer.