The Prince and His Loyal Hound

Caelan raised an eyebrow. "A golden ancient dragon?"

"You know, Alaric, for someone like you, that's a bit much," she said flatly. "During monster attacks, soldiers have been known to hallucinate under pressure. You sure it's not just that?"

Alaric let out a long sigh. "I knew you'd say that. But this isn't just one person. A few knights reported it independently. Still, I get it—it's just a rumor for now."

August, who had returned to his book but wasn't reading a word, finally spoke. "Could it be part of a political move?"

Alaric frowned, brushing a hand through his pale hair. "It could be. But the ones who reported it—none of them have ties to other noble houses. They're low-rank, field-based, not the kind to get involved in politics."

Caelan crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. "So I'm guessing you're here to request an investigation."

Alaric gave a slow nod. "Yes. But not immediately. I want us to move during the next monster hunt—when their numbers increase."

August's expression darkened. "You mean during spring."

Caelan's jaw tensed ever so slightly. Of course it would be spring.

That was when the king's concubine would return from her yearly winter trip to the East… and bring her son with her.

August sighed and closed his book, setting it aside.

"This time, I'll join."

Both Caelan and Alaric looked up, surprised.

"I want to visit the north for a bit. I haven't been there in a while."

"But—" Caelan started, tone sharp.

"I won't participate in the investigation," August added calmly.

"Not the frontlines, at least."

Alaric grinned.

"Then I suppose I should prepare the guest room."

A pillow hit him squarely in the chest.

Caelan raised a brow.

"And what about me?"

"Oh, please, why should I prepare a spare room that won't be used," Alaric scoffed.

"We all know you'll curl up at the foot of his bed like always."

He gestured toward August.

August flushed, clearly flustered—because, well, Caelan had done it before.

Quiet nights. Long rides. Injured feet.

There'd been times when the knight had simply curled up at the edge of his bed without a word—a silent guardian, always near.

He cleared his throat, trying to push away the heat rising in his face.

"Just because Sir Grey guards my life," he muttered,

"doesn't mean you should treat him like a lap hound."

Alaric rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath,

"I bet he'd enjoy it if he were one... He'd probably even bark if asked to."

"Right. Anyway," Caelan said, breaking the awkward moment with a sharp shift in tone. She folded her arms, her posture snapping back into that of a seasoned commander—focused, composed, and alert. "We need to be careful how we present this in tomorrow's council."

August closed the book on his lap, setting it aside with deliberate care. His violet eyes held weight now—the lightness from earlier gone.

"The monster surge will be the official reason for any additional measures. It's seasonal, expected—easy to justify."

Alaric nodded from his place on the couch, brow furrowing.

"And the rumor?"

August's voice lowered slightly.

"We don't mention dragons. Not until we know more. The court is full of ears eager to spin fear into power."

Caelan remained silent, letting the prince speak. She didn't belong at the council table. Not truly. But she listened—and she would follow through.

August continued, crisp and clear.

"Alaric, you'll be the one to raise the issue of troop reinforcement in the North. Keep it strictly to the increase in monster activity—no embellishment, no speculation."

Alaric let out a slow breath and offered a half-smile.

"Subtlety, huh? Not exactly my style, but I can manage."

August didn't return the smile.

"It has to be subtle. We can't afford whispers spreading through the court, not when the timing coincides with the concubine's return from the East."

At that, Caelan's jaw tightened slightly, but she stayed quiet.

Alaric glanced her way, then back at August.

"You want the investigation to wait until the next scheduled monster hunt?"

"Yes. During spring," August confirmed, his tone grim now.

"More monster sightings mean less suspicion over increased movement. You'll go as part of the hunting force. Caelan will accompany you."

Caelan blinked, startled.

"And what about you? What will you do in the North?"

August's gaze didn't waver.

"I said I'd visit the North, not lead the hunt. I'll be stationed nearby—visible, but not involved in the fieldwork."

Alaric nodded slowly.

"A visit to rally morale, then. Show face. Clever."

August looked at Caelan.

"You'll brief the recruits. Select only those you trust—the ones who've proven they can keep quiet."

She straightened, nodding.

"Yes, Your Highness."

August stood, slowly. The firelight caught in his eyes.

"No word of this leaves this room."

A pause.

"Until we know what's real—monsters, rumors, dragons—we act like it's just another spring."

Silence settled again. Heavier now, but unified.

And then, from Caelan, softly:

"Understood."

The night shifted between politics and small talk. Throughout the evening, Caelan's eyes never left the prince.

He wants to go to the North… another escape, Your Highness? she wondered.

Was it really her? The one who hurt you? That woman?

Her gaze darkened briefly, and for a heartbeat, her eyes almost—almost—glowed.

The next day came. Thankfully, August didn't experience any nightmares. Perhaps it was because both Alaric and Caelan had stayed in his room—because, for once, the moment felt safe.

Caelan was finishing morning drills with the recruits, while Alaric prepared in a guest room—changing clothes and jotting down key points for the court's upcoming discussion. August, meanwhile, was halfway through his breakfast, already buried beneath a mountain of paperwork.

And finally, the time came — the monthly council meeting, typically a gathering of many noble houses. But this time, only a carefully selected few were granted entry.

Caelan was permitted to attend, not as a participant, but as the personal guard to the Crown Prince — a rare exception, considering her commoner birth.

The king was absent that day, leaving August with the full burden of the council—listening to nobles drone on about trivial matters, mostly complaints about commoners. Rarely did anyone bring up an issue of actual importance.

The chamber filled with murmurs as nobles filed in, their voices already thick with discontent. Robes rustled, and jeweled fingers gestured impatiently as each tried to be the first to complain.

Lord Durent, Viscount of House Durent, rose with a sweeping bow that was more for show than respect. "Your Highness, if I may speak plainly, the rising number of monster attacks is causing panic among our outer territories. This is unacceptable. We must increase taxes on commoners to fund more troops."

August, seated at the head of the table, didn't blink. "Raising taxes when crops have just failed in the west will only cause revolt. If your lands are in panic, you may use your own coffers for reinforcements. House Durent is wealthy enough."

Lord Durent's jaw tightened, but he bowed again, though his tone held less polish.

Duke Aureliane of the South, draped in the rich gold and crimson of his house, stood with a cordial smile. "Your Highness, I understand the need for caution, but whispers are spreading across the South regarding the court's silence. Would it not be prudent to address the public?" His tone was light, almost conversational—but the sharpness in his eyes did not go unnoticed.

"We will issue a formal notice through the palace. Nothing more. Until we have verified reports, rumors are beneath the dignity of the court," August answered, his voice even.

Another noble scoffed from the side—an aging earl with too many rings. "I say we should conscript more commoners. They've grown idle."

This time, it was the representative from House Westfall, a stoic marquess with silver streaks in his hair, who interrupted. "Conscript them, and you weaken the fields during harvest. Starvation will kill faster than monsters."

Silence followed. None dared argue with House Westfall when it came to logic.

August nodded in quiet approval. "We'll increase patrols from our trained men only. We don't touch the working class."

Finally, Alaric Thorne rose from his seat — his posture composed, demeanor a mirror of his father's stoic grace. The playful glint in his eye was gone.

"Your Highness," he began, his tone composed and measured. "House Thorne stands ready. I recommend we begin preparations for a targeted sweep during the spring season along the northern borders, led by select units trained for such conditions. Furthermore, I request the palace's research division be involved in conducting studies to find effective methods to repel or reduce the monster population. The recent surge in activity has been too consistent to ignore, and we must begin seeking both strategic and research-based solutions—not merely military ones."

August leaned forward, his voice steady. "I see your point, Lord Alaric. I believe an investigation will benefit the entire court." He leaned back with a sigh. "Very well. I will personally travel to the North during the spring surge to oversee it myself."

"Make the necessary preparations for my arrival — including accommodations for the research division and support troops."

He then turned to Caelan. "Sir Grey, select a few of your most trusted troops to accompany the research team. Begin training them for fieldwork immediately. You will be on the frontlines, ensuring their safety."

Gasps erupted throughout the chamber, but none dared protest—especially after House Westfall and House Aureliane both voiced their support and pledged aid to the North as well.

As murmurs of support echoed through the chamber, Lord Durent remained still—his expression darkening with each noble that voiced agreement.

He didn't stand. He simply sat in silence, expression unreadable—calculating. As the chamber began to empty, his fingers drummed lightly against the table.

So, the Crown Prince would leave the capital in spring…

A thin smile curved his lips, sharp and quiet. Whatever thoughts passed through his mind, they remained unspoken.

But they were dangerous.

And they had already begun to take root.