After the turbulent day in the throne hall, Kelen and Belara finally found a moment alone and slowly made their way toward the aviaries. The prince walked with deliberate care, leaning on a wooden cane to ease the ankle that was healing but still stubbornly complained.

  It took them quite a while to reach the bird forest. Kelen blamed every pause on his ankle, though in truth he simply wanted to stay close—close enough to breathe in her scent, to feel her against him whenever he could. Belara let him, indulging his hungry attention, and the tension between them only grew.

  By the time they reached the first trees and heard faint chirping, their initial urgency for each other had cooled.

  “I’ll have to go home,” Kelen said quietly.

  “When will you leave? And for how long?”

  “I’ll stay a few more days. Your father and the council want to discuss in detail how, and to what extent, Terres can help when Kendelen eventually attacks again. And I don’t plan to linger at home. I only need to pick up a wedding gift worthy of you, and then the Sumec will sail back. One way or another, I have to return before the wedding. I’ve heard rumors that the queen has already started planning. Probably just palace gossip… but supposedly the wedding will be in sixty days.”

  “If you miss your own wedding, your mother will kill you,” Belara said—half serious, half amused. “And I won’t talk to you for a week,” she added.

  “I won’t miss it. You know the voyage doesn’t take that long. Even if everything drags out, I’ll be gone at most fourteen days. And I hope not even that. I’d die longing for you. But I have duties back home. I could send them the news in a letter through a chytra, sure, but I want to tell them in person. And I want to see my father and show him the pearl. Though I don’t expect him to be entirely… himself. When I left, he didn’t even recognize me,” he said quietly. “But I still want to tell him everything, even if none of it reaches him.”

  “Is there any chance he’ll improve?”

  “No one really believes that anymore. We’re all just waiting for him to pass so the crown can come to me.”

  “Why not crown you anyway, even if your father is still alive?”

  “It goes against our traditions. In Terres, the king rules until death. Only then is the next ruler chosen. In this case, we’re prisoners of our own customs. We have to wait until the old king dies—then a new one can be crowned.”

  “That sounds like a very unstable time… the official king doesn’t rule, and the one who does has no crown.”

  “The Chalendzhuur give me strong backing. They’re a powerful house; no one wants to cross them. I’m lucky they’re on my side. The Hviturn clan, for instance, would love nothing more than to see House Selthari wiped out.”

  “Then be grateful you have the Chalendzhuur supporting you—treating you as the rightful ruler even without the crown.”

  “True…” Kelen grew thoughtful. “If it weren’t for what happened with Balzod, I wouldn’t have their support now.”

  “It’s a shame it came at such a cost.”

  “I miss him. I want to see his grave again. I haven’t been back since…” His voice broke.

  “It’s all right,” Belara whispered, wrapping her arms around him. To guide him away from the sorrow, she shifted to a lighter subject. “I’ve noticed the boys from the Gang can’t tear themselves away from you.”

  “Literally. I have no idea why they’ve taken to me so much. Where did you even find them?”

  “That inseparable pair? I quite literally picked them off the street—they were begging for food. Both their fathers died in the last naval battle with Kendelen, and they had no mother. They lost their home, but their friendship kept them from starving.”

  Kelen shook his head. “That’s incredible… And Bones looks like he’s still starving. Skinny as a reed. No matter what you dress him in, it’s always too big.”

  “You should’ve seen him back then. He’s put on a little weight at the palace,” Belara smiled and continued.

  “Curls and Rascal come from the red-light district. They have parents—if you can call them that. All hopeless drunks who don’t care about their children. I noticed the boys at an orphanage, hoping at least for an occasional meal. The four of them became such close friends that nothing will ever break them apart.”

  “And the girls? I gathered the Gang isn’t just those four boys.”

  “You’re right. There are three girls. The oldest is Red—her father died, just like Moose’s and Bones’s. I found her in a brothel.”

  “She wasn’t working there, was she?” Kelen asked, horrified.

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  “She was—but not how you think. She only cleaned. Still… if she’d stayed there any longer, the oldest profession in the world would’ve found her soon enough.”

  “And the other two?”

  “The last one I discovered was Two-Braids. One day I took a detour through a rougher street on my way back to the palace. I heard shouting, curses, and a child crying. She lived with a baker’s family—good roof, full belly. Compared to the others, her life was almost comfortable. But the baker was a cruel man. He beat his wife and daughter. When I happened upon it, I ordered my guards to repay him in kind. Then I told the two of them to come with me to the palace. The mother found work in the kitchens, and the girl… I offered her the last place in the Gang of Troublemakers.”

  “And the baker didn’t object to having his family taken from him?”

  “Oh, he objected. He stormed into the palace demanding they return. So we threw him into the dungeon. Either he’s still there, or he’ll be released soon. Hopefully a little starving taught him something.”

  Belara took a breath before recounting the last member. “And Apron—the smallest of them. Born in the countryside, lost her parents to illness. Her uncle took her with him to Ghurmaka, hoping to find work. He did.” Her voice soured. “With the soldiers…”

  “Another naval battle?” Kelen guessed.

  Belara only lowered her eyes and sighed. “Because of them—and so many other children—I pray Kendelen never attacks again. But that won’t happen. He knows our Tishilka gives him a strategic advantage. He’ll try over and over. Some nights I wonder whether we should just surrender. Dusughbarah would fall, the royal family likely executed… but the people would survive and avoid another war.”

  “You can’t think like that,” Kelen said firmly. “Evil is evil. And Almarin is evil. We have to fight him. With our marriage, Dusughbarah won’t stand alone. Terres will come to your aid.”

  “I’m scared of what the future holds,” Belara whispered, a shiver running down her back. She trembled lightly. Kelen pulled her into a long embrace and didn’t let go. To distract her, he steered the conversation back to the Gang—there was still one question nagging him, and it was the perfect way to move away from war.

  “Hey, when you talk about the children, you always use their nicknames. Don’t you know what their real names used to be?”

  “I did… but now I don’t remember a single one. For every member of the Gang, their new name is a chance at a better life—one without the weight of the past. They left their old, painful names behind. I’m glad I don’t know them anymore. I might slip and remind them of things they’d rather forget.” She paused, then added softly, “New name, new life.”

  “That’s beautiful.”

  “And it worked. They don’t call each other anything else. Only Two-Braids gets her name shortened—sometimes Two-Brai, sometimes just Two—when the others shout for her. Otherwise, everything stayed the same.”

  “What about Dorija?” Kelen asked suddenly. “She wasn’t part of the Gang. And she has a loving family.”

  “Dorija is the daughter of a palace guard. Her father complained that she’s obsessed with puppet shows and theater in general. So I sought her out and cast her in the little rehearsal with the orange. But yes—Dorija isn’t an orphan, and she doesn’t come from a cruel home. That’s why she didn’t fit into the Gang of Troublemakers. I wanted that group to be made entirely of orphans. And besides, she’d be the only one who’d keep her real name—she would never want to start over under another.”

  “What will happen to the Gang anyway? What was supposed to happen after the tournament? Were they meant to disband?”

  “I never thought that far ahead.”

  “I could take the boys with me,” Kelen said suddenly. “Bring them to Terres. Let them see the world. I’ll always find small tasks and errands for them. I could even have matching clothes made.” The idea lit him up.

  “So you’d turn them into your pages, huh?”

  “Yes—and why not? In a few years, once they grow, I’ll have a loyal band of young men I can rely on. And more importantly—they’ll be loyal to me.”

  Belara smiled, amused. “They’d follow you to the end of the world.”

  “So it’s settled, then? I can take the boys into my service?” Kelen laughed.

  “I’ll gladly let you have them.”

  “And you could do the same with the girls,” he added.

  “That’s true…” Belara murmured, thinking. “They’ll be useful too—and in a few years, they’ll be loyal women.”

  “Then I’m glad we divided our adopted children so nicely,” he joked.

  “Let’s hope neither of us regrets it.”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  Belara stepped in close, wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Kelen pulled her against him, feeling the warmth of her body. “I wish the wedding were already here. I want to be close to you—especially at night,” he whispered, sliding a hand around her waist, pulling her nearer. Thought slipped away, swallowed by desire.

  “You’ll have to wait. Sometimes even I struggle with all the rules and customs.” She tried to pull back, just a little, to put space between them, but the prince held her fast. Every glance, every brush of fingers tightened the electric pull between them.

  “I can’t stand this,” Kelen groaned. The princess felt his burning longing—and part of her wanted to surrender to it. But tradition held stronger.

  “Endure these days until the wedding. Then we’ll be free to do whatever we want.”

  His body tensed with the thought of what would someday be theirs. Then he remembered it wouldn’t be soon, and slumped, miserable again.

  “Sixty,” he sighed in defeat. “If that rumor’s true… sixty days is forever. I don’t think I can survive even one.”

  “If I’m torturing you so terribly, let’s go back. It’s already dark, and time for each of us to go to our own bed.”

  Kelen nodded and exhaled another dying-man sigh. At least he kissed her—long and deeply—and she returned it with equal warmth.

  They walked back toward the palace in silence, hand in hand, simply grateful for each other’s presence.

  When they reached the crossroads, they noticed a figure sitting on a bench. It was Jhalen. He didn’t move. His hands were folded, his face tight with worry. Belara’s expression hardened at once.

  “Jhalen? What are you doing here?”

  “I was waiting for you,” he said quietly.

  “Go on then,” she urged. She knew he hadn’t come for nothing.

  “I checked on Qelmar, to see if he’d set out on time. But Malgorn boarded the Silver Coin with him. They talked… for a long time. Too friendly. Before they sailed, they stood together like two men with the same plans. And the moment they left the harbor, Malgorn’s Torturer followed them.”

  “That’s it? What’s strange about that?” Belara asked, surprised. She glanced at Kelen. He only sighed. He never wanted to think of those two princes ever again.

  Jhalen hesitated. “Maybe nothing. But something feels off…” His voice weakened for a heartbeat. He knew he might be chasing a threat that didn’t exist—but his instincts wouldn’t go quiet.

  Kelen rubbed his eyes. “We’re not solving this tonight. Let’s sleep.”

  Belara nodded. Jhalen bowed, wished them good night, and walked off—his steps steady, but a shadow riding his shoulders.

  “Good night, my love,” Kelen whispered, pulling Belara into his arms. They shared one last, lingering kiss before parting ways.