In the early morning light, the temple lay still, the scent of damp earth and blooming lilies lingering in the air. Stone pathways arched over a flowing watercourse, their surfaces smoothed by time.
Dantes stood beneath the shade of a cypress tree, his gaze sweeping across the tranquil setting before settling on the approaching figure.
"Dantes," Luca greeted, offering a smile as he halted a few steps away.
"Your Highness," Dantes inclined his head in acknowledgment before allowing a smirk to break through. "Or should I call you Luca, as before?"
The prince chuckled. "Between us, it would be Luca, my friend"
Dantes' smirk lingered, though his eyes remained sharp, assessing Luca with quiet scrutiny. They stood in a moment of silence, the chirping of birds filling the space between them.
Luca clasped his hands behind his back. Though his posture was at ease, something unreadable lingered in his gaze. "Times change, Dantes. But some things remain."
"Like friends?" Dantes mused, stepping forward, his boots making no sound against the worn stone.
"Like us," Luca corrected, his smile never faltering. "Friendship is another matter entirely."
"You called for this meeting, Dantes," Luca said, shifting the conversation forward. "I doubt you came here just to exchange pleasantries."
Once again, a brief silence settled between them, the rustling leaves and the distant murmur of the temple monks filling the space.
Dantes spoke, his tone light, yet probing. "I heard a runner was sent out days ago—only to be found bleeding to death."
He studied the young prince, his fingers idly tracing the edge of a cypress branch. "Perhaps. Though some claim it was no mere accident."
Luca offered no reaction, his expression smooth. "Rumors breed easily in uncertain times. But if it was intentional, then someone seeks to control the flow of information altogether."
Dantes allowed a thoughtful pause. "Then we should tread carefully, should we not?"
The prince nodded, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Indeed. One must always be careful where they stand"
Dantes tilted his head slightly, watching a fish break the surface of the watercourse before disappearing beneath the ripples. "There are many hands at play now. Some prefer to play safe, but risks are the man's joy."
Luca's gaze followed his. "And which are you, Dantes?"
A beat passed. Dantes smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I serve interests that align with survival. For now, that includes yours."
The prince let out a soft breath, equal parts amusement and caution. "You haven't changed. Still dancing between the lines."
"I've simply learned that a play without risks is a fool's game," Dantes replied. His voice held no malice—only truth.
He turned toward the temple steps, where monks began their morning chants. "Tell me, Luca. How far are you willing to go?"
The prince met his gaze, something sharp-like beneath his calm demeanor. "As far as needed. If I hesitate now, I will lose the game before it's begun."
Dantes gave a slow nod. "Then know this—you have a friend by your side. But—I expect to be paid in its kind."
The distant gong of a bell echoed through the temple grounds, drawing a few birds into flight. Luca watched them soar before speaking, the weight of the conversation beginning to settle over his shoulders.
"The runner… he's not dead. Not yet, at least."
Dantes turned around, the breeze stirring the edges of his cloak. "Not dead?" he repeated, voice quiet, with a flicker of surprise.
Luca gave a short nod. "He was found by the nightwatchers—barely breathing. His wounds were… precise. Made to kill, but he survived. He has been taken away by the Crowned Knights." The Crowned Knights—sworn to the throne, and liberated only by death.
Dantes' eyes narrowed. "And why wasn't this your first sentence, Luca?"
"Because I'm done playing the fool's game, Dantes," the prince replied, allowing himself the faintest grin. "Very well. If word spreads that he survived..."
"It won't," Dantes cut in, his voice soft but absolute.
Luca studied him for a long moment. "With this, we both walk a narrow road, Dantes."
They stood together in silence once more, the quiet now thicker, like a page waiting to be turned.
Then, with a subtle shift in posture, Luca straightened. "I'll be returning to the camp. You should leave too. My brother is fond of temples, you see."
Dantes inclined his head. "Then let us leave for now."
He turned to leave, his steps measured. Before he could pass the archway, Luca called out, "Dantes." He said without looking back,
"Thank you."
Dantes only offered a look—a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes—perhaps a glint of understanding, but didn't speak. He didn't need to. Then vanished down a side path, lost in the morning mist.