Fen.
The stone corridors of the castle were quieter at dusk, long shadows curling like resting beasts along the walls. I waited outside the old wing, arms crossed, listening to the faint creak of Rowan's door. He stepped out when he heard my approach, sharp-eyed as always, his shaggy hair tied back and his usual quiet wariness in place.
"Dinner," I said simply, offering a slight nod. "On the Queen's terrace. Just the three of us."
His brow lifted slightly. "You're not worried about the scandal of it all?"
I smirked. "That's why we're taking the back passages."
We moved quickly through narrow corridors few remembered—ones I used to roam when I was younger and more foolish, long before queens and pups and war plans. Rowan didn't speak much, but I could feel the tension thrumming beneath his composed exterior. Still not quite trusting. Still not sure if this was kindness… or bait.
