Chapter 21

Rock went to the guard’s barracks and found the captain of the guard overseeing the morning drills.

“Sire,” the captain said, snapping to attention with a fist pressed to his chest. “What can the guard do for you?”

“I need two men to escort me through the village. With the blessing of the king, I have a mission to seek out the truth, and I require their presence as proof of my seriousness.”

The captain straightened even taller, the muscles in his jaw tight with discipline. “Yes, sire. It shall be done.”

Turning toward the barracks door, he threw his voice like a thunderclap into the dim room beyond.

“On your feet, soldiers! Prince’s detail—two volunteers, step forward!”

Chairs scraped, boots pounded against the floor, and the sound of armor shifting filled the space as men rose to attention.

Two men stepped smartly to the captain’s side, fists pressed to their chests in salute.

“Sire,” the captain said with crisp authority, “this is Garron and Darius. Men of honesty and strength. They shall escort you and bear witness to your mission.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Rock replied, his voice steady with formality. He turned to the guards, meeting their eyes. “Garron, Darius—arm yourselves and be ready to depart.”

The two guards struck their chests again in salute, then strode swiftly to the armory. Moments later they returned, girded in short swords and bucklers, chestplates strapped firm across their torsos, heavy belts secured at their waists.

Rock gave a single approving nod, adjusted the katana at his own side, and without another word led the way from the barracks, Garron and Darius falling into step behind him.

Rock and his guards moved through the heart of the town, the morning sun glinting off their armor. The sight of the prince flanked by two armed escorts drew quiet stares from shopkeepers and townsfolk alike. Ordinarily, Rock was known for his easy smile and approachable manner—he and Flower had long walked among the people with warmth. But today was different. His posture was resolute, his expression set, and the men at his side carried steel. The crowd parted in silence, whispers trailing in their wake. Mothers pulled children close, unsure what this procession might mean.

As they neared the Society’s tall stone building, Garron’s hand flexed on the hilt of his sword. Darius cleared his throat softly.

“Sire,” Darius murmured, unease in his tone.

“I know,” Rock answered, his voice low but steady. “I’ve already released my essence today. I trust both of you have as well. But this isn’t about temptation. Something within these walls must be uncovered.” He glanced back, his dark eyes firm. “Stay sharp.”

He pushed open the great wooden door and entered.

Inside, the Society’s hall was hushed and perfumed, its polished floors gleaming in the lamplight. Several Seraphs sat poised at their stations, waiting for walk-ins. All of them startled at the intrusion of armored men into their sacred space. A ripple of fear moved across the room.

Then one voice rose above the tense silence.

“Rock!”

Mags rushed forward, skirts whispering around her ankles as she flung herself into his arms. He caught her instinctively, their embrace full of history—years of shared trust, intimacy, and the strange bond forged when she had been his first Seraph. For a fleeting moment, it was as if no time had passed.

“Oh, Mags,” he breathed, holding her close. Memories pressed in—the way she had steadied him through boyhood, the comfort of her presence, the woman who had guided him into manhood.

She drew back just enough to look up at him, her voice trembling with relief and something more. “What are you doing here? Do you need a release?” Her tone shifted, sultry now, as though slipping back into a role that had once come so naturally. “I’m available to you, always.”

Rock brushed a kiss to her forehead, tender yet restrained. “No. Not this time.” He cupped her cheek, speaking with quiet urgency. “Something is going on here. Tell me the truth, Mags. Did you collect my first essence and bring it to this place?”

Her expression crumbled, color draining from her face. “Yes, sire,” she whispered.

“Why?”

“Because we must. Every young man we serve—when they reach their first hardness—we collect the essence and deliver it here. It is the rule. They tell us it ensures the health of the men of the realm.” Her eyes flicked nervously toward the guards behind him, who stood unmoving, silent sentries.

Rock’s hand lingered at her face, his thumb brushing her temple. It was a familiar touch, but now laced with gravity. “Mags, I need more than rules. Where does it go? Who takes it? What happens after?”

Rock set Mags back on her feet. She glanced nervously around the room—at the other seraphs watching, at the two guards standing like statues, and finally at the sword on Rock’s hip. She had seen him wrestle, run, and train as a boy, but never armed like this. The sight unsettled her.

“Come with me,” she whispered. She led Rock and his guards out of the hall, down a quiet corridor, and spoke low. “When you were a boy, I left you sleeping and brought your essence here. I gave it to the boss, then returned before you ever stirred.”

Rock pinched the bridge of his nose, a sigh escaping him. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why was I kept in the dark?”

“Because you weren’t supposed to know,” she whispered, guilt coloring her tone. “I wasn’t allowed to tell you.”

“Oh, Mags...” He took her hand gently, steadying her. “You did nothing wrong. You followed orders.” His reassurance calmed her even as it gave him time to think.