Oath of the King-Chapter 29: The Pride of the Lionfelt – Part 3.4

It had been a few days since the announcement.

Alden hadn't slept a second.

He lay on his side that night, back pressed to the cold stone wall, watching moonlight spill across the floor like pale milk. The message had arrived without warning. Not from Evelynn's mouth, of course—she wouldn't lower herself for that. Just a mutt in a Ransdov uniform, tossing him fate like a bone.

Typical Evelynn.

Alden rolled onto his back, eyes narrow, thoughts sharp.

The Phoenix Tournament.

So it begins again.

The last time he stepped into that arena, it stripped him of everything—his place, his name, his breath. But this time... this time, he knew the traps before they were set. He knew which nobles would poison their blades, which commoners would bare their teeth like wolves, and which friends would die screaming when the walls came crashing down.

He wouldn't make the same mistakes twice.

The next morning arrived gently—with the scent of honeyed bread and the soft shuffle of bare feet on old stone.

Sylvie.

Of course it was her.

She always came early. He remembered now—the rhythm of her steps, the way she hummed under her breath when she thought no one was listening. Her kindness was a quiet rebellion against the cold cruelty of the Lionfelt estate.

She placed a tray beside him: warm porridge, a boiled egg, a slice of apple, thin but crisp.

"Still alive, I see," she said with that crooked smile only she could pull off.

Alden didn't smile.

He sat up slowly, studying her.

The same face.

The same freckles dusting her nose like stardust.

The same way she tugged at her sleeve when she was nervous, as if trying to fold herself smaller.

But she didn't know.

Didn't know she had died once—saving him.

Didn't know he had buried her beneath a willow tree that no longer whispered her name.

Didn't know that every time he looked at her, he had to choke back a scream meant for the gods.

And maybe she never would.

"Eat," she said, misreading the storm in his eyes. "You'll need your strength. I heard you're training like a madman again."

He took the spoon without a word.

She lingered.

"Hey... is something wrong?"

Silence stretched between them, long and heavy.

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Then, in a voice so low it barely stirred the air, he asked, "Do you believe in second chances?"

Sylvie tilted her head. "Depends who's getting them."

A faint smile ghosted across his lips. Tired. Hollow.

"Someone who didn't deserve the first one."

Over the past few days, Alden had begun drawing closer to Sylvie. Not with words—he was never good with those—but in small, careful ways. Offering to walk with her to the market. Carrying the heavy baskets. Fixing the strap on her satchel. Asking questions he already knew the answers to, just to hear her speak.

It was calculated. Gentle. And desperate.

Because in another life, they had gone to buy leather oil and polishing paste, just like they always did. And on the way back, they were attacked.

Bandits.

He'd run. He hadn't looked back.

She had screamed.

Later, he'd learned what they did to her—what they took. Tortured, violated, stripped of everything, even the coin she had saved for months.

Alden had told himself a thousand times that there was nothing he could've done. That he was outnumbered. That he was weak then.

But now... now he was strong. And if fate had given him this second life, he would use it—not to fix himself, but to fix her path.

He didn't want her gratitude. Didn't want her forgiveness.

He just wanted her to live a life she never got to taste.

Even as they grew closer, even as she began to open up to him—laugh more, tease him, touch his arm when she thought he wasn't paying attention—Alden kept a wall between them. An invisible, unshakable wall made of guilt and ghosts.

The maids had noticed.

They always noticed.

In the kitchen, over steaming bread and pots of stew, they whispered.

"Did you see her face this morning? Glowing like she got kissed by the sun."

"You think he's courting her?"

"He better be. That man's got the looks of a fallen knight and the body of a sin."

"Sylvie won't say a word though. I asked her straight out and she just turned red and said 'mind your own tea.'"

"That is tea."

Whenever Alden passed, the giggles would quiet. Eyes would follow him. And Sylvie? She'd swat the maids away with mock annoyance, but her ears would turn pink. She'd glance at him when she thought he wasn't looking.

The estate buzzed with quiet speculation.

And yet, in the middle of all that noise, Alden stood silent.

Because no matter how close they got...

No matter how warm her smile felt...

No matter how badly he wanted to reach out and hold onto this new version of her...

He still remembered the girl broken in the mud.

And he would never forget that he was the one who left her there.