Grog woke to shouting.
Not alarm—something else. Excitement. Servants running through corridors, voices rising and falling, the kind of chaos that preceded something important. He was at the window before he was fully awake, looking down at the courtyard below.
Soldiers were forming up. Banners were being unfurled. The gates were open, and riders were pouring through—dozens of them, their horses lathered, their armor gleaming, their cloaks the deep blue of the royal house.
At their center, three figures rode side by side.
The first was old. Not frail—old in the way that meant he'd seen everything and survived. His armor was plain, functional, the armor of a soldier who'd stopped needing to prove anything. His face was carved from stone, his eyes scanning the courtyard, the walls, the faces of the people who'd come to greet him. This was Lord Commander Theron Vance.
Beside him rode a young man. Twenty, maybe. Golden hair, easy smile, a sword at his hip that looked more decorative than functional. He was waving at the crowd like they'd come to see him, which, Grog realized, they probably had.
The third rider was younger. Seventeen. Dark hair, serious face, eyes that moved like Lira's—watching everything, missing nothing. He rode a horse too large for him, held himself too straight, looked at his brother with something that might have been annoyance or might have been love. Hard to tell.
Lira appeared beside him, still in her nightclothes, her bow already in her hand.
"The princes?"
Grog nodded. "The first and second."
She watched the young men dismount. "Which is which?"
"The one who thinks he owns the world is the first. The one who's watching everything is the second."
She raised an eyebrow. "You can tell that from up here?"
"I've seen his type before. In the old timeline. Nobles who've never been told no." He watched the younger prince slide off his horse, brush off a servant's help, stand apart from his brother's crowd. "The other one is different."
Lira studied him. "Different how?"
"He's paying attention."
---
They dressed quickly. The fine clothes again. Lira's dress. Aldric's too-small jacket. Grog's too-tight collar. They met in the corridor, found Mirena already waiting, her book tucked under her arm.
"The princes are here," Aldric said.
Mirena nodded. "I heard. The whole palace is talking."
Lira adjusted her sleeve. "What do they want?"
Aldric looked at her. "To see what the King's money is buying."
---
The Duke received them in the great hall.
Not the formal reception of three days ago—something smaller, more private. The hall was cleared of servants, the long tables pushed to the walls, only a handful of chairs arranged near the throne. The Duke sat in one, looking tired, looking older than he had at the feast.
The princes stood beside him. The older one was lounging against the back of the Duke's chair, his arm slung over it like he owned the place. The younger stood a little apart, his hands behind his back, his eyes on the door.
Lord Commander Vance stood at the window, his back to them, watching the gardens below.
The Duke stood when they entered.
"Ah. The heroes of the valley." His voice was warm, but there was something else underneath. Tension. "Let me present—"
The older prince pushed off from the chair. He moved like someone who'd never had to hurry, never had to wait, never had to be anything other than what he was.
"William," he said, offering his hand to Grog. "Second prince. This is my brother, Edward."
Edward nodded from across the room. Didn't offer his hand.
Grog took William's. The grip was firm, practiced, the grip of someone who'd been taught how to shake hands by people who thought such things mattered.
"We've heard so much about you," William said. His smile was easy, open, the smile of someone who'd never had to hide anything. "The monster. The battle. The things you killed." He looked at Grog's sword. "Is it true you tore it apart with your bare hands?"
Grog met his eyes. "Something like that."
William's grin widened. "I want to hear everything."
---
Edward watched from across the room.
He didn't approach. Didn't speak. Just watched, his dark eyes moving from face to face, cataloging, assessing. When his brother laughed too loud at something Grog said, his expression flickered—annoyance, maybe, or something deeper.
Lord Commander Vance turned from the window.
"Enough, William."
The prince's laugh cut off. He straightened, something like guilt crossing his face. "I was just—"
"You were making a spectacle." Vance's voice was quiet, but it carried. He'd spent thirty years learning to be heard without raising his voice. "The heroes are not here for your entertainment."
William's face reddened. He opened his mouth, closed it, stepped back.
Edward moved for the first time.
"It's all right, Commander." His voice was softer than his brother's, quieter. "My brother is enthusiastic. It's not a crime." He looked at Grog. "We're here to learn. About what happened at the valley. About what's coming." He paused. "About whether the King's support is well-placed."
Grog met his eyes.
"It is."
Edward nodded slowly. "We'll see."
---
The Duke rose, clapping his hands.
"Enough politics for now. We'll talk more this evening. For now—" He looked at Grog, at Lira, at Aldric. "The princes have asked to see your training. To see what the heroes of the valley can do."
William's face lit up. "Yes. The Commander said you were training this morning. I want to watch."
Edward said nothing. But his eyes were sharp.
Grog looked at Lira. She shrugged.
"Fine," Grog said. "We'll show you."
---
The training yard was ready.
Someone had spread fresh sand, set up new targets, arranged benches for the spectators. A crowd was already gathering—servants, soldiers, nobles who'd heard something interesting was happening. The Duke's children were there, a boy and a girl, both under five, their nurse trying to keep them still. The boy was throwing sand at his sister. The girl was crying. The nurse looked like she wanted to be anywhere else.
William took a seat at the front. Edward stood behind him, arms crossed. Vance positioned himself at the edge of the yard, where he could see everything.
Lira picked up her bow.
"Before we start," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I'd like to demonstrate."
She drew. An arrow appeared—not from her quiver, from nowhere, light coalescing into form. The crowd gasped. William's mouth fell open.
She aimed at a target fifty yards away. Released.
The arrow flew. Hit dead center. Left a hole clean through the wood.
She turned to the crowd.
"Any questions?"
---
Aldric was next.
He drew his sword—not the practice blade, the real one. The dark metal caught the light, drank it, made the air around it feel wrong. He moved through forms slow, deliberate, the way Grog had taught him. Each movement was precise, controlled, the movement of someone who'd learned to be patient.
Edward watched him with sharp eyes.
When Aldric finished, William clapped. "That was—" He searched for words. "Incredible."
Aldric shrugged. "It's just training."
William looked at his sword. "Can I try?"
---
Grog caught Aldric's eye. Shook his head slightly.
But William was already moving. He walked to the rack, picked up a practice sword. Tested its weight. His grip was wrong, his stance worse, but he swung it with the enthusiasm of someone who'd never been hit back.
"Show me something," he said to Aldric. "Something real."
Aldric looked at Grog again.
Grog nodded.
They circled each other. William attacked first—fast, clumsy, overconfident. Aldric blocked, didn't counter. William swung again. Again. Again. Each time, Aldric blocked, let him tire himself out.
Finally, William stopped, breathing hard.
"You're not even trying," he said.
Aldric lowered his sword. "I'm trying not to hurt you."
William stared at him. Then, slowly, he laughed. It was a good sound, open, surprised.
"You're serious."
Aldric didn't answer.
William looked at his own sword, then back at Aldric. "Teach me."
---
Edward watched his brother with something that might have been jealousy. Or maybe it was something else.
Lord Commander Vance moved to stand beside him.
"Your brother is impulsive."
Edward nodded slowly. "He always has been."
"It could be useful. Or it could get him killed."
Edward looked at Grog. At Lira. At Aldric, who was showing William how to hold a sword properly. "You think what's coming is that dangerous?"
Vance was quiet for a moment.
"I think we don't know what's coming. That's why we're here."
---
The training continued.
William was terrible. He couldn't keep his feet, couldn't control his sword, couldn't stop trying to show off. But he kept trying. Aldric kept correcting him, patient, steady.
Edward didn't join. He watched his brother fail, watched him try again, watched him laugh when he fell.
The Duke's children had given up on the training. The boy was chasing a peacock. The girl was eating sand. Their nurse was chasing the boy.
Grog found himself standing beside Edward.
"Your brother wants to join us," he said.
Edward looked at him. "He wants to be a hero. There's a difference."
"Maybe." Grog watched William try to copy Aldric's stance. Fail. Try again. "He doesn't give up."
Edward was quiet for a moment.
"He never has."
---
That evening, the Duke hosted a small dinner.
Not the great hall—a smaller room, warmer, more intimate. The princes sat on either side of him. Vance was at the far end, eating little, watching everything.
The Duke's children were there, too, the boy and the girl, their nurse hovering behind them. The boy—his name was Leopold, Grog learned, after his grandfather—was throwing bread at his sister. The girl—Catherine—was throwing it back. Their nurse looked like she'd given up.
William was telling stories. About the journey, about the palace, about the time he'd tried to ride a horse that wasn't broken. He made everyone laugh. Even Edward smiled, once.
Aldric was quiet, eating slowly, watching. Gwen was there, sitting across from him, her eyes on his face.
"So," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "The second prince wants to join your company."
Aldric looked at her. "He wants to learn."
"He wants to be you."
Aldric shook his head. "He doesn't know what that means."
Gwen leaned forward. "Show him."
---
William looked up. "Show me what?"
Aldric met his eyes. "What it means to be a soldier. Not a hero. A soldier."
William was quiet for a moment. Then he grinned.
"When do we start?"