William came to the infirmary before dawn.
Aldric was awake—he hadn't slept much, the leg wouldn't let him—and he saw the prince's face before William could hide it. There was something there. Something decided.
"You're up early," Aldric said.
William moved to the chair by the bed. He didn't sit. He stood beside it, his hands at his sides, his shoulders straight.
"I need to ask you something."
Aldric waited.
"I've been training with you for weeks. I've learned to fall. To stand. To hold a sword." He paused. "I want to join your company. For real. When you leave. When you go back to the border. When you go after the things that are coming."
Aldric looked at him.
"The Duke—"
"I've already spoken to him." William's voice was steady. "He said it's not his decision. He said it's yours."
Aldric absorbed this. "Your brother—"
"Edward doesn't decide." William's jaw tightened. "He thinks he does. He thinks everything is about him. About what's safe, what's proper, what the court will say." He looked at Aldric. "I'm not Edward. I'm not going to sit in a palace while things come through the hills and people die."
Aldric was quiet for a moment.
"You've been training for weeks. You held against the beast. You didn't run."
William shook his head. "I was terrified."
"Everyone's terrified. The ones who run are the ones who let it win."
William looked at him. There was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Something that might have been hope.
"Then you'll take me?"
Aldric met his eyes.
"I'll talk to the others."
---
Grog was in the training yard.
His arm was still bandaged, his side still wrapped, his shoulder still a mass of pain that made him want to stop moving. But he was moving. Slowly, carefully, working the muscles, keeping them from freezing.
Lira was there, her bow across her knees, watching him. She'd been there since dawn, maybe longer. She didn't say anything. She just watched.
William appeared at the edge of the yard.
He stood there for a moment, watching Grog move through the forms—slow, clumsy, one-armed. Then he walked to the rack of practice swords, picked one up, and stood at the edge of the training circle.
Grog stopped. Looked at him.
"I want to join your company," William said. "For real. When you leave."
Grog studied him. The prince's hands were steady. His feet were planted. His eyes didn't move from Grog's face.
"Aldric said yes?" Grog asked.
"He said he'd talk to you."
Grog looked at Lira. She shrugged.
"Your brother?" Grog asked.
"Edward doesn't get a vote."
Grog almost smiled. Almost. He picked up his practice sword—the one he'd been using to keep his arm from freezing—and tossed it to William.
"Show me."
---
William was better than he'd been a week ago.
His feet were surer, his hands steadier, his strikes more controlled. He'd been practicing. Alone, probably, in the hours when no one was watching. Grog watched him move through the forms Aldric had taught him—the blocks, the counters, the footwork that kept you alive when the thing you were fighting was faster than you.
He was still slow. Still clumsy. Still a prince who'd spent more time in courts than camps. But he was trying. He was here.
Lira watched from the bench.
"He's not terrible," she said.
Grog nodded. "He's not."
William finished the form, lowered his sword, looked at them. His chest was heaving, his face red, his hands shaking. But his eyes were steady.
"I know I'm not ready," he said. "I know I need to train. I know I'll slow you down." He paused. "But I want to learn. I want to be there. When the next thing comes through. I want to be able to do something."
Grog was quiet for a moment.
"The company isn't just fighting. It's training. It's waiting. It's watching for things that shouldn't be there and dealing with them before they reach the villages." He met William's eyes. "You want to be a soldier. You need to understand what that means."
William nodded. "I understand."
"We'll see."
---
Edward was waiting in William's chambers.
He was standing by the window, his back to the door, his hands clasped behind him. He didn't turn when William entered.
"You went to them."
William closed the door. "I did."
Edward was quiet for a moment. "The Duke says it's your decision. He says he won't stop you."
"That's right."
Edward turned. His face was pale, his eyes dark, his jaw tight. "You could die. Out there. In the hills. Fighting things that shouldn't exist."
William met his eyes. "I know."
"You're the second prince. You're not supposed to—"
"I'm not supposed to what?" William's voice was sharp. "I'm not supposed to be anything. That's the point." He moved to the table, poured water into a cup, drank. "You're the heir. You're the one who stays. You're the one who will be King." He set the cup down. "I'm the one who gets to choose."
Edward stared at him. "Choose what?"
William looked at his brother. "What kind of man I want to be."
---
They sat in silence for a long moment.
Edward moved to the chair by the fire, sat heavily. He looked older than he had a week ago. Older than he had when they arrived.
"I read the reports," he said quietly. "From the King. About the creatures. The things that are appearing." He looked at William. "It's not just the hills. It's everywhere. The north, the east, places that have been quiet for generations."
William sat across from him. "I know."
"The King wants them to investigate. Your heroes." Edward's voice was flat. "He wants to know what's happening. He wants to know if it's connected to the door."
William nodded slowly. "That's why we need to be ready. All of us."
Edward was quiet for a moment. Then he stood, walked to the window, looked out at the courtyard below.
"I wrote to Father," he said. "Before the beast. Before you went to the hills. I told him the heroes were competent. That the Duke's support was justified." He paused. "I told him you were serious."
William stared at his brother. "You—"
"I didn't want you to go." Edward's voice was quiet. "I thought if I told him you were serious, he'd call you back. Keep you safe." He shook his head. "He wrote back. He said the kingdom needed soldiers. That heroes were rare. That he was glad you were learning."
William didn't know what to say.
Edward turned. His face was open in a way William had never seen.
"If you go," he said, "you come back."
William nodded.
"I will."
---
That evening, the Duke called them to his study.
The room was small, private, the fire low. Grog was there, Lira, Aldric in a chair with his leg propped. Mirena stood by the window, her arm still bandaged, her face tired. Commander Vance stood near the door, his arms crossed, his face unreadable.
William stood apart from them, his back straight, his hands steady.
The Duke looked at him. "You've made your decision."
William nodded. "I have."
The Duke was quiet for a moment. He was not their father—their father was the King, far away in the capital, old and sick and surrounded by advisors who didn't know what was coming. But he was their uncle in the way that mattered. He had known their father for forty years. They had fought together, hunted together, watched each other's children grow. When the princes came to his palace, they came as family.
"You'll write to your father," the Duke said. "He'll want to hear it from you."
William nodded.
"And you'll come back." The Duke's voice was steady, but there was something underneath it. Something that might have been fear. "When this is over. When you've done what needs to be done. You'll come back."
William met his uncle's eyes.
"I will."
The Duke looked at Grog. "Keep him alive."
Grog nodded. "I will."
---
Later that night, Grog walked the walls.
The palace was quiet, the stars bright, the world still. He thought about William. About the prince who wanted to be a soldier. About the brother who had tried to protect him. About the Duke who had watched them grow up and was watching them choose their paths.
He thought about the old timeline.
The first prince had become King. That much was the same. But the second prince—William—had been different. Grog had only heard rumors, bits of gossip passed between soldiers who'd served in the capital. The second prince drank. He slept around. He threw parties that lasted for days, that drained the treasury, that scandalized the court. He had wasted his life on wine and women and the slow erosion of whatever he might have been.
Grog had never met him. Had never thought about him. In the old timeline, the second prince was just a name, a joke, a cautionary tale told to young soldiers about what happened to men who had too much and did too little.
Now he was here. Training in the yard. Standing between Aldric and a beast that should have killed him. Asking to be something more.
Grog looked at the stars.
This was different. Everything was different.
He stayed on the wall until the moon set.