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Rain drummed steadily against the palace windows, a hollow rhythm that had become a cruel reminder of passing time. It had been five days since Plantz vanished. Five days since the second prince left through the castle gate and never returned.
Calian had not slept properly in any of them. He’d torn through every record, interrogated soldiers, merchants, even thieves. Each answer only deepened the silence where his brother’s name should have been. The royal guards reported nothing but fragments—a broken carriage, bloodied fabric found near the forest border, boot prints that led to nowhere.
He knew Plantz was not the kind of man to fall easily. His brother was disciplined, calculating, too stubborn to die in the dark. That knowledge, however, did nothing to quiet the fear gnawing in Calian’s chest. Plantz might not die easily, but someone might have found a way to break him slowly.
By the sixth night, Calian had had enough of waiting. The storm came down hard as he rode out with a small group of knights. Lightning split the horizon, carving the world in white, and through the noise of hooves and thunder, all he could think was—if he’s hurt, I’ll burn the world down to find him.
It was just before dawn when they found a lead—a smuggler caught near the old river docks confessed after some persuasion. The missing prince was being held in a deserted storage house used by mercenaries from the southern border. They were demanding information, or perhaps ransom, but Calian didn’t care about motives. He wanted one thing.
When they reached the docks, the air reeked of salt and rot. The building leaned against the rain like it was tired of standing. Calian motioned for silence, then moved inside alone. Water pooled under his boots; torchlight flickered weakly against damp wood.
He saw him.
Plantz sat slumped against a pillar, bound by chains that bit into his wrists. His blue hair hung limp and dirty, his uniform torn and smeared with dried blood. A faint tremor ran through him—small, uneven, drugged. His eyes opened halfway when he heard the creak of a step, but they were glazed, unfocused.
At his throat rested a sword. The captor—a mercenary with the stench of cheap ale and iron—tightened his grip on the hilt when he saw Calian’s expression.
“So you finally came,” the man said with a mocking grin. “The loyal prince, isn’t it? You want him back? Tell your father—”
Calian’s voice cut through the storm outside. “Move that blade one more inch and I’ll gut you before you finish that sentence.”
The words didn’t come as a shout. They were calm, precise, heavy enough to make even the thunder sound small.
The man’s smile faltered. “Careful. He’s barely breathing already. One slip—”
“I said,” Calian’s tone dropped, low and venomous, “don’t touch him.”
The mercenary hesitated, but pride made him reckless. “He’s not worth dying for. You can have his corpse when we’re done.”
That was his mistake.
Calian moved faster than thought—steel flashed once, and the man’s weapon clattered to the ground. In the same motion, Calian slammed him into the wall, blade pressed to his throat. The mercenary’s scream never fully formed before Calian’s boot struck his chest and sent him sprawling.
He didn’t stay to watch him crawl. His focus had already snapped back to the motionless figure on the floor.
Calian dropped to his knees beside Plantz, tearing through the bindings with trembling hands. “Hey,” he muttered, voice cracking as he pressed a hand against his brother’s neck. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”
No answer. Only shallow, uneven breathing.
The drug’s scent clung to his clothes—something bitter, alchemical. Whoever had taken him hadn’t meant to kill him quickly.
“Damn it,” Calian cursed under his breath. His hand cupped the back of Plantz’s head, careful not to aggravate the bruises marring his skin. He could see the faint pulse at his throat, slow but steady. Relief flickered through the panic, only to twist into fury. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
Outside, the knights had stormed in, dealing with the remnants of the mercenaries. But inside the warehouse, Calian’s world had narrowed to the man lying limp against him.
When Plantz stirred at last, his lashes fluttered, and a faint sound escaped him—a hoarse whisper. “...brother?”
“I’m here.” The reply came rough, unsteady, his hand tightening on his brother’s shoulder. “You idiot. You were gone for days. What were you thinking?”
Plantz blinked slowly, confusion flickering across his unfocused gaze. “They... wanted information. About... something.” His voice trailed off. The drug still clouded him.
Calian exhaled shakily, fighting down the urge to yell. “You don’t talk. Not now. You’re coming with me.”
He gathered Plantz into his arms, ignoring his own exhaustion. The older prince’s head rested against his shoulder, cold skin brushing against his collar. For a moment, Calian just held him, listening to his faint breathing, feeling his own heart hammer against it.
As they stepped out into the rain, one of the knights approached. “Your Highness, the enemies—”
“Burn this place,” Calian said without looking back. “Every one of them. No one touches my brother again.”
The command was quiet, but no one doubted it.
When they reached the carriage, Calian laid Plantz down carefully, pulling the cloak tighter around him. The bruise at his neck, the pale tremor of his fingers—it was all too much. Calian brushed the wet hair from his forehead and muttered, “If you ever disappear again, I’ll tie you to me myself.”
The wind roared in answer, and Calian sat back, his expression unreadable except for the fury still burning in his eyes. He had his brother back. And anyone who dared to take him again would not live long enough to regret it.