Three days after Albrecht's visit, Thalric submitted the transfer order.
Not a suggestion. Not a request. A formal reassignment directive, signed under the authority of the Queen's earlier decree that reinstated him as core lineage—a move Rowan had helped ratify with his silence.
The language was clear:
Effective immediately, Prince Rowan will oversee archival continuity for the eastern estate wing, with full access to assembly calendars, heirloom ledgers, and pre-session council briefings. This role supersedes any proxy obligation during ceremonial appearances, and requires presence at all formal assemblies as structural liaison.
It didn't sound important.
But it was.
Control of assembly scheduling meant visibility into who met with whom, when, and why. It meant knowledge of who had been excluded. It meant gatekeeping the agenda.
When the notice went up outside the steward's office, Cedric arrived at Thalric's door by sunset.
He didn't knock.
He barged.
Thalric was seated alone in the reading room, reviewing a budget draft from House Velire. He didn't look up.
"You've crossed a line," Cedric said.
Thalric turned the page.
"This isn't just petty. It's loud. Reassigning Rowan? As calendar keeper? You could've at least been subtle."
"I could've," Thalric said. "But then you'd pretend you didn't notice."
Cedric stepped forward, jaw tight. "The east wing archives are the Queen's jurisdiction."
"And the Queen approved my role in formal scheduling. Or didn't object strongly enough to stop it. Same result."
"She'll reverse it."
"She won't," Thalric said, finally looking up. "Because for her to reverse it, she has to publicly clarify what Rowan is. Which means declaring whether he supports you, me, or remains neutral. And she doesn't have the political capital right now to alienate a third pillar of this house."
Cedric crossed his arms. "You think you're clever."
"No," Thalric said. "I think you're predictable."
"You think this earns you the throne?"
"I don't want the throne."
"Then why tear down everything around it?"
Thalric stood now, slow and composed.
"Because none of you are qualified to hold it."
That stopped Cedric mid-step.
"For all your training," Thalric said, "you understand image but not memory. Albrecht can recite protocol but can't move people. Rowan sees everything, but acts only when cornered. And you? You think the court owes you loyalty because you were born louder."
Cedric's fists clenched.
"You're trying to divide us."
"No," Thalric said calmly. "I'm giving them choices."
He let that hang.
Cedric didn't speak. Just turned and left, shoulders rigid.
That evening, Rowan appeared at Thalric's study.
He didn't sit.
He just leaned against the doorframe, holding the reassignment parchment in one hand.
"You should have asked," he said.
"I didn't need your consent."
"No," Rowan agreed. "But it would've cost you nothing."
Thalric studied him.
"I needed them to react," he said. "This was the quietest way to force movement."
Rowan nodded once. "And if I had refused?"
"You didn't."
That landed.
Rowan stepped inside then. Not far. Just enough.
"Do I work for you now?"
"No," Thalric said. "But they think you do. Let them."
Rowan exhaled slowly. "This puts a mark on me."
"It puts a question on you," Thalric corrected. "And people fear questions more than they fear allegiance."
After a pause, Rowan asked, "What do you need next?"
Thalric walked to the window and drew back the curtain just slightly. The estate courtyard below was mostly empty—except for two carriages.
"House Velire and House Bratheon," he said. "They're here early."
"Why?"
"Not sure. But we'll find out."
Rowan stepped beside him.
"Do you plan to greet them?"
"No," Thalric said. "I'm going to schedule them into someone else's calendar. Let them wait. Let them wonder."
Rowan was quiet for a long moment.
Then: "You're not the same as him."
"I'm not trying to be."
"But you remember how he failed."
"I remember everything."