Thomas Langton and King Liam

Short and long voyages

The chamber was quiet, save for the soft clatter of toy soldiers and navy boats on the polished floor. Liam, boy-king of Thelidor, sat cross-legged in a patch of sunlight, his crown resting beside him like a forgotten ornament. Thomas Langton, Chancellor and priest of Stella Maris, stood nearby, watching the child with a gaze full of care and weight.

"The Durnmeres want me to marry," Liam said suddenly, placing a soldier atop a boat. "They say it’s good for the realm."

Thomas knelt beside him. "Do you know what that means?"

"A wife," Liam said. "Someone I don’t know. Someone who’ll live here. They say it’s duty."

Thomas nodded slowly. "And what do you think?"

Liam frowned. "I want to do the right thing. But I don’t know if what they ask is right."

Thomas looked at the boy, the child who bore a crown too heavy for his years. "You’re already doing the right thing, Liam. You’re asking questions."

Liam moved a boat across the floor. "Did you ever like a girl?"

Thomas smiled faintly. "Yes."

"Did she like you back?"

Thomas paused. "I think so. I hope so."

"What happened?"

"We had a voyage. A long one."

Liam looked up. "Marriage is a voyage?"

"Yes," Thomas said. "Some choices are short voyages. Some are long. Marriage is long. You don’t have to start it just because someone says it’s time."

Liam nodded, his shoulders relaxing. "I like being a boy."

"Then be a boy," Thomas said. "You have time."

They sat in silence for a while, the sun shifting across the floor.

"Thank you," Liam said. "For listening."

Thomas smiled. "Always, my lord."

Liam returned to his soldiers, humming softly.

Thomas stood, his gaze drifting to the high windows. He felt the weight of the regency, the wolves circling, the innocence of the boy he had sworn to protect. And somewhere in the depths of his thoughts, he felt the pull of Nimue—her voice, her warning, her love.

He would need all of it.

Correspondence: Thomas to Nimue

Nimue,

I write to you from the high towers of Delia, where the boy-king plays with toy soldiers and speaks of marriage. Certain courtiers press him toward betrothal. They speak of duty, of legacy, and alliances. He is seven.

The wolves circle. They see me as one of them. Perhaps I am. But I am his friend. I am his priest. And more frequently I am his shield.

He asked me today if I ever loved a girl. I told him yes. He asked if she loved me back. I said I hoped so.

I watch the long shadows within these halls and see dark crystals. I look, expecting you to turn my head.

In tide and memory,

Thomas

Correspondence: Nimue to Thomas

Thomas,

Your letter reached me in the quiet hour before the vigil. I read it twice.

You are not a wolf. You are a flame. But flames attract shadows. You walk a dangerous path. But it is the right one. Protect him. Teach him. Let him be a boy.

I remember the rays of light in the sea. I remember your piercing warmth.

I enclose a shell. It is from the deep. It has never touched the surface until now.

In tide and longing,

Nimue