Aldric's voice was soft. Barely a murmur.
"I… didn't know what to say when I saw you step into the room," he admitted.
Altair raised a brow, unreadable.
"I thought maybe I could compliment your entrance," Aldric went on, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Or say you made the ballroom feel whole again."
"But you didn't," Altair replied evenly.
Aldric nodded once. "Because none of that would've been enough."
Silence stretched.
The King's voice turned low. Rough around the edges.
"When Isolde died… I failed you. I failed her. I should have been there."
Altair's jaw flexed. His eyes narrowed—but not in anger. In something older. Heavier.
Aldric stepped closer.
"I told myself the treaty couldn't wait. That the Ruelan diplomats would walk if I left. And maybe that's true. But I could've found a way. I *should* have found a way. And I'm sorry."
The word hung there.
Sharp. Honest. Vulnerable.
