The torches had been burning low for too long, and the guards posted nearby barely glanced his way. They didn’t speak to him anymore. Not unless they had to. Not unless it was orders.

Good. Let them stay silent. Let them wonder.

Ser Criston walked slower than he needed to, the weight of his own armor clinging to his limbs like rust. It wasn’t heavy, but every step grated. Everything did lately, his jaw ached from how long he'd kept it clenched—long enough that he wasn’t even aware of it until the muscle spasmed.

They still talk about her like she’s a fucking queen.

His eyes narrowed at the far wall, catching nothing of interest but a flickering sconce and the carved stone behind it. The kind of wall that had seen too much and never said a word. Not like the mouths in this cursed castle.

He'd heard it again that morning. A whisper, but loud enough—always just loud enough. Rhaenyra’s name rolling off some pompous cunt's tongue like it belonged there, as if she hadn’t spat on tradition, on duty, on him. Oh, poor Ser Criston. Poor fool, bent over a whore’s smile and her filthy royal blood.

Fuck them. Fuck them all.

They wanted him to break. Walk off into the fog like some disgraced relic, rust quietly in a chapel somewhere. But he had purpose, he had position. He had the Queen now—the true Queen. He had her favor. That meant something, right?

But even with Alicent's grace, the nights were quieter now. Too quiet. There were fewer eyes meeting his. And fewer tongues daring to call him 'Kingmaker' anymore.

Criston stopped at the door. His hand hovered over the latch, fingertips brushing cold iron. The corridor behind him was silent. He could hear his own blood pounding behind his ears, something felt off all of a sudden.

He exhaled through his nose, sharp, disgusted with himself. And yet that same flicker of petty satisfaction prickled under his skin—because if they were in there, if they had been waiting for him… well, that would mean he still mattered, wouldn’t it?

Criston opened the door anyway, with all the confidence of a man who expected an audience.