The Hidden Crown

Ch3

The morning sunlight slanted through the thin hotel curtains, painting pale lines across the small, square room. Rowen blinked awake, his body still heavy with the kind of restless sleep that left him tired rather than refreshed. He stretched under the blanket, turning his head toward the small kitchenette where the smell of sizzling eggs and toasted bread drifted through the air.

Liora stood at the counter, her long dark hair tied back in a loose braid, humming softly as she flipped something in the pan. She looked over her shoulder at him with a smile that instantly warmed the chill in his chest.

“Good morning, little one,” she said gently. “I know it isn’t much right now, but it’s breakfast. Raven went out early—looking for a house for us, maybe a job too. Soon we’ll have a kitchen that’s truly ours and food that tastes better than this hotel fare.”

Rowen sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. The scent of frying eggs, butter, and slightly burnt toast filled the air, making his stomach growl in spite of the weight that always seemed to linger there.

You’re safe, Fenrir’s voice rumbled through his thoughts, deep and steady, like an anchor against the tide of worry. No one will get to you here. Liora and Raven will make sure of that. And I will be here, always.

Rowen clung to those words as he slid from the bed and padded over to the small table. Liora set a plate in front of him—scrambled eggs, toast with a little jam, and an apple she must have found at the corner store.

He was halfway through the apple when the door creaked open and Raven stepped in, brushing cold air and the faint scent of pine from his coat. His eyes immediately softened when they fell on Liora, then shifted to Rowen.

“Hello, love,” he said, his voice rough but affectionate.

Liora turned from the stove, wiping her hands on a towel. “Good morning, my love. Did you find anything?”

Raven leaned down to kiss her, lingering just long enough to make her cheeks flush before he pulled away and looked at Rowen. Crossing the room, he crouched down so they were face-to-face.

“Hey, Rowen,” he said softly. “I know you’re scared. But we won’t let anyone hurt you. I was your father’s beta—I’ll always be here for you. And Liora? She was your mother’s best friend. She’ll always protect you.”

Fenrir’s voice followed, steady in Rowen’s mind. He speaks the truth, Rowen. Trust him.

Rowen swallowed, then nodded. “Okay… Uncle Raven. I believe you.”

Raven’s shoulders loosened with relief. He ruffled Rowen’s hair gently before standing. “Good. Now, next step.” He glanced at Liora. “I found us a place on the edge of town. The house needs work, but it’s standing. And the owner’s son is looking for help with construction. I can earn money while fixing it up.”

Liora’s eyes lit with cautious hope. “That’s wonderful! We’ll need it. And once the house is livable, I’ll find a job too. We’ll make enough to keep moving if we ever need to.”

She turned to Rowen with a playful smile. “And once we’re settled, we’ll find you a school. A human one. We’ll blend in like the perfect little family.”

Rowen frowned slightly, twisting his fingers together. School. The word sounded strange and heavy, but he didn’t argue.

Later that day, they walked together to the edge of town. The streets grew quieter the farther they went, the bustle of the city thinning into silence. When they reached the house, Rowen wrinkled his nose.

The place looked tired—its once-white siding faded gray, the porch sagging, windows cracked or broken. The chimney leaned awkwardly, bricks missing, and the front steps creaked dangerously when Raven set a boot on them.

Inside, the smell hit first: old smoke clinging to the walls, damp wood swollen with rot, and the sour tang of mold where rain had leaked through the broken roof. Dust stirred in the cold air, making Rowen sneeze.

Liora wrinkled her nose, though her expression softened quickly. “Well… it has potential.” She raised her hands, murmured a spell under her breath, and a gentle golden light spilled from her palms, pushing back the shadows.

The glow revealed warped floorboards, a hole where part of the ceiling had collapsed, and wallpaper peeling like dried bark. The wind whistled faintly through a shattered window, carrying the smell of damp leaves from outside.

Raven’s grin was unshaken. “It’s not so bad. I’ve seen worse.”

Liora raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never fixed a house before.”

“Maybe not,” Raven said with a smirk, “but I can learn.”

She muttered something under her breath, though a smile tugged at her lips as she turned away.

They explored the rooms together. In the small kitchen, a rusted sink dripped steadily into a cracked basin, while the cupboards smelled faintly of mouse nests. The living room still had a stone hearth, though the chimney above it was split and leaking daylight. Upstairs, two bedrooms stood mostly intact—bare floors, dust-covered corners, but space enough for beds and trunks.

Rowen lingered in the largest room, running his fingers over the windowsill where paint flaked away under his touch. For the first time, he tried to imagine this house alive—with curtains fluttering, laughter echoing, the smell of warm food drifting from the kitchen. The thought left a small ache in his chest.

The next morning, they returned armed with supplies. Raven hauled lumber and tools, Liora carried buckets and herbs for cleansing, and Rowen clutched a paintbrush nearly as long as his arm.

Raven tore out the rotten boards, sweat streaking his brow as he hammered new planks into place. Liora worked her magic on the chimney, muttering spells to fuse stone back together while Rowen cleaned with wide, determined strokes, scrubbing the dust until his arms ached.

The smell of damp mold slowly gave way to fresh sawdust, lemon oil from Liora’s cleaning potions, and the faint sweetness of paint Rowen spread across the walls. Light streamed in through newly patched windows, warming the space that had once felt hollow.

By midday, Rowen paused, leaning against the wall, and looked at Raven. “Did you and my dad ever build things together?” he asked quietly.

Raven glanced up, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. His expression softened. “Not houses. But once, when we were kids, we tried to build a raft. Thought we’d sail it down the river behind the training fields.” He chuckled at the memory. “Your father was convinced we’d make it to the sea. We didn’t even make it past the first bend. The whole thing came apart, and we ended up soaked, covered in mud, laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe.”

Rowen’s eyes widened. “He laughed?”

“Louder than anyone,” Raven said fondly. “He always laughed when things went wrong, like it was better to fall together than succeed alone.”

Rowen smiled faintly, tucking the story away like a treasure.

By evening, the house looked alive again. The hearth glowed with fire, the floors were solid underfoot, and the walls bore fresh paint that smelled faintly of pine and rain.

Dinner was simple: roasted chicken from the market, potatoes baked in the coals, and a loaf of bread Liora had managed to find. The aroma filled the newly warm kitchen, rich and comforting. They ate together at the scarred old table Raven had repaired, laughter breaking the silence for the first time in weeks.

Rowen listened to Raven and Liora tease one another—the way she nudged him with her foot under the table, the way his eyes softened every time she laughed. For a little while, the ache inside him eased.

Just as they were clearing the plates, a knock rattled the door. All three froze, the warmth of the evening collapsing into sharp tension. Raven rose first, jaw tight, though he relaxed when a familiar scent drifted in.

He opened the door to find the old man he’d spoken to days ago, Mr. Jones, standing with a boy at his side. The man’s eyes widened at the sight of the repaired house.

“Well, I’ll be,” he said, whistling low. “You fixed it in a day. Impressive.”

“Thank you, sir,” Raven said. “This is my wife, Liora, and our son, Rowen.”

Liora smiled politely. Rowen ducked his head shyly.

Mr. Jones nodded. “I’m Jim, but most folks just call me Jones. This here’s my son, Marvin. He’s the one needing help with the construction work.”

Marvin, a lanky boy with wide eyes, gave a small wave. “Thanks for taking the job, sir. It’s hard finding help in this town.”

“We’re glad to,” Raven replied.

After a few pleasantries, the visitors left. Raven closed the door slowly, exchanging a glance with Liora.

“There aren’t many people here,” she murmured.

“No,” Raven agreed. His hand brushed hers, warm and protective. “And we’ll need to find out why.”

Rowen watched them, Fenrir’s voice curling through his thoughts once more. They will protect you. You are not alone.

For the first time in a long while, Rowen believed it.