An Earned Trust

When they returned, The Quiet Room had never seemed so heavy with silence. The embers in the fireplace glowed low, painting the walls in dim gold, while the faint hum of the aquariums gave the chamber a heartbeat of its own. Gregor put more logs on the fire. Luxa closed the door quickly behind them, sealing away the sounds of the tunnels and the secret company of Redson and his builders.

The moment the latch clicked, Luxa turned to Gregor, and before he could speak she ran into his arms. The suddenness of her embrace nearly made him stumble, but then he felt her fingers tighten around his back, fierce and desperate.

“Gregor,” she whispered, her voice catching with an emotion she rarely allowed herself to show, “I could not have done any of this without you. Since my parents died, I have had no one to stand beside me—not like this, not as an equal, not as a comfort. But you were there. You are here. You have stayed.”

For a moment, Gregor only held her close. The warmth of her cloak, the trembling steadiness of her breath against his chest, pressed into him more deeply than any battle he had fought in the Underland. All the weight of prophecy, of swords and blood, faded into something simpler: the need not to be alone.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Gregor said softly. “I didn’t do anything special. I just… came with you.”

She drew back slightly, enough to meet his eyes. Her gaze shimmered in the half-light, unguarded for once. “That is why I thank you. Others might have argued. Others might have doubted. You did not. You trusted me, even when the truth about Redson seemed impossible. That trust is more than comfort—it is strength.”

Gregor shifted, uncertain how to answer. He had never been comfortable with praise. He looked at her, then finally asked the question that had burned in his mind since the chamber:

“Why did you keep calling me ‘Prince Gregor’? I’m not royalty. I don’t want to be royalty. I just wanted to help…maybe be a peacemaker, if that’s even possible. But a prince? That’s not me. You know that.”

Luxa’s lips curved into a small, tired smile, though her eyes remained serious. She stepped back enough to pace slowly, the folds of her cloak brushing across the stone floor.

“You think of ‘prince’ as a title of crown and throne,” she said. “But in the Underland, it means more. A prince is one who carries not only his own fate, but the fate of others. A prince is one who steps into danger for the sake of his people, even if those people are not of his blood. You have earned trust and have become a true prince because all those who truly know you trust you with their lives. You were called prince long ago by those who saw this in you, though you never claimed it. And I called you ‘Prince Gregor’ because I see it and I feel it.”

Gregor frowned. “But I don’t want a throne. I don’t want people bowing or—”

Luxa stopped him with a lift of her hand. “Nor do I. You mistake me. I do not call you ‘prince ‘ to burden you with crown or council. I also call you ‘prince’ because the work ahead demands more than a warrior, more than even a peacemaker who speaks with words of truth. The citizens and creatures of the Underland need to see you as more, as who you really are in truth, as a ‘prince’. They need a figure to follow, a bridge between themselves and the crown I wear. They need…a prince of peace, someone they know they can trust, as I do.”

The words struck him like the echo of prophecy, though no riddle had been spoken. Gregor shifted his weight, uneasy, but part of him understood. When Ripred had trained him, when he had fought the Bane, when he had stood with Luxa against the endless tide of war—it had not been about fighting alone. It had been about standing for others and fighting for peace.

“But Luxa,” he said after a long pause, “what if I fail? What if I can’t live up to that?”

Her expression softened. She came to him again, laying a hand against his cheek. “Then you will fail as my equal. But you will not fail alone. That is another reason I call you ‘prince’. Not because I need another ruler. Because I need a partner. A partner who is always by my side. Because peace needs more than one voice. Because you have always been more than you believe yourself to be.”

The warmth in her voice stole the air from his chest. For the first time since he had returned to the Underland, Gregor felt something shift inside him—not the old fear of prophecy, but a spark of truly belonging.

He let out a slow breath and gave a half-smile. “Prince Gregor. Doesn’t sound like me. But… maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe it can mean something new. Maybe it can help someone.”

Luxa’s hand lingered a moment longer before she withdrew, her posture regaining its quiet strength. “It will mean what we make it. Together.”

The fire popped softly in the hearth, a small burst of light against the dark. They stood in silence, the weight of their words settling like a promise neither needed to speak again.

At last, Luxa gestured toward the door. “Rest now. Tomorrow we begin not only with Redson, but with the truth of what we are shaping. The Council must not know, not yet. But soon, Prince Gregor, they will.”

Gregor’s heart pounded with both fear and hope. As he followed her out of The Quiet Room, he realized that perhaps being a prince wasn’t about crowns or palaces at all. Perhaps it was about standing where no one else dared, beside someone who refused to give up, beside someone you also trusted.