Page 97

He reaches for the entrance, but the door swings open ahead of his touch. Hartwell stands in the doorway, his eyebrows furrowing and his chest heaving from the weight of what he overheard. He steps out into the corridor, closing the door to muffle the sound. He leans close, his voice dropping into a low whisper.

“I heard her, Your Highness. The guards are already whispering about the new commands. If the queen enforces these decisions, it will break the stability of our entire guard. You must see your father. He woke a few moments ago, asking for you.”

The guard places a firm hand on Cael’s shoulder, a gesture of allegiance, before stepping aside to hold the door open. Cael swallows and steps past him into the dim interior. The heavy scent of dried winter herbs and medicinal tonics fills the space. Across the quarters, King Raelith rests against a pile of pillows, his breathing shallow but his eyes open. He tracks his son’s arrival, a smile meeting his lips. “My son.”

The door closes, shutting Cael and Raelith into the interior alone. His shoulders drop and his knees weaken, but he keeps himself composed. Bringing his hand to his crown, he removes it from his head and grips the cool silver. He makes his way to Raelith’s bed and sinks onto the carpet beside it.

His father extends a trembling, pale hand toward Cael’s fingers, his grip weak but full of a familiar warmth. “What is wrong?” He coughs, clearing his throat.

Cael flinches at the coughs and turns his head away, unable to watch his father’s failing state. He lifts his hands, his symbols jerky and tense. I am tired.

King Raelith lets out a raspy chuckle, the sound catching in his chest. “You used to be tired when you first trained.” His gaze drifts to the ceiling, resting his head against his pillows. “It took me two months to realize the duties of a prince and your expectations weighed on you. You spent nights staring at the border ledgers, ignoring your meals. I could not help but tone the lessons down a little to save your spirit.”

A little? Cael signs, his eyes narrowing to hide the sting of tears.

“I removed one of your tasks in training,” his father smiles, his hold on Cael’s fingers sliding away to remain over his lap on the blanket. His thumb strokes the fabric. “But what is weighing on you, Cael? I know the burden of that silence.”

Cael swallows, avoiding Raelith’s gaze. Nothing. It is hard to address the lords and the council with what is happening. Most of them do not agree with me. He leaves out the critical details, exhaling a breath of guilt.

“They can be difficult. I am sure you recall many heated encounters I have faced with them.” Raelith offers his son a reassuring smile. “You have witnessed their behavior, and how they never hold back their initial intentions. They care about money, chaos that leads to destruction. Wealth and power. All of it is what they want.” A pause. “Not the kingdom’s and everyone’s safety.”

Listening attentively, Cael lays his head on the mattress and closes his eyes for a moment.

“Rest here,” King Raelith lays his hand on Cael’s head. “Tell me before you fall asleep, how are Kaera and Elara? Yesterday, Kaera unexpectedly left and I could not help but feel worried.”

Cael’s body tenses again when he remembers Kaera’s tears. The way she let out the anger and sadness she has been holding back. The way his father reached for his hand first and not theirs together. He sits upright on the floor, looking at Raelith’s pale face and begins to sign. Father, do you have a favorite between me and Kaera?

King Raelith’s eyebrows furrow, snatching his hand back like it got burned. “Absolutely not. That question saddens me.”

That is how Kaera feels, Cael admits. I see why it seems that way. Yesterday, you reached for me first. You talked as if I were the only one in the chamber. Whenever there is chaos or a royal is needed, you reach to me first. Not Kaera. His eyes open. I defended you, but I do not think I can anymore.

“But is that not what you wanted when you became eighteen?” Raelith asks, straightening his position, only to cough.

Cael stands and adjusts his father back against the pillows. He places one hand on the monarch’s back and one on his wrist. The thick sleeves of the robe shift up Raelith’s forearm, revealing thinning pale skin. The king’s breath catches in his throat as if grabbed. Cael brings his hands back and looks away, masking his panic.

King Raelith adjusts his robe. “Tell me, Cael. At eighteen, you wanted Kaera to remain safe, to love her role as a princess where danger does not meet her. You demanded lesser duties for her, parameters that do not involve destruction or the chaos outside our gates. You promised the same for Elara before she arrived here.”

Guilt pierces Cael’s heart, his breathing unstable.

“I tried to convince you that it was wrong, and that it was Kaera’s place to decide. But I understood your intentions,” Raelith’s voice lowers into a murmur, his gaze fixed on his son. “You wish to protect her and Elara from the burdens of the throne. I reassured you that you do not carry this weight alone. Yet you lock your thoughts away from me.”

I cannot have them hurt, Cael signs, the movement of his hands sharp, cutting through the air. I am not losing them.

King Raelith stares at his son, his eyebrows furrowing as he studies the fierce determination in the prince’s eyes. His shoulders relax, and he exhales. “You will not lose them, my son. The guards remain loyal, and the palace walls stand secure. Do not let the defiance of the council trick you into believing our control fractures.”

That is impossible, Father, Cael signs, his head shaking as his gaze drops back to the floor. The court continues to despise my presence. Nobody believes my intentions. I begin to think that I do not believe in my own capability either. He sinks back onto the carpet beside the bed, his posture collapsing. I am a failure. No matter what I commit to, through these past five years of labor and your own commands, they offer nothing but hatred. Why, Father? His fingers start to tremble. What have I done to deserve this hostility? Why did you even choose to have me in the first place?

King Raelith freezes, the raspy breathing in his chest faltering. The lines on his face deepen, a sorrow twisting his features while he stares down at the trembling hands of the prince.

Cael’s features tighten in the stillness of the space. The man leans forward, disregarding the stiffness in his limbs to reach down from the mattress. His pale fingers wrap around Cael’s wrists, halting the erratic movement of his hands.

“Look at me, Cael,” Raelith commands, his voice dropping into a fierce, raw whisper that cracks with emotion. He waits until his son’s eyes meet his own. “Do not ever say that. You are my son, the greatest blessing of my life, and the finest choice this lineage has ever known. You are not a failure. You carry the burden of a kingdom that does not deserve your sacrifice, but you were born to lead them, Cael. My love for you is not bound by a crown or a voice.”

“The lords will learn to listen,” Raelith continues, his grip tightening around his son’s wrists. “They will listen because they must. They will listen to you, respect your intent, because they will realize that a king who rules with labor possesses a strength that loud proclamations can never replicate.”

I ask why the court hates me, and you answer with the throne, Cael signs, his head pressing against the mattress, feeling heavy. I cannot carry a crown, Father. I cannot face the council hall ever again. His hands hitch and jerk, the lines of his symbols breaking as he forces himself to his feet. I get no reprieve. I am a man prior to a prince, and I hold everything inside my chest.

“It is what is expected of our lineage.”