Page 39

He reaches the floor where King Raelith’s and Queen Maereth’s bedchamber lies, his boots skidding against the floorboards. He does not spare his stepmother a glance, not for one second, as he forces his lingering fear of her to vanish.

But as he raises his arm to approach the heavy wood, his eyes land on his bare fingers. Frustration strikes his chest like a physical blow. Hartwell remains by the corner, near Raelith. His father tracks every single detail of his condition, and exposing these injuries will only place a heavier, unnecessary burden of worry on the old man’s failing health.

Cael tries to pull the long sleeves of his embroidered black silk tunic down to wrap around his palms, attempting to tuck his raw knuckles into the dark fabric, but the material is too fitted to hide the dark bruising underneath. He curls his fingers into tight fists, hiding the wounds inside his palms as best as he can.

Cael brings his folded, bleeding fingers and knuckles forward, knocking on the door twice. Weak.

It does not take long for Hartwell to answer, pulling the door open. His eyes widen at the disheveled sight of Cael, but he steps aside without questioning his presence or his appearance.

King Raelith is seated against the headboard of the bed, a velvet blanket around him, thicker than the three blankets Elara keeps, to keep him extra warm. His beard is uncut, long and thick and grayer. His once neat hair is slowly reaching to his shoulders. The heaviness beneath his eyes has grown worse.

“My son,” King Raelith smiles.

Cael does not move. He blinks and swallows hard, silently asking if this is really happening. King Raelith has been injured and sick multiple times from his sacrifices, fighting in battles, threats, and simple colds, but this is the worst he has ever looked, and Cael does not know how to process it. If something happens to his father, it would be as though Cael was losing a part of himself.

“Where were you? I have not seen you,” King Raelith says with a rather sad expression. “I had been waiting for you.”

Forcing a step forward, and then another, Cael slowly sits by the edge of the bed. Queen Maereth is not here, and he is incredibly relieved by that. His father extends his trembling hand forward over Cael’s bleeding one, his thumb caressing the scarred knuckle.

The soft pressure of his father’s thumb moving over the raw, split skin forces Cael to release his breath in a quiet shudder. He had tried so hard to tuck the wounds away, to lock his hands beneath his sleeves, but the King’s watchful gaze always breaks through his defenses. Watching his father study the crimson stains and the dark soot still trapped under his fingernails makes Cael feels exposed, his independent barrier failing in the presence of the one person who truly understands his silence.

“You are hurt,” King Raelith states with concern. “Shall I have one of the nurses heal you?”

Cael shakes his head, bringing his other hand over his father’s. Much as he tries to stop it, his bottom lip trembles.

King Raelith smiles warmly. “You must eat and rest well. I will be unable to attend to my duties for a few days, so I rely on you, Kaera, and Elara to help me. I beg of you.”

Leaving his father’s hands, Cael signs. Do not beg. We will do it. Though, I cannot allow you to fulfill your duties any further.

“What do you mean, son? I am the King of Riverath. It is not simple for me to abandon⁠—”

Please, Cael signs, his hands trembling. You are growing older and weaker quickly. It is unhealthy for you. Rely on us.

His father stills and remains silent before inclining his head, forgoing the stubbornness he usually maintains. His smile returns. “I am happy that you came, Cael. You will have Kaera and Elara by your side at all times. You are not alone, and you never will be.”

Cael longs sign many words. Words like it will be different without you or you will not be there to reassure us of your state. Forcing them back, he stands and nods. Keeping his head down and his eyes fixed upon his boots, he exits the bedchamber without looking back.

The click of the door sealing behind him cuts off the faint warmth of his father’s chamber, leaving Cael stranded in the sudden, silent expanse of the corridor. His boots slow, dragging against the floorboards until his weight gives way, his shoulders slumping as the rigid posture of a protective prince fractures.

Now that he is out of his father’s sight, the physical reality of his day catches up to him. He slowly lifts his bare hands, tracking the crimson cuts and dark granary soot lining his skin. The throbbing ache finally settles deep into his bones, matching the heavy pressure pressing down upon his chest.

The murmur of cloth moving against stone sounds behind him. Hartwell steps into view, closing the heavy bedchamber door quietly to grant them absolute privacy.

“Your Highness,” Hartwell says softly, his eyes dropping to Cael’s exposed, bleeding knuckles before looking up with a weary gentleness. “I am glad you came. His Majesty needed to see you. He had been avoiding me and the care required for his health, refusing until he saw all three of you.”

Cael offers a tired nod, his chest rising and falling with a slow breath. Just when he thought his father had stopped being stubborn, he was proven wrong.

Hartwell steps closer, his voice dropping into a serious tone. “A dangerous dispute broke out in the kitchens over the morning shipment of rations. Gavin accused Iris’s squad of negligence, and the argument nearly turned violent before the staff.”

Cael’s jaw tightens, his body bracing for the weight of chaos.

“Princess Kaera intervened,” Hartwell continues, a hint of genuine awe filtering through his words. “But it was Her Highness, Elara, who finished the matter. She stepped directly into the line of fire. She used her own background to expose the vanguard’s mistakes, silencing Gavin in front of the entire kitchen to protect your sister’s authority.”

Cael’s breath catches in his throat as the realization hits his chest like a physical blow. The quiet, guarded wife who had turned her back on him in the garden, the woman he believed was repulsed by his vulnerable frame, was down there risking her own peace to protect his sister and his home.

Hartwell clears his throat. “You do not wish to involve Her Highnesses a lot, and I understand your protectiveness, Your Highness. Though they have their own strengths and voices too.” A pause. “Princess Elara is finding her confidence, it seems, from what Princess Kaera stated when both of them came here a moment ago. His Majesty is entrusting all of you.”

A racing of his heartbeat echoes through his ears as he looks down at his bare hands. He senses a familiar presence walking along the lower floor. Looking over, Cael finds Elara making her way to the garden outside, despite her thin dress and the trembling cold.