Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 477. Burdened
For years, he had convinced himself he was simply tired. Overworked. Burdened. Princes often were. Headaches were nothing new.
But now, feeling this… he realized how long he had been drowning without noticing.
He lowered himself further, letting the water cover his chest. The surface rippled faintly, scattering the reflection of the ceiling lantern.
And when Jane's face surfaced again in his mind, it didn't hit him like confusion this time.
It hit like grief.
He closed his eyes.
Her smile when they were young. Her voice calling him by name without fear. The way she used to tug at his sleeve when she wanted him to follow her somewhere. Her tiny hand on his when she was afraid.
Warm memories.
Then the cold ones.
Her scream.
Her tears.
The day he told her to leave.
The day he didn't follow her.
The day he told himself it was mercy.
He felt the crack in his chest widen.
Why had he hated her?
Had he?
Or had he been made to think he did?
The water's surface trembled as his fingers curled into fists beneath it.
He stayed there until the heat started to fade. Then he washed quickly, dried off, and dressed in fresh attire, lighter garments, simple but elegant, suitable for royal breakfast.
He tied his hair back. Took a steadying breath.
Then checked the day's schedule.
Nothing urgent.
No council meetings.
No strategy briefings.
No combat drills.
Just breakfast with the royal family.
He exhaled.
Good.
That was his chance.
He glanced at the journal once more.
"Later," he whispered to it.
Not now.
He stepped out of his chamber into the hallway. The sunlight had strengthened, filling the corridor with a gentle amber glow. Servants bowed as he passed, their footsteps soft against the carpets. He nodded back, careful to maintain the same expression he'd had for years, bored, distant, composed.
Pretend.
He had learned to pretend far too well these past years.
As he approached the main dining hall, the scent reached him first.
Freshly baked bread. Melted butter. A hint of roasted nuts. Light spices curling through the air. The fruity aroma of Pontus morning tea, brewed strong.
His stomach tightened. He hadn't realized how hungry he was.
Two guards opened the carved doors for him. The hinges creaked softly.
The room inside was drenched in sunlight spilling through tall arched windows. The long table was already half-set, plates glinting, silverware polished to mirror shine, pitchers sweating faint droplets of cold water and citrus.
His father sat at the head of the table.
King Darius. Broad shoulders. Stiff posture. Cold eyes staring into his cup as if it had offended him.
Seraphine sat at his right. Already dressed in deep plum silk, hair pinned with jeweled combs, a serene smile on her lips. Too serene. Her eyes flicked up the moment Roric entered.
Jane was seated halfway down the table. Shoulders small. Eyes lowered. Her hair falling slightly over her cheek. She looked up when she sensed movement…
And froze.
Roric's heart lodged itself somewhere between his throat and ribs.
Then his gaze drifted.
Angelus Raizel Moonfall. The King of Euphorion. Sitting casually on the far end of the table, one elbow resting on the chair, eyes half-lidded, as if he wasn't evaluating every breath in the room.
And beside him…
Queen Rose.
Calm. Soft smile. Eyes that held too much knowledge to belong to someone so composed.
Roric inhaled once.
Slow.
He walked to his seat, sat down with the same rigid discipline he always showed.
Pretend.
Seraphine gave him that gentle, poisonous smile. "Roric. Good morning. Did you sleep well? Your tonic arrived late last night. I had it sent to your room."
Roric kept his face perfectly neutral.
"Ah," he said calmly. "I must have been asleep. What a shame."
Angel's eyes flicked toward him briefly. Sharp. Silent.
Rose didn't look at Roric, but he could feel her attention anyway, like warm pressure on cold skin.
He reached for the teapot. Poured himself some. The steam rose, fragrant. The porcelain warmed his fingers.
King Darius grunted. "You look… clearer today."
Seraphine's smile didn't move, but her fingers tightened on her napkin.
Roric forced a small, polite smile.
"I suppose even princes can have a good night sometimes."
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