Alistair's quill scratched against the thick parchment of the registry, the ink dark and decisive as he rewrote Evelyne's name where it had once been erased.
The act seemed almost ceremonial, a silent statement of authority, of finality.
Camden sat on a cushioned chair across from the king's massive mahogany desk, legs swinging idly as he watched the man work. He felt no real attachment to the Eldenhart name—it was just words on paper, a name that had no weight in the life he had lived so far.
And then, just as Alistair's quill hovered over the book once more, Camden tensed.
"I will write your name now," the king declared.
Camden furrowed his brows. "It's Camden Wilder."
The air in the study shifted. Louise's sharp gaze flickered with something amused, while Alistair merely exhaled through his nose.
"No," the king said simply, dipping his quill in ink again. "You are my son. You will bear my name."
"I have a name already," Camden shot back. "Wilder."
Alistair's fingers tightened around the quill, his jaw ticking in irritation. "You are an Eldenhart. A prince of this kingdom."
Camden held his ground, arms crossed as he leaned back in the chair. "I like Wilder. It's my mom's name."
"Your mother's maiden name," Alistair corrected, as if that made any difference. "A name of the past."
Camden shrugged. "It's my name."
The room held its breath. Alistair tapped the quill against the edge of the inkwell, a slow, rhythmic sound filling the silence. He then leaned forward, his icy blue eyes locking onto Camden's with something almost unreadable.
"You are stubborn," he murmured. "That much is clear."
With that, he dipped the quill once more and wrote—Camden Wilder Eldenhart.
Camden scowled at the added surname but knew when to pick his battles. It wasn't a full loss. At least he'd kept Wilder in there.
Evelyne exhaled beside him, but her posture remained stiff, her fingers clutching her skirts. Camden could feel the tension rolling off her in waves, and when Alistair finally put the quill down, her grip tightened further.
The king's gaze shifted to her. "Now… tell me, Evelyne." His voice was softer, almost contemplative. "Why did you leave?"
The question weighed heavy in the room. Louise let out a small chuckle, clearly entertained by the moment, while Evelyne's lips pressed together into a firm line.
"I left to protect my son."
Silence.
Alistair's expression darkened. "From what?"
Evelyne met his gaze without hesitation. "From the inevitable war your court would have waged over him."
At that, Louise's chuckle turned into a full, amused laugh. "Oh, is that what you thought would happen?" she mused, resting her chin in her palm. "How dramatic."
Evelyne ignored her, her voice unwavering. "Camden and—" she hesitated, inhaling sharply before continuing, "—the other boy were born on the same day. No matter how you tried to justify it, there would have been factions forming, nobles whispering in dark corners, each side vying for their chosen prince."
Alistair's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Evelyne leaned forward, her voice sharpening. "I would not let my son be a pawn in a war of succession."
Camden blinked. Wait a second…
The other boy?
His mother had never mentioned anything about another prince.
Alistair exhaled through his nose, leaning back in his chair, his fingers pressing against the desk in thought. "So, you ran."
"Yes."
"Like a coward."
Evelyne's expression didn't even flicker. "Like a mother."
That silenced the room more effectively than anything else.
Camden glanced between them, chewing the inside of his cheek. His mom had always been strong—he knew that—but this was something else. She wasn't just standing her ground; she was refusing to be made into the villain of this story.
Alistair, however, still looked displeased. His fingers drummed against the desk once before he let out a slow breath.
"And the other reason?" he pressed.
Camden watched as her hands tightened on the folds of her dress, her nails almost digging into the fabric. Then, she lifted her chin and spoke.
"Because you were no longer the man I married."
Louise smirked, leaning back in her seat.
Evelyne continued, her voice eerily calm. "You were once kind, Alistair. Once good. But over time, you became… something else. Someone I no longer recognized."
Alistair's expression remained unreadable, his fingers pausing their drumming.
"And the final straw," Evelyne continued, her voice unwavering, "was when you took another wife."
At that, Louise laughed.
A full, rich laugh that echoed off the walls of the study, dripping with amusement. Camden frowned, turning his gaze toward her.
Louise tilted her head, her white braid slipping over her shoulder as she regarded Evelyne with something bordering on delight. "Oh, Evelyne," she purred. "You always did take things so personally."
Evelyne didn't so much as glance at her.
Camden, on the other hand, furrowed his brows. She was enjoying this.
Alistair finally stood from his chair, the weight of the conversation settling into his shoulders. He exhaled slowly, his icy blue gaze flickering between Evelyne and Camden before settling on his son.
"You are here now," he said finally. "That is what matters."
Camden raised a brow. "Is it?"
=.=.=
=.=
=
The grand square of Eldoria buzzed with restless anticipation. From the towering stone walls of the palace to the sprawling courtyard below, a sea of citizens had gathered, their eager faces turned toward the grand balcony overlooking the kingdom.
Nobles stood at the forefront, clad in their rich silks and embroidered finery, while common folk crowded behind, some balancing on crates and barrels to get a better view.
The air was thick with murmurs, speculation running wild. Why had the king called for such an important announcement? What could possibly warrant the entire kingdom's attention?
Then, at long last, the grand doors of the palace opened, and the king emerged.
Alistair Eldenhart, draped in his regal black and gold robes, stepped forward with an air of authority that silenced the restless crowd instantly. His presence alone commanded attention.
Behind him, a line of royal guards stood at attention, their silver armor gleaming in the morning sun.
Beside him, dressed in elegant navy blue with golden accents, was Evelyne. A hush fell over the crowd. The former queen had returned.
Some of the older citizens gasped audibly, their hands flying to their mouths. Others exchanged glances of disbelief. Evelyne had disappeared from the kingdom nearly a decade ago, her name whispered only in rumors and half-told stories.
Many had assumed she was long gone, possibly even dead.
Yet here she was.
She held her head high, her expression unreadable, though her grip on the folds of her gown betrayed a quiet tension. Camden, standing just slightly behind her, caught the movement and resisted the urge to sigh.
His mother had always been poised, but he could tell this moment weighed on her.
Alistair raised a hand, and the murmurs died down completely.
"My people," he began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the square. "Today, I bring you news of great importance. After many years, our queen—your queen—has returned to Eldoria."
A wave of stunned silence swept through the crowd, followed by a mixture of reactions. Some gasped. Others cheered. Some, particularly the noblewomen who had aligned themselves with Louise, exchanged sour glances.
Louise herself stood at the side of the balcony, her icy blue eyes narrowed slightly.
"Queen Evelyne shall resume her rightful place by my side, tending to the affairs of the kingdom as she once did," Alistair continued, his tone leaving no room for debate.
Camden didn't miss the way Louise's fingers curled ever so slightly into the armrest of her chair.
The king's gaze then swept across the crowd, his next words slow and deliberate.
"But that is not all."
The anticipation thickened, the citizens waiting with bated breath.
Alistair turned slightly, gesturing toward Camden.
"Along with our queen, I present to you—our son. The crown prince of Eldoria."
The weight of every single gaze shifted.
Camden inhaled deeply as he took a step forward, now fully visible to the kingdom. The reaction was immediate. Gasps and whispers.
The nobles exchanged frantic looks. The common folk, wide-eyed, took in the sight of the boy who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He didn't look like the king—his features were sharper, a little more rugged, and his skin held the warmth of his mother's lineage.
But his posture, the way he stood unflinching under their scrutiny, held something distinctly royal.
And then there was Benedict.
Camden's gaze flickered toward him.
The boy stood next to Louise, his back straight, his arms clasped behind him in perfect discipline.
White hair, pale like his mother's, framed his face neatly. His features were refined, aristocratic, his expression neutral but his icy blue eyes sharp—assessing Camden the same way Camden was assessing him.
Camden had ofcourse had siblings before. Just never a twin brother. And now, here he was, standing in front of his so-called twin by date.
Benedict's gaze didn't waver. He didn't look surprised, nor did he look pleased. He simply observed.
Louise, on the other hand, had a perfectly poised smile on her lips, but Camden could tell she was seething on the inside.
Alistair continued, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "He will take his rightful place as the heir to the throne."
That sent the crowd into an uproar. People were no longer whispering—they were talking, debating, questioning.
"What does this mean for Prince Benedict?"
"He has a brother? A crown prince?"
"He looks nothing like the king…"
Louise stood from her seat, her expression carefully composed. "My king," she said smoothly, her voice loud enough to carry. "What of Benedict?"
The king turned his gaze to his second wife.
"The line of succession has always been clear," he said, his tone even. "The eldest son of the king is to inherit the throne."
The words rang like a gong through the square. Benedict's jaw tensed ever so slightly. Louise, for the first time, looked genuinely displeased.
Camden sighed internally. Oh boy.
This was going to be a problem.
It was one thing to be brought into royal life suddenly. It was another to be placed directly in opposition to someone who had spent their entire life being raised as the future king.
He didn't want the throne. He really didn't. But the moment Alistair had spoken those words, Camden knew—Benedict was going to see him as a threat.
...
[Later]
Dinner in the royal palace was an entirely different affair from what I was used to.
Back in the village, meals were loud, lively things. The fishermen and hunters would exchange stories over bowls of hearty stew, Paul would scold me for eating too fast while secretly giving me extra portions, and Ruby would chatter endlessly about whatever ridiculous thing happened in the bakery that day.
Here?
The dining hall was massive, grand enough to fit an entire village inside. The ceilings were impossibly high, adorned with shimmering chandeliers. Long, golden candleholders lined the walls, their flames casting a soft glow over the polished marble floors.
The dining table was absurdly long, made of dark mahogany, with embroidered placemats and more utensils than anyone could possibly need.
And yet, for all its grandeur, it felt... stiff.
Cold.
No one spoke much.
Alistair sat at the head of the table, flipping through documents, barely paying attention to anyone else. Evelyne sat to his left, her expression calm but distant. Louise, sitting opposite my mother, was trying to make conversation, but Evelyne wasn't biting.
I was seated beside my so-called twin, Benedict.
I had decided before coming in that I was going to be civil. I wasn't here to make enemies, especially not with the guy I had just found out existed.
So I figured, why not talk? Maybe we could at least establish some kind of understanding.
Spoiler alert: That didn't go well.
"So, Benedict," I started, picking up a silver fork and absentmindedly twirling it between my fingers. "What do you do for fun?"
Benedict barely spared me a glance. "Fun?" His tone was flat, disinterested. "I don't waste my time on trivialities."
I raised an eyebrow. "Right. No trivialities. So what do you do?"
"I train. I study. I prepare myself for the responsibilities of the throne."
I hummed, stabbing a piece of bread. "Sounds thrilling."
He ignored my sarcasm.
Figured.
I tried again. "Ever gone fishing?"
"No."
"Hunting?"
"No."
"Ever climbed a tree so high you thought you'd touch the sky?"
Benedict turned to me then, his icy blue eyes sharp with disapproval. "Are you a child?"
I blinked at him. "Last I checked, yeah. Eight years old. You?"
"The same as you dimwit," he said with the kind of pride only someone raised in a palace could muster.
"Ah, so mature," I said, nodding sagely. "Bet you know all the best ways to play politics and stab people in the back."
He frowned. "Unlike you, I wasn't raised in some no-name village, rolling around in the mud with peasants."
The words were said so casually, like they weren't meant to be an insult, but I knew better. Evelyne didn't react. She continued sipping her wine like she hadn't even heard him.
I, on the other hand, wasn't nearly as composed.
"Well," I said, leaning in slightly, "at least in my no-name village, people were real. They weren't raised in a golden cage, spoon-fed fancy words and fake smiles. You ever actually spoken to a commoner, Benny?"
His eye twitched. "Don't call me that."
"Why? You don't like nicknames?"
"I don't like you."
I let out a low whistle. "Wow. You really don't hold back, huh?"
Alistair finally looked up from his papers, pinning Benedict with a glare so sharp it could have sliced steel.
Benedict stiffened. He didn't say anything, but I could practically feel his pride shrinking under the weight of his father's silent disappointment.
The tension at the table was thick, but before it could stretch any further, the doors opened, and servants swept into the room carrying trays of food.
One of them, a woman with neatly tied brown hair, reached for the king's documents, carefully stacking them to the side.
Alistair gave one last hard look at Benedict before sighing and setting his papers down completely, finally acknowledging the meal.
The dishes were laid out in precise order—roasted meats, fresh bread, an array of vegetables, all arranged with such perfect symmetry that it almost looked too nice to eat.
Almost.
I took a bite and immediately frowned. This… tasted like nothing. I chewed slowly, trying to process the crime against food happening in my mouth.
I turned to my mother.
"Is it just me, or is this kind of… bland?"
Evelyne didn't react, but I swore I saw the corners of her mouth twitch in amusement. Benedict, however, scoffed. "Of course you wouldn't appreciate fine cuisine."
I blinked at him. "Fine cuisine? Benny, I've eaten dry bread that had more flavour than this."
Benedict looked genuinely offended, like I had just spat on the entire culinary history of the kingdom. "You have no sense of refinement."
"And you have no sense of humor."
He huffed, stabbing his fork into his food like it had personally insulted him. I, on the other hand, just shrugged and continued eating. Bland food was still food, I guess.
Louise, who had been silent for most of this exchange, finally spoke up, her voice smooth and sharp.
"I imagine the tastes of a village boy would be quite unrefined," she said, delicately cutting into her meat. "But in time, you'll learn to appreciate the finer things, dear."
I met her gaze. She was smiling, but her eyes weren't. I gave her my best innocent look. "Wow, thanks, stepmother."
Her smile faltered ever so slightly.
Alistair, looking like he was already exhausted with the lot of us, ran a hand down his face. "Can we eat without another argument?"
I grinned. "Oh, I'm eating. Just slowly, so my taste buds don't get depressed."
Benedict exhaled sharply, like he couldn't believe he was related to me. I couldn't believe it either. The rest of dinner was mostly quiet. Benedict clearly wanted to say more, but under Alistair's watchful gaze, he held his tongue.
Louise carried on with her usual poised demeanor, occasionally making remarks about the palace's upcoming events, pointedly excluding Evelyne from any real conversation.
Evelyne, for her part, remained composed throughout, neither engaging nor reacting to any of the passive-aggressive remarks.
I, on the other hand, spent the rest of dinner doing what I did best—being a nuisance.
At one point, I made a face at one of the servants when Louise wasn't looking. The poor guy nearly dropped a tray.
Benedict muttered something about me being an embarrassment to royalty. I told him I'd rather be an embarrassment than a bore.
Alistair looked like he was seriously contemplating getting up and leaving.
And thus, my first royal dinner ended in a mix of unspoken tension, bland food, and the growing certainty that Benedict and I were never going to get along.
...
...
After dinner most of the household had dispersed, but Alistair, for once, didn't immediately disappear behind his mountain of documents. Instead, he turned his attention to me.
I hadn't expected that.
"Come," he said, gesturing for me to follow him.
I blinked. "Where to?"
"The sitting room."
I glanced at my mother, who gave a small nod, then shrugged and followed the king out of the dining hall.
Louise and Benedict came along too, though they both looked less than pleased about it.
We entered a smaller, more intimate room—not nearly as grand as the throne room but still dripping in luxury. A large fireplace crackled at one end, casting a warm glow over the richly furnished space.
Plush armchairs and couches were arranged neatly, and a grand bookshelf lined the wall, filled with expensive-looking tomes.
Alistair took a seat and motioned for me to do the same. I flopped down onto a cushioned chair with exaggerated comfort, stretching out my legs.
He raised an eyebrow at my lack of royal decorum but let it slide.
Instead, he studied me for a long moment before finally saying, "Tell me about your life in the village."
I tilted my head. "Why?"
"Because," he said, clasping his hands together, "I know nothing about you."
That was fair.
I didn't have anything against him, really. Sure, he had made a mess of my mother's life, but that wasn't my problem, marriage and all that. Louise was my problem. And her little clone, Benedict.
So I figured, why not humor the guy?
I grinned. "Well, Your Majesty, I grew up in a village where people actually talk to each other and don't sit around acting like they've got sticks up their—"
"Ahem."
I cleared my throat. "Right. My bad. What do you want to know?"
Alistair smirked slightly. "What was your day-to-day life like?"
"Depends on the season. If it was winter, we spent a lot of time huddled around the fire, telling stories. My friend Paul—a very old lumberjack—taught me how to cut trees, tie knots, survive in the wild and basically how to be a man.
In the summer, I'd wake up before sunrise to go fishing or help out at the bakery. Sometimes, I'd help with the harvest. Basically, I actually did things."
I stretched out my arms dramatically. "It was great."
Louise scoffed softly, but I ignored her.
Alistair leaned forward slightly. "And what about the people?"
I shrugged. "Good people. Honest. Hardworking. Paul was practically my grandfather. Ruby, the baker's daughter, was the best at sneaking extra pastries. There was old man Gregor, who swore he once wrestled a bear. The fishermen would always complain, even when they had a good catch. And Mom…" I smiled, side-eyeing Louise before continuing.
"Mom was the best. She didn't just sit in a palace, staring at books all day—she actually helped people. She could sew, cook, mend wounds, and outwork any man in the fields. There wasn't a soul in that village who didn't love her."
Louise's eye twitched.
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