CHAPTER 30
The wedding had been grand, the halls of Valla filled with music and laughter, yet Prince Alistair felt hollow. He had not seen Elias in weeks, and the absence was a weight he could not shake. Even as he stood beside Jasmine, offering polite smiles to nobles congratulating him, his mind drifted elsewhere.
Then, amidst the celebration, a maid discreetly approached him, slipping a folded piece of parchment into his hand before vanishing into the crowd. He knew that writing instantly-Elias.
A strange unease settled in his chest as he unfolded it.
"Meet me where the sky meets the stone. If you do not come, it will not matter."
----
He found Elias standing at the edge of the castle wall, wind pulling at his dark hair, his boots barely clinging to the ledge. The sight struck him like a blade.
"Elias!" Alistair's voice cut through the night.
Elias turned his head slightly, a faint smile on his lips. "You came."
Alistair didn't waste a second-he strode forward, gripping Elias by the waist and yanking him back onto solid ground. He shoved him against the stone wall, his breaths ragged, fury and fear warring within him.
The cold wind lashed against them as Alistair kept Elias pressed against the stone wall, his grip firm yet trembling. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, anger laced with something far more dangerous-fear.
Elias' lips curled into a weak smile, but his eyes held nothing but pain. "I left everything for you."
Alistair stiffened.
Elias let out a bitter chuckle. "My family. My inheritance. My name. I turned my back on all of it-for you." His voice cracked, but he kept going. "And still, it wasn't enough, was it?"
Alistair's jaw clenched, unable to find words.
Elias swallowed hard before whispering, "I even became a knight for you."
That made Alistair's breath hitch.
Elias' smile didn't reach his eyes. "I never wanted to be a knight. You know that. But I did it anyway. To be close to you. " His fingers curled into Alistair's tunic. "And now, you pretend as if I never mattered."
Alistair's hands tightened around Elias' shoulders, but he couldn't push him away.
Elias suddenly surged forward, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. It was raw, filled with frustration and longing. For a moment, Alistair let himself fall into it, fingers tangling in Elias' hair. But then-
A sound. A sharp thud.
Alistair pulled away instantly, head snapping toward the shadows. His instincts flared as he barked, "Show yourself!"
A figure stepped into the dim light.
Adam.
His posture was tense, his expression unreadable, but his eyes flickered with something-understanding, perhaps. Resignation.
Adam lowered his gaze and bowed quickly. "I saw nothing, my prince." His voice was quiet but steady.
Alistair studied him for a long moment before giving a single nod. Adam hesitated, then turned on his heel and disappeared into the night.
Silence settled between them again.
Alistair knelt beside Elias, his fingers threading through the dark strands of his hair. He tilted Elias' face up, forcing him to meet his gaze. "You have to promise me you'll never do that again."
Elias exhaled shakily. "Alistair-"
"Promise me, Elias."
For a long moment, Elias said nothing. Then, finally, he gave a small nod.
Alistair sighed, pressing one last lingering kiss against his forehead. "I have to go back."
Elias watched him go, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smile.
He knew this was wrong. He knew it was cruel.
But he also knew it worked.
Alistair was his, even if he had to pull him back by force.
---
Back At The Grand Hall
The grand hall was ablaze with candlelight, the golden glow casting soft flickers over the polished stone floors and the lavish banners of House Valois. Laughter and music swelled through the air, mingling with the scent of wine and roasted meats as nobles raised their cups in cheer.
Prince Alistair entered quietly, smoothing the front of his ceremonial tunic as though to steady himself. His heart still pounded from what had just transpired, but he forced his expression into one of ease. He had done this a thousand times before-burying one truth beneath another, wearing a mask so finely honed that even he sometimes forgot what lay beneath.
Jasmine was already waiting for him.
She stood near the high table, her dark hair swept into an elegant braid, her silk gown flowing like river water as she turned toward him. A slow smile crossed her lips, but her eyes were sharp, keenly observant.
"You were gone for a while," she murmured as he reached her side.
Alistair took a goblet from a passing servant, feigning a casual sip. "I needed air."
Jasmine arched a brow. "Of course," she mused, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. Then, as if by instinct, her gaze flickered across the room.
And there-standing amidst the knights, half-hidden by the shadows of the stone pillars-was Elias.
Her fingers tightened subtly around the stem of her goblet.
She turned back to Alistair, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Then, ever so slowly-she smirked.
Alistair said nothing.
Instead, he turned as King Mathias rose from his seat, raising his cup high. The hall quieted instantly.
"Tonight, we honor my son, Prince Alistair, and his bride, Lady Jasmine," Mathias declared, his deep voice carrying across the chamber. "May their union bring strength to Valla, and may they find happiness in each other." A murmur of agreement swept through the crowd as cups lifted in response.
But then, the king continued, "And in a few weeks' time, we shall gather once more for another joyous occasion." He smiled, his gaze settling on his daughter. "The sixteenth birthday of my beloved daughter, Princess Alissa."
Another cheer erupted, though it was clear that many had not expected the announcement. Sixteen was a significant age, marking the transition from childhood to true standing within noble society. It would be more than a mere celebration-it would be a declaration.
Amidst the applause, Adam remained still.
Seated further down the hall, his fingers curled into his palm as his mind reeled from what he had witnessed earlier. His gaze drifted to Alistair, who stood at the center of the celebration, his expression unreadable.
Adam swallowed hard. He had never imagined... had never even thought-
His mind kept replaying the moment-the desperate way Elias had clung to Alistair, the way Alistair had held him back. The way their lips had met, not in secrecy or accident, but in something far deeper.
A truth he was never meant to see.
Alistair's eyes flicked across the room then, and for the briefest second, they locked onto Adam's.
Adam quickly looked away.
But the shock remained.
------
Aethelgar
The great halls of Aethelgar were steeped in cold silence, the only sound the distant crackle of torches flickering against towering stone walls. The throne room, vast and imposing, was empty but for the lone figure seated upon the high seat of iron and gold.
King Tommen sat with his elbow on the armrest, fingers pressed against his temple, his mind adrift in thought. Shadows danced across his tired face, the weight of a kingdom pressing upon his shoulders. How long had it been since he had slept without the weight of nightmares?
Before him, a messenger stood stiffly, awaiting his command. The young man's face was pale, his breath uneven-as if he had delivered something far graver than a simple report.
Tommen exhaled sharply, shifting his gaze. "Is there more?"
The messenger hesitated. "Only whispers, Your Grace."
Tommen leaned forward. "Then speak them."
"A group of riders came from the west-mercenaries, by the look of them. They sought no audience, but the captain at the gate swears they bore the crest of Lord Malrik."
At that, Tommen's grip on the armrest tightened. Malrik again. The man's greed had no bounds, yet Tommen had tolerated it-for his own sins were bound to the lord like a chain that could never be broken.
The messenger, sensing the tension, bowed low. "Shall we act, Your Grace?"
Tommen was silent for a long moment. Then, with a slow breath, he said, "No. Let Malrik play his games-for now."
The boy nodded and retreated quickly, leaving the king alone once more.
A gust of wind swept through the chamber as a hidden door in the side of the room creaked open. A figure stepped forward-Prince Hosea.
Dressed in black, the young prince moved with quiet grace, his sharp blue eyes fixed upon his father. "You let him do as he pleases," Hosea said, voice calm yet cutting. "Even now."
Tommen exhaled, but he did not turn to face his son. "It is not as simple as you believe."
Hosea scoffed. "No, I suppose it isn't." He stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back. "You play a dangerous game, Father. Aethelgar may be strong, but you allow a snake to coil around its heart."
Tommen finally looked at him. "And what would you have me do?"
Hosea smiled, though there was no warmth in it. "Cut off its head."
Tommen studied him for a long moment. His son's expression was unreadable, his words carrying a weight beyond his years. For a boy of fifteen, he had learned the art of cruelty all too well.
Or perhaps, Tommen thought grimly, he had simply inherited it.
"Leave these matters to me," the king said at last.
Hosea inclined his head slightly, though his gaze remained sharp. "Of course, Father."
But as he turned to go, Tommen could not shake the feeling that his son was already planning something of his own.
------
The chamber was dimly lit, its corners swallowed by shadow. Prince Hosea stood near the window, the cool night air brushing against his face as he stared at the sprawling city below. Behind him, a figure clad in black lingered, silent yet ever watchful-his shadow guard.
For a while, neither spoke. Then Hosea turned, his sharp blue eyes glinting in the flickering candlelight.
"Malrik has leverage on my father," he stated, his voice calm but edged with curiosity. "Knowing my father, he despises being controlled, yet he allows Malrik to do as he pleases." He paused, crossing his arms. "There must be something between them. A secret."
His shadow guard, face obscured by the darkness, finally spoke. "And you intend to uncover it?"
Hosea let out a soft chuckle, pacing slowly across the room. "This secret must affect something my father holds dear." His steps were measured, his thoughts racing. "He would never allow a man like Malrik to hold power over him unless it was tied to something he could not afford to lose."
Then, suddenly, he stopped. His lips curled into a devilish smile.
"And we all know what King Tommen of House Aragon loves the most." He tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his gaze.
"His throne."
A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the distant sound of the wind howling beyond the palace walls. The shadow guard did not respond, but he did not need to. The look in Hosea's eyes said enough-he would uncover the truth. And when he did, he would use it to his advantage.
The palace halls were quiet at this hour, save for the flickering torches that cast long shadows along the stone walls. The moon hung heavy in the sky, pale and distant, as if unwilling to shine too brightly upon the dark things whispered within these walls.
Queen Esmeralda sat alone in her chamber, draped in a deep crimson gown, her dark brown hair unbound and cascading over her shoulders. She traced the rim of her goblet with a delicate finger, her thoughts consumed by one man-King Tommen.
He had been cold of late, distant in both body and mind. Did he still long for her? Or was he growing weary? The thought unsettled her, made her chest tighten with something that burned like fear-but was not fear. She would not lose him.
A knock at the door shattered her thoughts.
Her body tensed, fingers tightening around the goblet. She knew that knock.
"...Enter."
The door creaked open, and Lord Malrik stepped inside, the dim candlelight stretching his shadow long across the floor. His presence was suffocating, the air turning colder at the sight of him.
He was not an old man, but his years had sharpened him like a blade-hard, ruthless, and unyielding. His dark eyes flickered over her as if assessing her worth, the same way he always did.
"What brings you here, Father," Esmeralda said smoothly, though her grip on the goblet did not loosen.
Malrik closed the door behind him, stepping further in. He did not sit. He never did in her presence-as if to remind her she was beneath him.
"Your patience wears thin," he said, his voice measured. "You forget your place."
A chill ran down her spine. She hated this. Hated him. But she masked it well, tilting her chin up slightly. "You misunderstand me, Father. I seek only what is best for my son."
Malrik scoffed. "Your son." He took another step closer, and though she did not flinch, she felt the weight of his presence. "You speak as if you are a queen in your own right. But let me remind you-you are a queen because I made you one."
Esmeralda's fingers curled against the goblet. She despised when he spoke to her like this. As if she had not bled and clawed her way to where she stood.
"I am aware, Father," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "I have never forgotten."
Malrik studied her for a long moment, his dark gaze unwavering. He had never truly loved her-not as a father should. She was not born of a wife he cherished, but of a whore he had wed out of convenience. His real wife had just died, and he had needed a mother for his sons.
Esmeralda had been nothing more than a burden he could not discard.
And yet, she had survived. She had risen.
"You are fortunate that Tommen still tolerates you," Malrik finally said. "But his patience is not endless. You have bound him to you, but bindings can be cut."
Her heart clenched. No. He was wrong. Tommen was hers. She had given him a son-a true heir. She had stood by him when the weight of his past clawed at him.
"His heart is mine," she whispered, more to herself than to Malrik.
Malrik chuckled darkly. "His heart?" He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You are a fool, Esmeralda. Tommen does not love. He never did-not even his precious Celine."
The name struck like a dagger, and she hated that it still had the power to wound her.
Celine. The dead wife. The woman whose shadow loomed over Esmeralda's marriage like a specter. Tommen never spoke of her, but Esmeralda knew. He still mourned.
And she despised Celine for it.
"I did not come all the way here to speak of ghosts," Malrik said coldly, regaining his composure. "We have more pressing matters. Hosea" He paused.
"He is an obstacle," Malrik continued. His gaze darkened. "And obstacles must be removed."
Esmeralda inhaled slowly, then exhaled.
She would not fail. She could not fail. Tommen was hers. His throne would belong to her son.
And if Hosea stood in the way-then Hosea would fall.