chapter six

I didn’t feel fear before. I do now.

When the alarm blared in the dining room, I didn’t jump, never

feeling fear. I was secured, safe in a room full of guards and with Lucas beside me. Now I’m alone. This might be as unexpected as the alarm, but the sight of father sends chills through my spine, true fear spiking inside me.

“You requested to see me, father?”

He sits on a leather chair, his head dipped in a book laying in an empty, shiny mahogany desk.

He doesn’t jump at my voice. He was expecting me. But I wasn’t. And I don’t like surprises.

“Certainly so,” he says as he stands up, closing the book with one swift motion.

“Breakfast was good?” I nod. “Anything special?”

Small talk means there’s something he’s not ready to unveil yet. It makes me even more anxious. I mingle by the door, eyeing his office. It’s clean, immaculately so. Top to bottom dark wood walls, red-carpeted floor. A fireplace to my left, a chandelier in the center, right above the table. A squared window, curtains drawn to shield the sun behind his figure. A few bookshelves on either side of the window, books ordered by titles. A plush sofa in a corner. Simple. To the point. Like I wish this conversation to go.

Gesturing to the chair in front of him he takes a seat, nodding once. His wild eyes focus on my face, taunting. I keep my features still. “I thought we could have a talk. It’s been a while, don’t you think?”

I swallow my uncemented fear as I cross the chamber, leaning a hand on the chair’s back. “You’ve been really busy,” I say. I can’t exactly mop about him not being busy for Lucas. Or about how he’s handling a war now he never chose to unveil for me.

“That is true.” Green eyes trail my movements as I pull the chair back, sitting and refusing to lean. I keep my posture perfect, like a queen’s. The way of carrying myself makes him narrow his eyes at my movements. “You’re on edge recently, Alexandra. Something worrying you?”

I shrug, eyeing the bookshelves. “No, not with me.”

He understands me without saying the words. Laughing softly, he dips his chin. “Ah, I see. Odin cared to explain a little about his... purpose here.”

I level my gaze with his. He won’t hurt me, I know. But his words have the same power.

“For some reason,” I reply, “everyone has taken to keep me in the dark.”

“But it is exactly why you’re here,” he says, his eyebrows shooting up. His knuckles rap softly against the table, barely audible, the only trace of nervousness he chooses to show me. “A future queen can’t be kept in the dark for long.”

I smile begrudgingly. “You didn’t seem to think so before.”

Leaning back on his chair, he crosses his arms, studying me, noticing my cracks. I will him to find none. “Times have changed, as you already know. I didn’t call you here for your remarks, Alexandra. I know you’re lacking information. Information I’m willing to give you. If you don’t behave like a child.” His scolding wears off with the years. By the age of eleven, I grew used to his harsh words and hasty manners.

My mistrust is almost palpable. I close my hands, now clammy with nervous sweat, in my lap. “Why would you?”

He sighs. My short understanding annoys him like it isn’t his fault. I suddenly feel uncomfortable in my green dress. Naked, bare, vulnerable. “Next to me and mother, you’re the only person in this castle who wields true power. And I believe I owe you an apology.”

I can only blink. “An apology?”

He looks everything but sorry. “I’ve been keeping you away, and I’m aware of how it might come to look like. Lucas by my side is a mere necessity. I can assure you whatever he does in the council meetings is useless. What you do in the court teachings and lessons is far more important.”

Whenever he talks, he keeps a steady gaze with you. It makes you feel small compared to him, and he knows it. Part of me thinks he enjoys it. His voice is forever commanding, loud and stern, like a king’s. He keeps the appearances always, façade never breaking. Unless he chooses to. Unless it serves his purpose. Like I sense now.

“Everything I’ve done since I took the crown has been to keep you two safe, despite what you might think. I need you to see that.” One, two, three times his fingers drum on the closed book. I scan the movements, considering, calibrating.

Words have power. His words take the air away from my lungs, making me unable to come up with an appropriate answer quickly enough for him not to notice my hesitation.

“I’ve been told so,” I say. What else is there to say? What’s not to say?

I felt forgotten, Lucas being the only one by his side. Longing and regret alike spread through my system. I knew the last part already, and I understand the hidden meaning behind his words. I can’t be upset at him if what mom told me is true. But for some reason, I refuse to believe her. I might as well ask.

“When you signed the coronation slip... is it... true?” I’m back to a child again. But he doesn’t seem to mind the question, his earlier hostility gone, replaced by soft, unwavering, green eyes. He marks a respectable figure. Tall, lean, strong despite his age. No movement of his passes by as an instinct. Everything he chooses to do is calculated, always for a measure, a hidden meaning.

T

he question might make him uncomfortable, but he doesn’t show it. He saw it coming. “I’m afraid people, words, shape and change the persuasion of things we knew.” He blinks at me, a muscle in his jaw working. With brown hair, barely a tint of gray on it, and a close-shaven face, he looks young, powerful, commanding. He is all those things. And perceptive, too. “But I’m sure you knew already. I don’t mean to pry, but what did Odin say, exactly?”

Father means good, but the small gesture of Odin has not been forgotten. I won’t go talking openly about our private conversation with father. I owe it to him.

“Same as other people before him. We’re facing a war, instead of a rebellion,” I say, dismissing the accusation with a shrug. The words taste wrong in my mouth though, leaving behind a sour taste. Admitting something like it to father is hard enough. I swallow back the fear.

Still, he seems unfazed. He nods. “He isn’t wrong. Throughout the last months, the threats have become stronger. Riots on the main cities, some of the cities being taken by the rebels.”

“And war, dad,” I remind him, my early shyness gone. “War at the battlefront. It is the whole reason Odin’s here.”

Leaning forward he places his elbows on the desk, intertwining his hands and stilling his chin on his knuckles. “Right again. The war has been a thing for as long as I entered power. Before, too. I remember father speaking about it when I was younger. However, it’s nothing compared to what we’re handling now. The balance is in our favor, but barely.”

Why would he tell me all this?

“Millions dying in the battlefront,” I mumble. I know he knows this already, but I say the words hoping to get some reaction from him. I get none. His quietness is unnerving.

“Yes, Alexandra. On both sides. Our soldiers and their people.”

I can only laugh bitterly. “They’re both our people, father. The only difference is one side acknowledges you and the other doesn’t.” A smirk tugs at his lips faintly, but he refuses to let it peek through. “I understand your feelings about the whole ordeal, Alexandra. You’re against it. Would it surprise you to know I am, too?”

I knew this. It is no surprise. But it doesn’t make me be less baffled by the words coming from his lips. “Why’d you sign the accord if you knew?” My voice comes out hoarse, strangled. I need to hold onto the version of the man I know, not the one the others keep making me see. The merciless king posture he takes as soon as we have an audience. At this moment, he is no king, but a man who has seen and gone through so much. To add to the effect, to keep me in check, I notice the missing crown.

My father.

Whatever little information I thought I knew will change with this talk. I know it. I don’t know if I want it to. Realization comes with power. With burden, anger, sorrow. Things I’m not ready to face. Still, my heart needs to listen to the answer, to have something to hold onto in this quicksand I find myself in.

“For you, for your mother. For Lucas.” His voice is steady, but it comes out breathless.

“Wouldn’t you do the same if you had the choice?”

Would I? For Lennon’s life? And Lucas’? Mother’s and Logan’s? I know my answer, and I hate myself for it.

“So, you’re really bounded, then? Nothing you can do?”

His eyes darken slightly. He raises a hand to massage his right temple, the only sign of worry he displays. “If I were to oppose the council, I’d have to abdicate. And the crown would fall to you. I’m stalling this, Alexandra. Even if you were raised to be ruler one day, I’m not blind to know you don’t want this responsibility. Neither did I. Truth is you’ll never be ready for what all of this means, but the longer I keep it on my head the longer the sense of... normalcy lasts for you.”

My mouth opens and closes, but my brain scrambles, trying to connect all the dots, the pieces that never made sense before. “Why?” I ask. “Why tell me this now?”

For the first time in my life, he doesn’t have an answer. Instead, he pulls away as if the question hurt him, his chair scraping across the carpet as he pulls himself to his full height. “Why?” he mutters to himself. “Because if the council doesn’t care to admit it, I will.” He takes a second to speak again, closing his eyes, his hand trailing along the edge of the desk, stopping at the corner. “The monarchy is unstable, Alexandra. Between the threats of the brides and thesupport they’ve gathered from Nalyn, there are two sides of the war. I doubt I am strong enough to witness the end of this.”

No little girl anymore. I stretch my spine as he leans against the edge of the desk, willing myself to push as much bluntness and steel as I dare to my voice. “What exactly does that mean?”

No emotion comes through his wall, giving me a mere shrug. “I’m telling you this in case I don’t wake up one morning, so you know what to do. For your safety, for the realm. For you.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say his tone wavered.

I refuse to believe it.

Like him, I stand up, pushing the chair aside with my hip, chin high, looking at him. I’m not the one to look away this time. “You won’t die, father. Not now, not in ten years. You’re young.” I might be begging, but I’m way past caring. I can’t imagine a world where he isn’t guiding me or my people. A world where all the power belongs to me and I have absolutely no idea how to handle it. My hands would be like a dam controlling an entire ocean.

I’m not ready. The future I’ve dreaded since I have conscience threatens to pull me under, reaching for me. I won’t allow it. I say as much.

“I’m—I’m not ready. We—we have Lanese’s help.” I’m reaching for excuses, anything to keep him from talking about what might happen. From the things we know are possible but hope they won’t happen.

Death.

He looks tired, worn. It’s the first time I notice the dark circles under his eyes or the faint wrinkles threatening to show up sooner or later. His appearance before me flickers as I reminisce the one he showed me on the dance floor. Strength and might seem to have gone away as he stands before me. This might just be another character he adapts to suit his needs, but my heart trembles for the man.

His tongue clicks on the roof of his mouth, weary eyes swaying my way. “I know we do, but a wise king thinks of all the possibilities ahead of time. It’s what I’m doing.”

I shake my head, gripping both hands together to stop them from trembling. My voice can barely hold itself together. “Odin says we’re winning.”

He shrugs again, shoulders drooping. It’s not a sight I want to see—my father defeated. “We are.” Something flashes in his eyes, drawing his face downwards. Sorrow. “But for how long?”

Without a warning, my heart begins to hammer against my chest. Blood rushes to my ears. I say, “What do you mean? We won’t lose, Lennon. You won’t die.” If he died, the decrees wouldn’t be dropped. They’d follow me to the coronation. Unless we fled. Or they killed me first.

Chuckling lowly, he can only wink. “Don’t be so scared, darling. Nothing has happened. Yet. You and I both know, here, whatever life we achieve is always at risk. Yours, mine, Lucas’. We’re looking at the worst-case scenario here, but I’m hoping it doesn’t get to it.”

The attempt at taking away some of the weight to the business at hand by drawing a smile is one I have perfected myself. He doesn’t fool me. His chuckle is a curtain of smoke, keeping the uncertainty and the sadness looming in his eyes at bay. It makes my stomach clench. Struggling, I search for something to say. Words able to cross the gap of a bridge we created since he took the crown, since he became a king, a person I no longer recognize. Slowly, before my eyes, he’s going back to the father I remember. I’d rather see him be a king.

“I don’t blame you,” I whisper, afraid to draw my eyes to him, looking down at my shaky hands instead. “You signed the coronation slip to protect me, and for that, I must thank you. I forgive you.” I hope someday my child will be able to say the words to me. Because I can now see myself signing the accord if it means keeping Lucas and Logan alive. If it means letting a legacy built by my ancestors live. “I’m sorry about the other day on the dance floor, and for believing what other people think of you. I’m truly sorry.”

I say the words, and I mean them. Maybe they’ll become one more truth I recognize someday. But meaning them doesn’t refer to feeling them. My heart still holds a small grudge against him. For the man he became, for what he forced me to be, even if he had little to no choice in the matter. I can’t help it. But I can say the words, hoping they stir away some of the hurt. Hoping they make me feel better.

They do neither of those things.

I can’t redeem him.

Or myself.

Before me, father becomes the king I know, the king I learned to fear. Pulling back his shoulders, raising his head, pasting a smirk on his face like he has no care in the world he says, “Kings and queens are never sorry, darling.” His early apology is wiped with a force that astounds me.

I inhale, sitting back down on the chair. If I continue standing, I fear I might fall. Father remains perched on the edge of the desk. He’s tall, taller than mother and me, and cuts an impressive figure with his black suit and medals glinting under the light of the chandelier. I’m not as terrified as I was before.

“How’s Lucas?” he asks, raising a hand to rub his chin, thoughtful.

The change of topic is not something I’m unused to. He works like this, getting the best out of conversations, cutting to the chase.

“He’s... he’s fine...” I have no idea what his purpose with this new twist is, but I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough. “Why?”

He shrugs, hands falling to the desk, leaning back. “He’s intimidated by me, is my guess. So of course, we spend time together, but it doesn’t mean I share his deepest, darkest secrets.”

Of course not. But, being a king and having every guard and camera at his disposal, I’m sure he knows more than Lucas and I would like.

“No, certainly not,” I echo for lack of a better thing to say.

The dress I wear is tight, pressing against my chest and stomach, trailing for a few feet. Gold at the hems, green at the body. It’s beautiful but ostentatious, not for this occasion of merely speaking with father.

“What about you?”

I’m lucky I know how to keep emotions that might give me away from my voice. I blink at him, smirking. “What about me?”

“What do you think about Odin?”

This is what he wants to know. I almost exhale a sigh of relief. Logan is out of the equation in father’s mind. Safe.

I speak the words he wants me to say. “He’s... impressive, to say the least.”

He raises his eyebrows, chuckling slightly. “Impressive? He’s the youngest commanding general of both Lanese and Alemiss. We’re lucky he agreed to help our cause at all.” I remain silent. I know he’s not done speaking. “I’m sure Lucas told you he’s central.”

My heart sinks, and every atom of oxygen in the room is suddenly unable to enter my lungs. Is he the one father has thought to marry me to? Could it be? I steady my hands in my lap, swearing not to allow him to see any crack of defiance or disagreement.

He could’ve done much worse, I reason. Chosen a man who’s neither wealthy nor a

general of high ranking.

He could’ve chosen Logan.

I immediately hate myself for thinking it.

“Is he...” Words fail me, my voice threatening to crack. I try again. “Is he the one mom and you have thought for me? For the alliance?” I inhale again, but it’s a shallow breath, doing nothing to calm my nerves or nausea I feel at the pit of my stomach. “Is he the one I’ll marry?”

I almost close my eyes waiting for the final blow. Instead of an answer, Lennon laughs. It echoes across the chamber, bouncing against the walls. I try to follow along and muster a laugh of my own. I fail miserably. Does he not know the power a yes or a no could have?

“I didn’t say so,” he replies finally, eyes tracking my face. I’m not dumb not to know he didn’t answer my question. But the dodge of it is just as a viable answer. “Why? Is something else worrying you?”

I gulp. “No.”

A smile reaches his features, crinkling his eyes. “I’m glad you’re a good liar. It’s a skill which, as a monarch, you have to develop or be born with.” He sighs, rubbing a hand to his forehead. “What about Logan Saudade?”

I’d like to say I was ready for this. I knew someday, sooner or later, this conversation would have to happen. It’s not a surprise. I knew what was in store, but it doesn’t mean admitting the truth to father or to anyone else is easier because of my knowledge. Every mask I kept up disappears. I’m sure my face communicates sorrow like I don’t dare to.

“What about him?” He might not know all of it.

It's obvious he’d know some of it. The guards relay every information to him. How many birds flew by, the temperature, who I spend my time with. Who I kiss. But in my veins, a deep, seething rage spreads. I couldn’t even keep that piece of my private life to myself. Something so important was taken from me. Unveiled, stripped against my will. Something sacred was violated, snatched from me. Just for the mere fact I’m the next ruling queen.

“Alexandra, I already know what is happening. But I want to hear you say it. Because you know what comes next.” It’s not in a mean tone. In sharp contrast, it’s too soft, careful. Like he cares. But he can’t. It defies every image and recognition I have of him.

Bile rises in my throat, and I beg my tone to work on its own, for my brain to just spit the words and not to think what they actually mean or how much they hurt. “Whatever we have is nothing, father,” I assure him. The words burn down my throat like acid. “It’s fleeting. I know it.”

Do I?

Pushing himself off the edge of the desk, he paces behind me, making me more nervous, more nauseous. I could throw up in the carpet and no one would say anything, but I’d be accepting defeat before father, and as a queen, I can’t allow it. No trace of weakness should be seen in me. Which is why I’m glad Lennon is pacing behind me rather than seeing every emotion and sorrow flicker across my face.

I’ve trained since I was fourteen to say those words. Four years where Logan and I have known this was coming, but we didn’t know it’d happen so soon. Part of me thinks we even thought we’d be able to dodge the bullet, convince father to keep me unmarried. But it is an impossibility, a weak dream. The words sound wrong. They don’t belong coming from my lips.

“I knew this would happen, Alexandra, which is why I didn’t stop you from it. It’s fine to experience love in a life like this. It makes you forget, even if it’s for a little while. Your mother is my anchor, and I’m lucky we married with no boundaries, to keep no alliance.” His words come quick, fluid. He’s rehearsed them before.

Father and mother married to promote the ‘equality’ of social classes little after the decrees were placed. It seemed to work, pushing back the war for a year or two. In the end, the citizens’ unrest pushed through, and whatever thoughtful stunt Rodrick and father had pulled ended up failing miserably.

Behind me, he heaves a breath. The room’s atmosphere tilts, gleaming in the edge of a needle. “I tried, darling, I really did. But now, with times like these, we’re forced to make choices we wouldn’t take otherwise. I knew this life would be hard not only for me but for you, as well as I know there’s no going back now. Which is why your marriage, despite how much I hate it, will be arranged. To keep alliances, strength, when we need it in our weakness. Yours and Lucas’.” He stops pacing. I hold my breath. The next words come out in a rush, a balloon deflating. “I’m not selling you off.”

Apologetic tone is something I’m not used to hearing. I blink, keeping the tears away even if he can’t see my face. “It’s not your fault,” I whisper, even if part of me feels like it is. Because somehow, he played a role in all of this, how our futures turned out. I’m chained to a crown I don’t want because of him. But then again, wouldn’t the same apply to him and Rodrick?

He keeps on. “If the circumstances were different, I’d be glad for you to choose someone of your own liking to marry. But you’re a woman, and you need a man by you to produce the strong heir to the throne everyone expects. The heir we need to keep our power. And the war is pushing us to extremes as well.”

It’s hard not to roll my eyes at him. I can’t let him see how his confession makes me feel.

How I wish for all this mess to be different. I understand it, his deep concern. He means what he’s saying. It doesn’t make it right, of course, but more genuine, without harm.

Women need men. It is what mother said, it’s true. Remaining in power requires allies, company. But not the marrying kind. I could do fairly well as a queen without a king. It’s my birthright. But then, I need an heir sooner or later. Women need men.

Why can’t it be the other way around?

I knew I’d never get my way when it came to marriage. I knew it. I know it just as well as I identify the truth in his words. I feel rage and confusion, desperation and despair, bubbling up in me, but I let none of those feelings slide. I’ll mourn over my hopes and dreams later.

“I understand, father.”

I count his footsteps as he continues walking up and down, something to calm the nerves he must feel. “I don’t want you to suffer for a broken heart, Alexandra. Not close to the wedding— which I have no idea when it’ll be—and amid this all. It is better for you to cut ties with that boy now. It’ll hurt less.”

I skip over the implication, twisting the conversation away from a wound I thought would heal. From something I’m not ready to do yet, from someone I’m not ready to let go of. “Do you think I’ll learn to... appreciate whoever I... end up marrying?”

To my dismay, he traces his way back to the desk. Instead of sitting across from me, he taps my shoulder, signaling for me to stand up. I do so without much thought, my mental energy drained with the sweat breaking across my forehead. He knows too much.

And he’s right about a lot, too.

Taking my hand, he leads us to the small sofa in the corner of the room to the left of the door, sitting me down before he decides to do the same. Without breaking contact with my skin, he squeezes my hand once, the only reassurance I’ll get from him.

“I think there’s a chance you’ll end up... respecting each other. And if time’s right, maybe even loving each other.”

“A chance,” I echo, dropping my eyes to my lap. Whatever resolve I had before, whatever happiness I felt the last time I was with Logan is wiped away, cleansed by the steady river of father’s bluntness.

He shrugs, tipping his head to the side. “There’s a chance he’ll be jealous of you. You’re a queen born; he’ll be a king made. Made by you. Something like that makes men feel diminished.” His voice lowers to a whisper then, forcing me to look into his wild eyes.

“Which is why I’m stalling this and your mother as much as I can. And, when the time comes, I’ll make sure his heart is as kind as yours. Any man would be lucky to fall at your feet.”

I scoff, ignoring a smile and a spark of hope. None of those feelings are reflected in my eyes. “Odin Abernarthy wouldn’t be jealous of me. You said it yourself, he’s a general born and bred. I doubt he’d even agree to marry me.”

His eye twitches for a nanosecond. He almost winks. “I have never said he’s the chosen one, but you’re too keen on it. Something you’d like to tell me?”

Heat makes its way to my cheeks. I shrug, feigning disinterest. “He’s the only one high enough here for you to marry me to.” The only one worthy of my hand, I think. Except for Logan. Logan will never make it to the cut. “What about Lucas? Who will he marry?”

Every twist of the conversation is made by me, trying to keep the tide turning before the sea swallows me whole. Distracting father from my life, the choices I seem to be so keen on never making.

Like the master of this game that he is, every turn I make he approaches something more, something convenient. He rubs his hands between his knees, thinking. “The princess of Toyar. It’s a wise move, one less country with the intention of invading ours. Princess Chloesa.”

It’s a strategic move. A smart, shrewd plan. We are bordered by two countries and an empire. The ones who have never pledged their alliance to us by paper but have helped us stand through the flood. If they didn’t, their countries would fall like domino, too.

Convenience makes the strongest allies. With the threat of the brides boiling on our side, and Spilten threatening our eastern borders, we need something to help us sleep at night. Toyar’s allegiance.

It makes sense. If it weren’t for Spilten, the empire, either Lanin or Toyar would’ve already invaded our borders. We’re rich in gold and jewels. Our weather is perfect for crops and animals, providing for us. Why wouldn’t they? Lucas’ marriage to one of our borders takes away a threat before it even begins to be one.

“You never told me. He didn’t tell me anything, either.” I bow my head to hide some of the disappointment, but the bitterness is clear in my voice.

He nods. “If I did, mother would want me to pressure you into engaging too. I’d rather not.” I can only breathe an air of relief. “Don’t worry, your brother’s fine. He agreed with this. You’ll find Chloesa isn’t entirely horrible looking.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s not thinking with his head, dad.”

A deep chuckle rumbles off his chest. I smile. “Believe me, I know. But this marriage is a convenience for us all. As soon as I told him if he accepted the betrothal he’d be stalling your wedding, he said yes.”

Oh.

My chest swells, and I try and keep a grin concealed in my features. It sounds just like Lucas. My brother, my protector, my shield. Instead, I force my tone to sound distant.

“Has he made the proposal yet?”

“He will. Next week. But you don’t have to be on it. Neither will I. Your mother and he will travel for it. I can’t leave the country with this... issue.” I nod.

Mother and Lucas are able to travel out of our capital, Denilia, or even the country, while dad and I aren’t. Protection issues, dad says. He’s the king, and I’m the queen-to-be. Still, I wish I could be there to see Lucas propose. Show him my support in hopes he shows me his when my time comes to marry.

Because it will come. Whether I want it or not.

“You understand what I told you, don’t you?”

Father’s voice takes me away from my thoughts of the future I dread. “Huh?”

“You have to be ready to take power any time now.” The words have the power to freeze my blood in my veins. I can only stare at father, eyes wide and skin stinging. I might hyperventilate if it wasn’t for his hand resting on my knee. Mymouth becomes dry, like sandpaper, and I try to swallow.

I’m shaking. It’s all I really know, other than dad’s eyes on me. “I don’t—I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

His hand goes from my knee to my chin, tipping it back so my eyes reach his. I wince at the touch, at his swirling image, distorted by the tears. Shame and pride burn within me, but fear and regret overpower everything else I might feel. “You’re right, Alexandra. You are never really ready to take on power like this. But you have to know it’ll fall on you someday.”

I lick my lips. “I know.”

Dropping my chin, he crosses his arms over his chest, remaining silent. I appreciate the gesture, using the brief seconds to gather myself.

Those words had the power I knew they would. Even stronger. I’m afraid of something I’ve been born to do. Something drilled to my head since I was born. I doubt I’ll ever stop being frightened. I don’t know what the crown can do to you.

What it will do to me.

“You’ll be a good queen, Alexandra.” The sentence is barely a whisper, a caress, but the words do what they’re meant to, placating some of the worry blossoming in my chest.

“I know.”

Lennon sighs, gaze falling from me to the space of the couch in between us. I can almost see his brain working, processing what he’s about to say next. Turn it to something with purpose, crafting each word and each pause.

“You know, I had a sister,” he says finally, eyes never leaving the patterns on the archaic couch.

I pull my lips up in a smile. “Not had, have. Aunt Heaven is still alive.” I feel dumb pointing it out, but I know it’s not all he meant. There’s more.

I don’t want to find out.

He shakes his head, shoulders dropping. My heart beats steadily in my rib cage, but my lungs struggle to breathe. “Not her. My older sister, Joanna.”

I can only limit myself to stare at father. I have never heard the name before. I don’t know what it means to him. What it should mean to me. But it still makes my heart ache. A name wiped from every history book I’ve ever read.

“And?” I prompt. He needs to know I’m still there, waiting for him to continue. He is strong, battling with the painful memory etched in his mind. His shoulders remain low, but his eyes harden, the air in the room warming up.

“She was three years older than me. Looked just like your grandmother, Lorena.” This is a piece of information I had no idea even existed. The realization of it, knowing there’s a person, an aunt I never met, doesn’t shake the ground beneath me like I thought it would. But the pain on father is there, showing itself from the crack of his voice. I will myself not to feel it, but just like water, it soaks me up. It engulfs us both into the power of contained, silent pain. “She died two years before father did. You can’t remember, you were only two.”

It’s like opening a book and not knowing what will happen. I yearn for him, my hands aching to pull him close and provide some comfort. I know better. He’s a king, and kings don’t need support or comfort. They just need to be heard.

“How?” My voice is a whisper, scared of breaking the silence settled around us like a cocoon.

“She was killed by the rebels... as a threat.” It takes him a while to admit it, his eyes never daring to find mine. Tension rolls off him like waves, and his voice lingers on an emotion

I can’t pinpoint. “She’s the reason why Rodrick almost dropped the decree.”

To protect Lennon. And it only got Rodrick killed.

The realization and the words die in my throat. I blink away, chasing the tears. So many things I didn’t know about. Everything is changing around me, as if no matter how much I learn, how many mysteries I unveil, there’s always more being kept from me. Maybe I won’t ever find out the whole truth.

Frustration and desperation claw at my insides, twisting my nerves and making my stomach churn. If he lost two people against the war, confronting the council, how many will I lose?

The brides got to the heiress to the throne, the council got to the king. Everyone was just a pawn, and both were innocent. Whatever hope or idea I had of overruling the council is gone, extinguished like a fire. I can’t do it and risk Lucas.

I can’t do it and live.

Sorrow doesn’t come this time. Not for someone I didn’t know. I wish I could feel something, but dad, always still and now broken before my eyes, is feeling enough for the both of us.

“I’m sorry,” is all I can seem to say. I know whatever ache or rage he’s feeling won’t be diminished by those foolish words, but I can’t keep quiet.

The look in his eyes when he straightens himself enough to look at me is far beyond anything I’ve seen or heard of him. All emotion, even disdain, is wiped from his features.

When he’s in his role as king, there’s disinterest, disdain and blunt arrogance in his face. But now there’s nothing, like a void took his heart and he can’t feel anymore. He seems young again, the wrinkles erased from his bronzed skin. He’s back to the age he was when his older sister was taken away from him.

“The crown has a price on all of us,” he murmurs. “Sometimes we don’t even know we’ve paid it.”

“You never wanted any of this,” I mumble, if only to hear the words aloud. They seem fake, so far away, something I can’t fully rely on. “The decree or the crown... the war.” It feels like admitting defeat, even if it is nothing but the truth. “You did what you had to do.”

Barely, he nods, eyes sweeping from me to the books lining the walls on the opposite side of the room. He wipes at his chin, cleans at the edges of his mouth, frustration leaking through his once-even movements. “I never had a choice.” His hands lower to work in patterns over his pants, drawing circles to distract himself from whatever it is he’s thinking about. “When you were born, Rodrick was so happy. I was too. Of course, back then we didn’t know you were the first heir, that you’d be queen one day. Joanna was still alive. And then, when you were two and she died, it’s when I realized the target I had put on your back. When father died, and you were five, I knew I’d have to sign the damn accord if I wanted to keep you and Lucas alive.”

I swallow. The words cut my throat like sharp razors. I repeat them, if only to listen to my voice, make sure this isn’t a dream of mine. “You did the right thing.”

He’s not listening to me. “Bliss knew what she was getting into when we got married. She was the only one who didn’t see the power I held as a prince; she just saw me. I was twenty when the decrees were placed. She was fifteen. We were young then. We couldn’t care less about the court as long as father had the crown. But I hated it. The thing happening in the future, a crown we all despised would fall on my sister.” He laughs sadly, the echo of a future that never came to be. A worse nightmare took its place. “But this is the weight it has on us all. It will always be.”

There’s nothing I’ve felt more than the truth behind his words. It makes it easier, this weight and ache I always seem to be carrying around. He felt the same way once upon a time. I am not alone.

Taking a deep breath, I challenge myself to lean over to him. I half expect him to push me away. He’d rather not show affection this way. He shows his love with the things he does and the things he says. Tough love. But sometimes we all need an anchor to keep our heads above the water. Logan’s mine, and at this moment, I’m father’s.

I place a hand on his shoulder, taunting his reaction. Shifting in his seat, he pulls himself straight, looping his arm over my shoulders, drawing me in until I lay my head on his chest.

I refuse to breathe for a few seconds. There’s never been a day before where he’s weak and I’m strong. It has always been the other way around. But I see it now, the way the crown broke him, took everything he loved and believed in, everyone he’d kill for, and twisted it.

Power is a horrible thing, especially when you despise it.

He’s heavy and for the first time in my life, he’s allowing me to carry him. The thought is frightening.

If he and I can’t be strong, what will be of us?

The next words come out like silence. Nothing moves, no other sound but his raspy voice. There’s pain in his tone, but also longing. He’s going back in time to avoid whatever is in front of us.

“I remember when you were one. Your first word was Bliss. Your mother’s name. And the time when you were eight and you fell down the stairs chasing Lucas. You chipped your chin.” His voice is a whisper meant just for me. His hand on my arm draws small circles while his chin moves above my head as he speaks.

I feel like I could be drowning.

For all I know, I might be.

“Lucas was crying by the time we reached the infirmary,” I say. The image comes quickly to my mind, like I never forgot it, like I did so yesterday. “I was holding back my tears because I didn’t want him to think it hurt. When you and mom came for us later you laughed at Lucas for crying and at me for falling.”

Lucas feared the blood coming from my wound, and even if he was six, he acted like an adult when he spoke to the nurse. I was there the whole day, chatting with her while she gave us lollipops, waiting for dad to get there.

We didn’t know what was in store for us, what our future held. I want to go back, hold to that innocence a little longer. The infantile idea the world is at my feet waiting for me to take it. I want to go back to late nights and nightmares about monsters under my bed. I would trade anything to be just a child for just one more day.

His grip on me becomes tighter. I don’t want him to let go. “When you were thirteen in your first meeting, how you were so scared to see everyone there knew about you.”

I remember the day clearly. I didn’t think anyone there would know who I was, but when

I walked down the crowd beside dad, they bowed again. Not for him, but for me. Back then I understood little of what it meant, but it was enough. Those people would become my subjects one day, and that day is yet to come.

I was petrified of the way they looked on, stoic, almost like statues, while dad spoke and addressed us all. I wasn’t used to being the center of the attention or the procedures of the meeting, but for some reason, they acted like they belonged. I stood there, still and afraid to move, till the meeting was over.

“I was scared,” I mutter, closing my eyes in the warmth of his embrace.

“And you aren’t now?”

I don’t say anything. I can’t. Otherwise, tears would come out spilling like a river. It’s a bitter taste, remembering everything years after it happened, and learning you took all that innocence for granted.

I’m not scared when he’s with me.

What will happen when he’s gone?

He takes my lack of response as an answer. “No matter what the crown did to me or to your mother, I’m glad I took the chance. I’m glad I got to meet you. You brought me happiness when I couldn’t go on.”

One thought appears in my mind, a dark cloud on a sunny day, and I can’t push it away.

Was I worth it?

“What do you do when it all gets too much?” I ask. God knows I need the answer more now than ever.

He doesn’t even think about it when he says, “You keep pushing on.”

______

hiii! new chapter! this is an insightful chapter to set the mood for what's to come. hope you like it as much as i do. what do you think of the world / lennon as of now? let me know that / if you'd like to be tagged.

thank you for reading

-goldenmel