The next morning dawned calm and golden, sunlight spilling across the polished floors of the great dining hall. The long table was already set, dishes steaming with the freshness of breakfast. Servants moved silently, placing bowls of fruits, warm bread, and pitchers of juice with careful hands.
But today, something was different.
When Prince Kaelen entered, he noticed it immediately—his father, the king, had ordered the seat beside him to be prepared.
"Sit here, Kaelen," the king said warmly, gesturing to the chair on his right. His voice was calm, but the subtle authority in his tone left no room for protest.
Kaelen obeyed silently, sliding into the seat, though he felt Serene's eyes flicker toward him. She smiled politely, masking her disappointment, but her fingers twisted lightly in her lap under the tablecloth.
The king noticed, but said nothing. His only intention was clear—to guard his son's heart, to remind Serene that her place was no longer at Kaelen's side.
Kaelen sat straight, hands folded, though his mind wandered. He hadn't seen Ael yet. A subtle ache stirred within him. Would he appear this morning—or continue to keep his distance?
The king spoke of light matters—supplies in the market, preparations for the autumn hunt—but his eyes often flicked between his son and Serene, measuring the quiet tension that hung between them.
As the servants moved about, refilling cups and clearing empty plates, Kaelen's eyes lingered on the doorway once more. Still no sign of Ael. His chest tightened.
A servant immediately placed the covered bowl before Kaelen. The scent of herbs and peppers rose into the air, faint but sharp.
Kaelen's fingers tightened around his cup, but he said nothing.
The others continued their meal—fruit, honey cakes, bread spread with butter and cream. Jugs of fresh pomegranate juice and milk passed around, with platters of cheese, porridge, and sliced figs. Laughter and chatter returned easily among Serene, the younger princes, and even the king himself.
But Kaelen hardly touched his food. His father noticed, though said nothing.
When at last the meal ended, chairs scraped back and one by one they left for their day's tasks—
Kaelen remained seated longer than most, the untouched stew cooling before him, his thoughts consumed by one absence.
Kaelen stared at the bowl before him, the steam now gone, the surface of the stew still and lifeless.
His jaw clenched, and he set his spoon down with more force than intended. A few heads turned, but no one spoke. The silence around him pressed heavier than words ever could.
Then, at last, his father's voice broke through.
"Kaelen," the king said firmly, rising to his feet. "Come with me. To my study."
Kaelen pushed back his chair, straightened his coat, and followed. The stew remained behind, untouched, cooling like the unanswered storm within him.
The study smelled faintly of old parchment and burning wood from the fireplace. The king set aside a scroll as Kaelen stepped inside, his expression dark, his posture tense.
"Sit," the king said warmly, gesturing to the chair across from him. Kaelen obeyed but kept his gaze lowered, fingers interlacing tightly in his lap.
The king studied him for a moment—the stiffness in his shoulders, the weight in his silence. Then, with a father's tenderness, he asked,
"Tell me, Kaelen… why does your face look so heavy today? What troubles your heart?"
Kaelen drew in a breath, his jaw tightening as if he were fighting words that wanted to spill. He gave a faint, weary smile, but it faltered.
"Father, it is nothing I can name… only that sometimes the thoughts do not leave me. They circle, they press."
The king leaned forward, resting both hands on the desk. "You forget I am not only your king, but your father. Whatever burdens you, you can share with me. The world can wait outside these walls."
Kaelen's chest ached at the gentleness. He had always been able to tell his father everything, yet this—this strange storm of jealousy and longing—was something he could not lay bare. His voice dropped, almost breaking.
"I only feel… restless, Father. As though something is missing, though I cannot name it."
The king's expression softened further. He reached across the table and placed a firm hand on his son's arm.
"Then do not carry it alone. Even restlessness can turn into sorrow if you lock it away. I trust you will find clarity, my son."
Kaelen lowered his eyes, his throat burning. He wanted to speak, to confess, but all he could do was nod.
When Kaelen entered his chamber, the silence pressed against him like a weight. He shut the door softly behind him, yet the sound still echoed as if the walls themselves demanded answers.
He moved to the tall window, pulling the heavy curtain aside and staring out over the palace courtyard. His reflection in the glass looked tired, older than his years. He sighed.
What should I even say to him?
He clenched his fist against the window frame. "If I speak… will it ease the weight, or will it make me weaker in his eyes?"
The question circled his mind, offering no peace. He wanted his father's advice, his comfort, yet some part of him feared laying his heart bare.
Kaelen lay on his bed, one arm draped across his forehead, staring at the carved ceiling above. His thoughts had twisted themselves into endless knots—about Ael, about his father's questions, about the past that refused to loosen its grip. The chamber was dim, the only light the soft glow of morning that slipped through the curtains.
His mind circled the same question over and over: How do I make things right with Ael?
He could still see Ael's face in the kitchen, the quiet defiance in his eyes, the distance he had placed between them since that day. Kaelen clenched his fist against the sheets. He had power, title, and command—yet none of it gave him the words he needed. If I call him, will he come? Or will he turn away again?
For the first time in years, Kaelen admitted to himself that what gnawed at him wasn't anger but fear. Fear of Ael's silence. Fear that he had already lost him. Perhaps… I could start with something simple, he thought. Food. A dish he prepares for me, something only he can make. Then I will have a reason to speak to him, to look into his eyes again.
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