CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The Weight of Crowns
The King collapsed during a council meeting three weeks after Orion's arrival.
Word spread through the palace like wildfire. By the time Orion reached his father's chambers, Helena and Marcus were already there, speaking in urgent whispers with the royal physician. Darius arrived moments later, still in his training gear, and Elara came last, her face pale with fear.
"What happened?" Orion demanded.
"His heart," the physician said grimly. "It's been failing for months. He's been hiding it, pushing through, but the body can only bear so much."
"Will he live?"
"For now. But he needs rest—complete rest. No audiences, no councils, no state business." The physician looked at the gathered siblings. "Someone will need to handle the kingdom's affairs in his absence."
The silence that followed was heavy with implication.
Marcus stepped forward, his expression hardening into the mask of command. "I'll convene the council. We'll establish a regency until Father recovers."
"A regency led by whom?" Helena asked. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were calculating. "You, I assume?"
"I'm the eldest."
"Eldest doesn't mean best suited."
"Helena, this isn't the time—"
"It's exactly the time." She turned to face him fully. "Father's been avoiding this decision for years. If he's truly incapacitated, we need to address it now."
"Address what?" Darius asked. "He's not dead. He'll recover."
"Will he?" Helena's voice softened slightly. "Look at him, Darius. Really look. This isn't a temporary illness. This is the end, beginning."
Orion looked at his father through the partially open door. The King lay in his bed, small and frail in a way that seemed impossible for the man who had ruled a kingdom for forty years. His breathing was shallow, his skin gray, his presence diminished to almost nothing.
Helena was right. This wasn't a recovery. This was farewell, stretched out over however many weeks or months remained.
"We should discuss this elsewhere," Orion said quietly. "Not where he might hear."
"Agreed," Marcus said. For once, there was no hostility in his voice—just exhaustion and grief. "My study. Now."
* * *
Marcus's study was a room Orion had never entered as a child—the private domain of the heir apparent, filled with maps and documents and the accumulated weight of preparation for rule.
The five siblings arranged themselves around the room: Marcus behind the desk, Helena in the most comfortable chair, Darius standing by the window, Elara perched on a settee, and Orion leaning against the wall near the door. Old positions, old dynamics, reasserting themselves despite the years.
"We need to talk about succession," Marcus said without preamble.
"Father hasn't named an heir," Helena replied. "That's the problem. He's been putting it off, and now we're in crisis."
"He hasn't named anyone because he couldn't decide," Darius said. "You two have been circling each other for years, building factions, making alliances. He didn't want to choose between his children."
"That's not the only reason." Elara's voice was quiet but certain. Everyone turned to look at her. "He was waiting for Orion."
The room went still.
"That's absurd," Marcus said, but there was uncertainty in his voice. "Orion abandoned his claim when he left."
"Did he?" Helena leaned forward. "He never formally renounced. He simply... disappeared. And Father never gave up hope that he'd return."
"I'm not here for the throne," Orion said firmly. "I told you that. I told Father that. My answer hasn't changed."
"Your answer doesn't matter," Helena said. "What matters is what the nobles believe. What the factions believe. You're a factor whether you want to be or not."
"Then I'll remove myself as a factor. I'll formally renounce my claim—publicly, officially, whatever it takes."
"That might make things worse," Marcus said slowly. "If you renounce now, while Father is dying, it looks like you're abandoning him again. The nobles who hoped you'd returned to stabilize the succession will feel betrayed."
"I didn't return for the succession. I returned because Father asked to meet my wife."
"We know that. The court doesn't." Helena's expression was thoughtful. "In their eyes, you're the lost prince returned at the moment of crisis. They're already spinning narratives about what it means."
"I don't care about their narratives."
"You should. Narratives become truth if enough people believe them."
Orion pushed off from the wall, frustration building. "What do you want from me? I've said I don't want the throne. I've said I won't compete for it. What else can I do?"
"Support someone," Elara said quietly. "If you're not going to claim it, support someone who will. Your endorsement could end this before it becomes a war."
"Support who?"
"That's the question, isn't it?" Helena smiled thinly. "Marcus has the traditional claim. I have the economic support. Darius has the military, though he doesn't want the crown any more than you do."
"I don't," Darius confirmed. "Give me a border to defend and leave me out of the politics."
"And Elara?" Orion looked at his youngest sister.
"Nobody considers me," she said without bitterness. "I'm the youngest, the overlooked. I have no faction, no power base, no allies." She met his eyes. "But I'm also the only one who hasn't been corrupted by the game. Maybe that counts for something."
* * *
The discussion continued for hours, circling the same problems without resolution. By the time they adjourned, nothing had been decided except that nothing could be decided—not until Father either recovered or...
No one wanted to finish that sentence.
Orion found Nera in the Queen's Garden, tending the roses that had become her daily ritual. She looked up as he entered, her expression shifting from peace to concern as she read his face.
"What happened?"
"Father collapsed. His heart." Orion sank onto the bench beside the fountain. "The physician says he needs complete rest, but Helena thinks... she thinks this is the beginning of the end."
"Oh, Orion." Nera sat beside him, taking his hand. "I'm so sorry."
"I barely had time to reconnect with him. Three weeks. After ten years of silence, I get three weeks before..." He couldn't finish.
"You're here now. That's what matters."
"Is it enough?"
"It has to be. We can't change the past—only make the most of what remains."
They sat in silence for a moment, surrounded by flowers that shouldn't have been blooming, in a garden that had been dead before Nera touched it.
"They want me to take sides," Orion said eventually. "In the succession. Marcus, Helena, whoever. They want my endorsement."
"And you don't want to give it."
"I don't want to be part of it at all. I came here to heal old wounds, not to play politics." He laughed bitterly. "But politics doesn't care what I want. That's what Helena keeps saying. And she's right."
"What do you think should happen?"
"Honestly? I don't know. Marcus is stubborn and proud, but he's also steady. He'd maintain the kingdom, keep things running. Helena is brilliant, but she sees everything as a game, and I'm not sure she knows how to stop playing. Darius doesn't want it. Elara is too young and has no support."
"Those sound like reasons, not feelings."
"What do you mean?"
"You're analyzing them like chess pieces. Evaluating their strengths and weaknesses." Nera squeezed his hand. "But you know them. They're your family. What does your heart say?"
Orion was quiet for a long moment.
"Marcus," he said finally. "If I had to choose. He's not perfect—he's angry and stubborn and sometimes cruel in his certainty. But underneath all that, there's a good heart. He genuinely cares about the kingdom, about the people. He'd make a decent king."
"Then tell him that."
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?"
"Because the moment I endorse anyone, I become part of the game. I become a political asset to be used." His jaw tightened. "I spent my whole life being a piece on someone else's board. I won't go back to that. Not even for family."
Nera was quiet, considering this.
"You know," she said eventually, "I faced something similar. When I left the fairy realm."
"How so?"
"The throne didn't just represent power—it represented responsibility. Duty. The weight of an entire realm resting on my shoulders." Her voice grew distant. "When I walked away, I knew I was leaving that weight for someone else to carry. Someone who might not be ready, might not be capable."
"Did you regret it?"
"Sometimes. In my darkest moments, I wondered if I was selfish. If my freedom was worth the chaos I left behind." She met his eyes. "But I also knew that I couldn't carry that weight anymore. That staying would have destroyed me, and a destroyed queen helps no one."
"So you chose yourself."
"I chose survival. And in surviving, I found you." She touched his face. "Sometimes the most responsible thing we can do is recognize our limits. Accept that we're not the right person for every burden."
"Is that permission to stay out of this?"
"It's not my permission to give. It's your choice to make." She smiled sadly. "But whatever you choose, I'll support you. Even if that means watching your family tear itself apart."
* * *
The King summoned Orion the next morning.
He looked worse than he had the day before—smaller somehow, as if he were slowly disappearing into the bedding. But his eyes were clear, and his voice, while weak, held the same steel it always had.
"Close the door," he said. "And sit down. We need to talk."
Orion obeyed, settling into the chair beside his father's bed.
"I'm dying," the King said bluntly. "Don't argue—the physicians have told me the truth, even if they're dancing around it with everyone else. Months, maybe. Weeks, possibly. The heart gives out when it gives out."
"Father—"
"Let me finish." He raised a trembling hand. "I've made a mess of things. The succession, I mean. I should have named an heir years ago, but I kept hoping... kept waiting..."
"Waiting for what?"
"For you." The King's eyes held his. "I know you don't want to hear it, but it's the truth. You were always the one I saw on the throne. Not Marcus with his rigidity, not Helena with her schemes, not Darius with his sword. You."
"Father, I can't—"
"I know. You've made that clear." A ghost of a smile. "Your mother would have laughed at me. Spending years waiting for a son who'd already chosen his own path. She always said I was too stubborn to see what was right in front of me."
"I'm not the right choice. I don't want to rule."
"And that's exactly why you'd be good at it." The King coughed, a wet, painful sound. "The ones who want power are the ones least suited to wield it. The ones who run from it... they understand what it costs."
"That's not fair."
"Life isn't fair. Crowns aren't fair. Nothing about any of this is fair." He reached out, gripping Orion's hand with surprising strength. "But I'm not going to force you. I promised myself that, when I sent the messenger. Whatever you decided, I would accept."
"Then accept that my answer is no."
"I do. I just wanted you to know... wanted you to understand why I waited." His grip loosened. "You were the best of us, Orion. Even when you were young, I could see it. The compassion, the clarity, the unwillingness to play games. That's what makes a great king. And that's what you've spent your life running from."
"I ran from being controlled. From being used."
"I know. And I'm sorry for that—for making you feel like a piece instead of a person. I thought I was preparing you for duty. Instead, I drove you away." Tears were forming in the old man's eyes. "I've made so many mistakes. With you, with your siblings, with everything. And now I'm running out of time to fix them."
"Some things can't be fixed. Only accepted."
"When did you become so wise?"
"I had a good teacher." Orion thought of Nera, of everything she'd shown him about letting go, about choosing peace over perfection. "She taught me that we can't control everything. That sometimes the best thing we can do is make our choice and live with it."
"Your wife."
"Yes."
"She's remarkable. Whatever she is—whatever secrets she's hiding—she's remarkable." The King's smile was tired but genuine. "You chose well."
"I know."
"Take care of her. And let her take care of you." His eyes were closing, exhaustion winning over will. "That's what your mother used to say. 'Let me take care of you.' I never was very good at it."
"Rest, Father."
"I will. I'm very tired." A long pause. "I'm glad you came home, Orion. Even if it's not forever. Even if you won't take the crown. I'm glad I got to see you one more time."
"So am I."
The King's breathing deepened into sleep, and Orion sat beside him, holding his hand, watching the man who had shaped him struggle for each breath.
The crown would go to someone else. The kingdom would continue without him. And that was right—that was the choice he'd made, the path he'd chosen.
But sitting there, in the quiet of his father's room, Orion let himself grieve for the relationship they could have had, the years they'd lost, the understanding that had come too late.
Some weights were too heavy to carry.
And some burdens, no matter how much we loved the people who bore them, were never ours to take.
* * *
That evening, Orion called his siblings together.
Not in Marcus's study this time, but in the small family dining room where they'd had their first meal together. It felt appropriate—a space for family, not politics.
"I'm going to say something," he began, "and I need you all to listen without interrupting. Can you do that?"
Nods from around the table. Even Helena, for once, held her tongue.
"I'm not going to compete for the throne. I'm not going to endorse anyone for the throne. And I'm not going to stay here and get pulled into whatever war you're about to fight over it."
"Orion—" Marcus started.
"I said no interrupting." Orion held up a hand. "I know what you want. All of you. You want me to pick a side, make things easier, give someone legitimacy. And I understand why. But I can't do that."
"Why not?" Helena asked.
"Because the moment I do, I become what I spent ten years escaping. A piece on a board. A tool for someone else's ambition." He looked at each of them in turn. "I love you. All of you, in different ways. But I won't let that love be weaponized."
"So you'll just... leave?" Elara's voice was small.
"Not yet. Not while Father is still alive. I'll stay as long as he needs me." Orion's voice softened. "But when this is over, when he's... when he's gone, I'm going back to Thornhaven. Back to the life I built. Back to where I belong."
"And the succession?"
"Is for you four to figure out. Talk to each other. Find a compromise. Or don't—fight your war if you must. But do it without me."
The silence that followed was heavy but not hostile.
"That's remarkably selfish," Helena said finally. But there was no venom in it—almost respect, if Orion was reading her correctly.
"Maybe. Or maybe it's the most honest thing I've ever done."
Marcus stood, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Orion braced for anger, for accusation, for the blow he probably deserved.
Instead, Marcus extended his hand.
"I don't agree with your choice," he said. "But I understand it. And I respect it."
Orion took the offered hand. "That's all I can ask."
"No. You could ask for more. You could ask us to accept it, to support it, to make it easy." Marcus's grip was firm. "But you're not asking. You're just... telling us who you are. And that's something, I think, that I never really understood before."
"Who I am?"
"Someone who knows what he wants. And what he doesn't." Marcus released his hand. "I spent my whole life being shaped by duty. You broke free of it. Part of me will always resent that. But a larger part..." He paused, searching for words. "A larger part is proud of you. For having the courage I didn't."
"Marcus..."
"Don't. I've said enough sentimental things for one day." But he was almost smiling. "Go. Be with your wife. Leave the politics to those of us too stubborn to walk away."
Orion went.
Behind him, his siblings remained—four princes and princesses, bound by blood and divided by ambition, facing a future that would be decided without him.
It wasn't his burden to carry.
It never had been.
And finally, at last, he was at peace with that truth.
— End of Chapter Thirty-One —