Chapter 2 Duty Before Desire
A Crown Without Freedom
The palace woke before sunrise.
By the time the first golden rays touched the highest towers of Ashbourne Palace, servants were already hurrying through polished corridors with armfuls of embroidered fabrics, fresh flowers, ceremonial banners, and trays of breakfast prepared for the visiting nobles.
Every hallway echoed with quiet footsteps and hurried whispers as the Moon Festival transformed the royal residence into the center of the kingdom's celebrations.
For Rowan, however, the beginning of another day simply meant another schedule already planned down to the smallest detail.
A knock sounded against his chamber door.
"Your Highness," his valet called gently. "It is nearly six."
"I'm awake."
He had been awake for almost an hour.
Sleep rarely stayed with him once the palace became busy.
Rowan rose from the window seat where he had spent the dawn watching mist drift across the palace gardens.
The city beyond the walls was slowly coming alive.
Merchants were opening their stalls, children chased one another through the streets, and silver festival banners fluttered above every rooftop.
The kingdom looked peaceful.
It was difficult to believe someone had tried to kill him only yesterday.
His fingers brushed the silver pendant resting beneath his nightshirt before he walked toward the adjoining washroom.
The pendant had belonged to his grandmother, one of the few queens remembered for ruling with kindness instead of fear. As a child, Rowan had often imagined she would have understood him better than anyone alive.
Perhaps she would have known what to say.
Perhaps she would have told him whether duty was supposed to feel this lonely.
By the time he finished dressing, another familiar knock sounded.
Royal Physician Mira entered carrying a small wooden case.
She smiled warmly.
"I suspected you hadn't forgotten."
"I never do."
He accepted the polished glass vial she offered.
Inside rested three pale blue suppressant capsules.
"They're becoming weaker," Mira said quietly after the servants had left the room. "Your body is adapting faster than expected."
Rowan studied the tiny capsule resting in his palm.
"I increased the dosage last month."
"I know."
"It still isn't enough."
She sighed softly.
"No medicine was ever meant to suppress someone's instincts for years."
He swallowed the capsule before speaking again.
"I don't have another choice."
"There may come a day when you won't be able to hide anymore."
"I know."
Those words had become almost routine between them.
Neither wanted to acknowledge what they truly meant.
Mira closed the wooden case.
"Try not to overexert yourself today."
"I'll spend most of it sitting through meetings."
She laughed quietly.
"Sometimes that's more exhausting."
After she departed, Rowan made his way toward the eastern wing of the palace, where tutors and advisors already waited.
His mornings rarely belonged to him.
The first lesson focused on diplomatic protocol.
Lord Bennett, the elderly Master of Ceremonies, carefully reviewed every tradition surrounding royal engagements.
"When greeting the Silverfang delegation," he explained, "the prince must offer his right hand first. Eye contact should remain steady but respectful. Conversation begins only after both ruling families exchange formal blessings."
Rowan repeated every movement flawlessly.
Again.
And again.
Until every gesture looked effortless.
"Excellent," Bennett said with satisfaction.
"You've performed these customs dozens of times."
"I have."
"You'll make a remarkable husband."
Rowan smiled politely.
The compliment settled heavily inside him.
Next came political negotiations.
Representatives from three allied kingdoms gathered around a long conference table covered with maps, trade records, and military reports.
The discussions stretched through most of the morning.
Border patrol funding.
Grain exports.
River tariffs.
Defense treaties.
Rowan contributed thoughtful observations whenever asked, earning approving nods from nearly everyone present.
His opinions carried increasing weight now that his future succession seemed more certain.
Ironically, the more respected he became as a future king, the less control he seemed to have over his own life.
When the meeting finally concluded, servants announced luncheon in the Queen's private garden.
It was one of the few places inside the palace untouched by politics.
Queen Elara preferred simple things.
Flowering trees instead of marble statues.
Birdsong instead of ceremonial music.
Fresh herbs growing beside colorful roses.
Rowan found her sitting beneath a blooming cherry tree with tea already waiting.
"You look tired," she said gently as he approached.
"I had a busy morning."
"You've had a busy life."
He smiled faintly before taking the seat beside her.
For several minutes they simply shared lunch in comfortable silence.
His mother had always understood that silence could be more comforting than questions.
Eventually she poured fresh tea into his cup.
"I spoke with your father."
Rowan looked up.
"So did I."
"He believes this engagement is necessary."
"I know."
"And what do you believe?"
The question caught him off guard.
No advisor had asked what he believed.
No council member had cared.
Only his mother.
He lowered his eyes toward the steaming tea.
"I believe the kingdom deserves peace."
She reached across the table and gently covered his hand with hers.
"That wasn't my question."
Rowan remained quiet.
Queen Elara studied her son with the same patient expression she had worn throughout his childhood.
"I carried you for nine months," she said softly.
"I know when you're giving everyone else the answer instead of yourself."
His carefully maintained composure cracked just enough for honesty to slip through.
"I'm tired."
The admission came almost as a whisper.
"So very tired."
"Tired of politics?"
"Tired of pretending."
His mother's thumb brushed gently across the back of his hand.
"You've carried this secret for too long."
"I don't know who I would be without it."
"You'd still be Rowan."
He laughed quietly.
"Would anyone else believe that?"
"They would."
"I'm not so certain."
He looked toward the palace walls surrounding the garden.
"If the kingdom discovers its future king is an Omega..."
"They'll discover their future king has always been an Omega."
"The council won't see the difference."
"No."
"They may not."
She sighed.
"But someday someone must teach them."
Rowan studied her face.
"You always believed I could."
"I never doubted it."
He wanted to believe her.
He truly did.
But belief felt much easier inside quiet gardens than crowded council chambers.
Their peaceful lunch ended far too soon.
The remainder of the afternoon disappeared beneath endless preparations.
Royal tailors measured ceremonial robes.
Jewelry artisans presented engagement gifts intended for the Silverfang delegation.
Musicians rehearsed processional hymns while scribes finalized invitations.
Every conversation assumed the engagement would happen.
No one asked whether Rowan wanted it.
By sunset, his head ached from smiling.
He quietly slipped away before the evening banquet, searching for somewhere the expectations couldn't follow.
His feet carried him almost instinctively toward one of the palace's highest balconies.
Cool evening air greeted him.
Below, thousands of silver lanterns illuminated the capital as Moon Festival celebrations officially began.
Music drifted upward from lively streets.
Laughter echoed between buildings.
The entire kingdom seemed wrapped in celebration.
"You found the best view."
Rowan turned.
Captain Caelan stood several respectful steps away near the balcony entrance.
He wore formal Royal Guard armor polished so brightly that the silver crest reflected the lantern light.
Unlike yesterday, there was no urgency in his posture.
Only quiet vigilance.
"I didn't realize anyone else came here," Rowan said.
"I usually inspect every balcony before major festivals."
"So I'm interrupting your work."
"Not particularly."
An awkward silence settled between them.
Caelan remained standing.
Always alert.
Always watching.
"You don't have to stay by the door," Rowan said.
"My assignment is to remain close."
"I'm not planning to throw myself over the railing."
"I wasn't worried about you jumping."
Rowan smiled despite himself.
"I suppose that's reassuring."
Caelan's expression softened ever so slightly.
The silence returned.
This time it felt... comfortable.
Below them, fireworks burst above the city in shimmering waves of silver and blue.
Children cheered somewhere beyond the palace walls.
"It's beautiful," Rowan murmured.
"It is."
"I used to think the festival belonged only to the royal family."
Caelan looked toward the city.
"It belongs to the people."
"I suppose it always has."
"They celebrate hope."
Rowan glanced sideways at him.
"You speak as though you've celebrated among them."
"I grew up in a border village."
"What was it like?"
Caelan considered the question.
"Louder."
Rowan laughed.
"Louder?"
"We didn't have palace orchestras."
"What did you have?"
"My father played a badly tuned fiddle."
"And everyone listened?"
"They danced anyway."
The image made Rowan smile more genuinely than he had all day.
"It sounds wonderful."
"It was."
They watched another burst of fireworks bloom across the sky.
After a long silence Rowan spoke again.
"Do you ever regret choosing this life?"
"My life?"
"The Guard."
Caelan answered without hesitation.
"No."
"Never?"
"I regret people I've failed."
His voice remained calm.
"I don't regret protecting them."
Rowan looked back toward the glowing city below.
"So duty has never felt like a burden."
"It has."
The answer surprised him.
"The difference is..."
Caelan paused.
"I chose mine."
The words settled quietly between them.
Rowan felt something tighten inside his chest.
Chosen.
Such a simple word.
Such an impossible luxury.
Without thinking, he asked, "And if you hadn't?"
Caelan studied him carefully.