16. Graham
GRAHAM
M y hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turn white. I can’t feel my fingers, and I can’t feel anything except the rapid pounding of my heart and the ringing in my ears as the words from the call replay in my head.
“There’s been an accident.”
“It’s bad, Graham.”
“Your parents… they’re fighting for their lives.”
I suck in a sharp breath, but it doesn’t reach my lungs.
I feel cold. A different kind of cold than I’ve ever known. One that seeps into my bones, into my chest, into the spaces of me I thought were untouchable.
My father. My mother. The king and queen.
Lying in some hospital.
Possibly dying.
My stomach churns violently, and I have to blink several times to clear my vision. I’m driving, but I barely register the road in front of me. The trees blur together, the town passing in a haze.
I need to breathe.
I need to think.
I need?—
I don’t know what I need.
The castle has been calling for weeks. And I ignored every single call, every single message. I didn’t want to hear from them. Didn’t want to hear about royal obligations, about my father’s plans, about how my duty to my bloodline would never truly disappear, no matter how far I ran.
But this—this isn’t about duty.
This is about my family.
The same family I left behind when I walked away from the castle, from the expectations, from the pressure that nearly crushed me.
But no amount of distance, no amount of refusal, no amount of hiding could ever erase the truth.
I love them.
I love them so much it physically hurts.
And I might lose them.
A strangled sound escapes my throat, something between a curse and a desperate breath. My fingers dig into the steering wheel as I press the gas, my truck speeding down the empty road toward my house.
I don’t know how long I have.
I don’t know if I’ll even get there in time.
I know I need to move. Now.
I swallow hard, my mind racing.
Isaac.
My older brother.
My father’s pride and joy.
The one who was always supposed to take the crown.
But now—now the world can’t know the king is on his deathbed. It would be too dangerous. The moment word gets out, there will be whispers, plots, and people who have waited their whole lives for a chance to seize power.
So Isaac will be crowned king.
Because the castle can’t be without a ruler.
Because the throne will not— cannot —be left vulnerable.
I should have seen this coming.
I should have known that no matter how much I tried to cut ties, the castle would always find a way to pull me back in.
I squeeze my eyes shut for half a second before snapping them open again.
I can’t lose them.
I can’t lose him—the father who was always so hard on me, but only because he wanted me to be strong.
I can’t lose her—the mother who always knew when to hold me closer, who always saw the exhaustion in my eyes before anyone else.
My vision blurs. My throat closes up.
I can’t.
A sharp exhale rips through me, and suddenly, I’m doing something I haven’t done in years.
Something I swore I would never do again.
I pray.
Not because I expect an answer.
Not because I deserve one.
But because I don’t know what else to do.
“God… please.”
“Please don’t take them from me.”
“Please let me get there in time.”
When I step inside, the house feels colder than usual, or maybe it’s just me. My hands are shaking, my pulse a wild, erratic thing as I throw open my closet and yank out a duffel bag. I don’t think as I move—I’m just grabbing shirts, jeans, or anything that makes sense. I’m running on instinct, fueled by panic and the sharp, unbearable pressure in my chest.
I stuff a pair of boots into the bag, my mind barely registering what I’m doing. My parents are fighting for their lives. The thought alone makes my stomach twist violently. They were fine the last time I spoke to them, even though it was years ago. My father was always stern but steady. My mother was softer but just as strong. They were untouchable, unshakable, but now—now they’re lying in some hospital, hovering between life and death.
I grip the edge of the dresser, my breath coming too fast. I don’t have time for this. I shove the last of my things into the bag, zip it up, and sling it over my shoulder. My phone buzzes as I step outside, and I answer without looking.
“Graham, finally,” a familiar voice snaps through the line. Charles. My father’s right-hand man. The same man who’s been trying to reach me for years. “I booked you on the next available flight. You need to be here as soon as possible.”
“I’m already heading to the airport,” I say, locking the door behind me and striding toward the road. I don’t bother taking my truck. I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I need to get out of Bardstown.
“Good,” Charles says. “Isaac will be handling things, but we need you here. There’s—concern.”
“Concern about what?” My voice is clipped, and my patience is running thin.
He hesitates. “We’ll discuss it when you arrive.”
Of course. The castle never says more than necessary over the phone. I grind my teeth as a taxi pulls up, and I slide into the back seat. “I’ll be there.”
“The moment you land, someone will be waiting.”
“Fine.”
I hang up, staring out the window as the driver pulls away from my house. The streets of Bardstown blur past me, a town that has been my haven for years—the only place where I could be Graham, not a prince, not a son weighed down by expectations.
And now, I’m leaving it behind.
I don’t know for how long.
I don’t know if I’ll ever come back… or if I’ll ever see Sophie again.
T he moment the plane touches down, my stomach coils so tightly that I feel like I might be sick. I barely register the announcement over the speakers or notice the other passengers standing, stretching, and gathering their belongings. My mind is locked on getting to the castle, to my parents, and praying that I’m not too late.
I grab my duffel bag from the overhead compartment, slip on my baseball cap, and pull it low over my head before going through the jet bridge. I need to stay unnoticed. The last thing I want is for someone to recognize me, for whispers to start before I even leave the airport. The country may have a king, but it also has vultures—people who would love nothing more than to see the royal family in turmoil, waiting for any sign of weakness.
I keep my head down as I step into the arrivals hall. Just as Charles said, the limo is already waiting. It is sleek, black, and unmistakably royal. A uniformed driver stands beside it, and the moment he spots me, he opens the door without a word.
I slide in, sinking into the leather seat, gripping the handle of my bag with fingers that refuse to stop shaking.
“Straight to the castle, sir?” the driver asks.
I hesitate for half a second. “To the king and queen.”
There’s a pause, then a slight nod. “Of course, Your Highness.”
I flinch at the title. It’s been years since anyone called me that, and I don’t like how easily it pulls me back, how it coils around me like a chain I thought I’d broken. I don’t correct him, though. Not this time.
The drive is long, and the closer we get, the worse the tension in my chest becomes. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what I’ll walk into. My father, the king—the most indestructible man I’ve ever known—fighting for his life? My mother, the queen—delicate but always strong, now reduced to hospital machines and quiet prayers? It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t feel real.
But reality crashes into me in full force when the castle gates come into view.
It’s the same as I remember. Towering. Intimidating. Suffocating.
I barely have time to prepare myself before the car pulls up to the entrance. When the door opens, I step out, adjusting my cap to shield my face. The air is thick with tension, but I don’t even have time to register it fully because?—
Isaac is there.
Pacing. His posture is rigid, and his jaw is clenched so tight I’m surprised it hasn’t cracked. His hands are curled into fists at his sides, his entire body thrumming with frustration, maybe even rage.
I don’t know how long he’s been waiting. I don’t know what’s running through his head.
All I know is that when his eyes land on me, they burn.
And before I can say a single word?—
He throws a punch.
It’s fast. Sharp. Decisive. And it lands.
Pain explodes across my jaw, and I stumble back, my duffel bag dropping from my grip. The guards tense, and the driver gasps, but I barely process any of it because my head is spinning, my brother just hit me, and?—
I deserve it, don’t I?
“You son of a—” Isaac’s voice is rough, raw, full of something deeper than just anger.
I don’t move. I don’t react. I stand there, jaw throbbing, watching him through the haze of my guilt.
“You don’t answer calls,” he spits. “You don’t reply to messages. You don’t even acknowledge that we exist. And now, now that our parents are dying, you suddenly show up?”
My stomach turns. “Isaac?—”
“Don’t.” His voice cracks, just for a second. He shoves a hand through his hair, pacing again like he can’t bear to look at me. “You think you can just walk back in here and pretend you care?”
I do care. I never stopped. But I don’t know how to say that to him. I don’t know if it would even matter.
“I didn’t know,” I say instead, my voice quieter than I intended.
“Because you didn’t care to,” he fires back. “We’ve been trying to reach you for weeks, Graham. But you were too busy hiding in whatever small-town fantasy you built for yourself, pretending this life didn’t exist.”
I flinch.
Because he’s right.
I ignored the calls, choosing to stay hidden. I told myself I was freeing myself from the weight of this family, but in doing so, I left them to carry all of it alone.
And now—now it’s too late to fix it.
Isaac exhales sharply, rubbing his temples before finally looking at me again. His expression is hard, but there’s something else there, too. Something shattered.
“You weren’t here when it happened,” he mutters. “You weren’t here when we got the call when the entire castle—our entire country—held its breath, waiting for news.” His voice turns bitter. “But of course, you showed up now. Now that it’s messy. Now that there’s no avoiding it.”
A lump forms in my throat, thick and suffocating. “Is there… any update?”
His jaw tightens.
I wait.
And then, finally?—
“They’re alive.” His voice is hollow. “But barely.”
I close my eyes for half a second. I should be relieved, but all I feel is heavier.
“They’re being treated in the private ward,” Isaac continues, his voice steadier now. “Away from the press, away from the public. No one outside this castle knows the truth.”
Because if they did, everything would unravel. The monarchy would be vulnerable, and enemies would see an opening.
That’s why Isaac has to take the throne—not just as a placeholder, not just until my father recovers.
For good.
I swallow hard. “When?”
“The coronation is in three days.”
Three days. And just like that, my brother will no longer be just Isaac. He will be King Isaac.
He’s strong. He’s capable. He’s everything my father wanted in an heir.
But he’s also furious.
And I know, without a doubt, that he blames me for all of this.
Not just for not being here. Not just for ignoring the castle for so long.
But for walking away in the first place.
And maybe—maybe a part of me blames myself too.
Isaac doesn’t say another word. He shakes his head, looks at me like he’s exhausted even by the sight of me, and turns toward the entrance.
I don’t follow him right away.
I can’t.
I stand there, staring at the place that once felt like a prison, at the brother I abandoned, at the weight of everything I swore I left behind?—
And I wonder if I was ever really free at all.