Chapter 16 The Quiet Before the Fall #2
“Thanks.” I handed him the tablet, let my fingers brush his for just a second. Felt the heat of that brief contact like an electric shock. “Don't work too hard.”
“Someone has to. You clearly are not.”
I grinned despite myself. Despite everything. “Ass.”
“Prince.”
élodie cleared her throat. “Should I come back?”
“No, we're done.” I called Apollo, and he bounded up, tail wagging. “Come on, boy. Let's see what Father wants.”
I followed élodie back toward the palace, very aware of Viktor behind me. Of the fact that I wanted to look back. Wanted to see if he was watching me walk away.
I didn't let myself look.
élodie waited until we were inside before speaking. “You're being careful, right?”
“About what?”
“Sebastian.” She stopped, turned to face me fully. “I'm not blind. Neither is anyone else who's paying attention.”
My stomach dropped. “I don't know what you're—”
“You can lie to the rest of them. Don't lie to me.” Her voice was gentle. Worried. But something flickered in her eyes. Something I couldn't quite read. “I've known you too long. I see how you look at him. How he looks at you when he thinks nobody's watching.”
I glanced around. The corridor was empty. But that didn't mean much in this place.
“It's dangerous,” she continued. “Not just for you. For him too. If anyone finds out—”
“I know.”
“Do you?” She touched my arm. Her hand was warm.
Familiar. But her grip was just slightly too firm.
Just slightly too controlled. “Because you're looking at him in gardens where anyone could see.
You're smiling in ways you haven't smiled in years.
You're—” She stopped. Softened. “You're happy. And it scares me because happiness makes you careless.”
“I'm being careful.”
“Are you?” Her eyes held mine. Green like mine. But somehow colder today. Sharper. “Because from where I'm standing, you're falling in love with someone you can't have. And that only ends one way.”
“Maybe I'm already there,” I said quietly. “Maybe it's too late to be careful.”
She closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, something almost like pain crossed her face. But it was gone too fast to be sure. “Oh, Sebastian.”
“I know it's stupid. I know it's impossible.
I know it's going to end badly.” I looked at her.
At my oldest friend who'd covered for me for years.
“But I can't stop. Don't want to stop. For the first time since she died, I feel like I can breathe.
Like there's something worth living for beyond hunting and grief.”
“Then at least be smart about it.” She squeezed my arm. Something flickered in her expression. Regret? Calculation? I couldn't tell. “Please. I can't lose you too.”
The words sounded right. But something about the way she said them felt rehearsed. Like she'd practiced caring.
“You won't.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.” The lie tasted bitter, but necessary. “I'll be careful.”
She nodded, not believing me but accepting it anyway. Her hand lingered on my arm for a moment longer than necessary. Like she was memorizing the touch. Or cataloging it.
“Your father's in his study. Try to look less like you've been thinking about your bodyguard's hands.” She smiled. That familiar, gentle smile I'd known my whole life. But today it didn't quite reach her eyes. “I'll make sure your afternoon schedule is clear. You look like you need sleep.”
She kissed my cheek. Quick. Efficient. Then turned and walked away before I could respond.
I watched her go. Watched the perfect posture. The measured steps. The way she moved through the palace like she owned it.
Like she'd been planning to own it for a long time.
I shook off the thought. Paranoia from too many attempts on my life. Too many shadows where there shouldn't be any.
élodie had been with me through everything. She wouldn't—
I definitely hadn't been getting much of that sleep lately.
I knocked on the study door. Heard my father's voice call out, “Come in.”
He was at his desk when I entered, glasses perched on his nose, surrounded by papers that probably detailed everything wrong with the kingdom. But he looked up when I came in, and his face softened in a way that made my chest ache.
“Sebastian. Thank you for coming.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit. Please.”
I sat, and Apollo immediately sprawled across my feet. My father smiled at that. He'd always loved the dog almost as much as I did.
“You wanted to see me?”
“I did.” He set down his pen, removed his glasses.
“Okay,” I said carefully. “What about?”
“You.” He leaned back in his chair, and I saw exhaustion carved into every line of his face. “You've been different lately. Since the ambush. Since Viktor arrived.”
My pulse kicked. “Different how?”
“Calmer. More present. Like you're actually here instead of somewhere else in your head.” He smiled faintly. “Your mother used to get that look. When she'd found something that grounded her.”
The mention of her made my throat tight. “I'm trying. To be what she wanted.”
“She wanted you to be happy. To be yourself. Not what the crown needed you to be.” He paused. “Are you? Happy?”
The question caught me off guard. Nobody had asked me that in years. Nobody seemed to care beyond making sure I showed up where I was supposed to and smiled for the cameras.
“I don't know,” I said honestly. “I'm something. It's not unhappy. It's just. Different.”
“Different can be good.”
“Can it?” I looked at him. Really looked. Saw the grief he still carried. The weight of ruling alone. The fact that he'd lost his partner and had been drowning ever since. “How do you do it? Live with the weight of her being gone?”
His expression cracked. Just slightly. “I don't. Not well. Most days I just. I put one foot in front of the other and hope I don't break.”
“Does it get easier?”
“No.” He said it simply. Honestly. “It gets different. The sharp edges dull. The constant ache becomes background noise. But it never goes away. You just learn to carry it.”
“I don't know if I can carry it for fifty more years.”
“Then don't carry it alone.” He leaned forward. “That's what I did wrong. After she died. I shut everyone out. Tried to be strong. To not burden anyone with my grief. And it nearly destroyed me.”
“So what changed?”
“You did. You were drowning too. And watching you hurt forced me to remember that we're supposed to hold each other up. That's what family does. That's what she would have wanted.”
I felt tears prick behind my eyes. Pushed them back. “I miss her.”
“I know. I do too. Every day.” He reached across the desk, hand extended. “But she's not entirely gone. She's in you. In your stubbornness and your fire and your ridiculous need to fix everything broken.”
I took his hand. Held it. “I'm sorry I've been difficult.”
“You're my son. Difficult comes with the territory.” He squeezed my fingers. “But Sebastian. I need you to know. Whatever you're going through. Whatever you're dealing with. You can talk to me. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because for years you've been keeping me at arm's length. Keeping everyone at arm's length. And I understand why. I do. But you don't have to do it anymore.”
I wanted to tell him. Wanted to confess everything. The hunting. The nightmares. The fact that I'd fallen for my bodyguard and didn't know how to stop.
But I couldn't. Because some truths were too dangerous. Some confessions would break him.
So I just nodded. “I'm trying. To let people in. It's just hard.”
“I know. Your mother was the same way. Built walls around herself and called it strength.” He smiled sadly. “Took me five years to get past them. Worth every second.”
“You really loved her.”
“I still do. Will always love her. That doesn't stop just because she's gone.” He let go of my hand. “That's something I want you to understand. Love doesn't end. It changes. Evolves. But it doesn't die just because the person does.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
“You have her fire, but my stubbornness,” he continued. “Try not to burn down the kingdom with both.”
I laughed. Couldn't help it. “I'll do my best.”
“That's all I ask.” He stood, and I did too. “Now go. I'm sure you have better things to do than listen to your father ramble about love and loss.”
“It wasn't rambling.”
“Wasn't it?”
“No. It was. Good. Thank you.” I hesitated. “For talking to me like I am human instead of an heir.”
“You are my son first. Always.” He exhaled, then his mouth set like he had decided something. “And I am not na?ve.”
The room shifted under my feet. “About what.”
“About where you go at night.” His eyes did not leave mine. They were tired and clear.
Cold slid down my spine. “Papa—”
“I hoped you would come to your senses,” he said quietly. “I hoped grief would soften with time and you would stop chasing ghosts that will never turn into people again. I hoped I would not have to say this aloud and make it real.”
I could not find air for a second. “How long have you known.”
“Long enough to be afraid properly.” He came around the desk, slower than he used to, and stopped in front of me. “Long enough to understand that my silence was not protection. It was cowardice dressed as hope.”
He reached for me and I did not step back. His hands framed my face, thumbs warm against bone. “I am proud of the man you are. I hate the nights you give to the dark. I cannot lose you. Not to them. Not to yourself.”
My throat burned. “I thought I was hiding it.”
“You were hiding it from the part of me that wanted to believe you were sleeping.” His voice frayed and held. “I have seen the way you move when a window opens. I have seen the bruises you do not name. I chose not to see the rest because I love you and because the truth hurts.”
“I was careful,” I said. It sounded thin even to me.
“You were lucky,” he said. “Sometimes the world lets luck pretend to be skill. Then it stops. Promise me you will let the people I hired do their jobs. Promise me you will not make your body a wall for strangers when you are already the only wall I have left.”
My eyes blurred. He pulled me in and I let him. He smelled like paper and bergamot and the sea salt he always carried home from holidays we never took again. His shoulder shook once against my cheek. He did not hide it.
“I love you, Sebastian,” he said into my hair. “Even when you are impossible. Especially then.”
“I love you too.” It came out raw. True.
We stood like that for a moment. Father and son. No crowns. No cameras. Just two people trying not to drown in the same river.
When we let go, he kept one hand on my shoulder, steadying me the way he used to when I was small and stairs were tall.
“Akintola will be here later,” he said, voice returning to its line.
“He will brief us on the marches. Viktor has my full authority. Do not test his limits today. Test mine if you must.”
I nodded. “I hear you.”
“Good.” He smoothed my lapel like that could keep me whole. “And Sebastian… if you need to speak to me as a man and not a king, you can. You do not have to disappear to be brave.”
Something eased behind my ribs, a knot I had been holding since rain and sirens and thirteen. “Thank you.”
He gave a small, watery laugh and blinked hard, then tried for gruff. “Go before I embarrass both of us.”
Apollo and I left his study and headed toward my rooms. The afternoon sun slanted through tall windows, turning marble to gold. Staff moved through their routes. Guards held their posts. Everything normal.
Everything except me.