Chapter 30 What Remains
WHAT REMAINS
SEBASTIAN
Iwoke to sunlight.
Not the harsh fluorescent kind that had burned my eyes in the strongroom. Real sunlight. Warm. Gentle. Filtering through gauze curtains that made everything look soft and safe.
My chambers. My bed. My life somehow still intact.
Pain came next. Immediate. Comprehensive. The kind that told you exactly what was broken and where. Ribs wrapped tight. Shoulder immobilized. Bandages everywhere. Each breath a reminder that I'd survived something I shouldn't have.
But I was breathing.
That had to count for something.
Movement beside me. Warmth. The familiar weight of someone who'd refused to leave.
I turned my head. Slowly. Carefully. Everything hurt.
Viktor sat in a chair pulled close to the bed. Not sleeping. Just watching. Dark circles under his eyes that said he hadn't slept properly in days. Bandages on his neck, his arm, his hands. But alive. Here. Real.
“Hey,” I managed. Voice rough from disuse.
His eyes opened. Met mine. Something in his expression cracked.
“Hey yourself.” He leaned forward. Hand finding mine carefully. Like I might break if he pressed too hard. “How do you feel?”
“Like I got tortured and thrown through a wall.”
“Accurate summary.” His thumb traced my knuckles. Gentle. “You have been asleep for two days. Noah said your body needed to shut down. To heal.”
“Two days?” I tried to sit up. Failed. Everything screamed. “My father. The palace. Marcel and élodie—”
“Are in cells. Your father is fine. The palace is standing.” Viktor's hand pressed against my chest. Not forcing me down. Just grounding me. “Everything is handled. You can rest.”
“I've been resting for two days.”
“Not enough.” But he helped me sit up anyway. Adjusted pillows behind me. Moved like he'd done this before. Multiple times. “Noah will be angry I let you move.”
“Noah can deal with it.” I looked at him. Really looked. Saw the exhaustion. The fear he was trying to hide. The way his hands shook slightly when he thought I wasn't watching. “You haven't left, have you?”
“No.”
“Viktor—”
“I watched you hang from chains.” His voice went flat. Controlled. The tone that meant he was barely holding it together. “I watched her put a knife to your throat. I watched you nearly die.” He paused. “So no. I did not leave. I will not leave. Not until you are better.”
“I am better.”
“You are awake. Is different.”
I wanted to argue. Couldn't. Because he was right and we both knew it.
“Have you eaten?” I asked instead.
“Yes.”
“That's a lie.”
“Dom brought food.”
“That you didn't eat.”
His jaw tightened. “I ate enough.”
“Viktor.”
“You were unconscious for two days.” His hand tightened on mine. “I was not going to sit in the dining hall making small talk while you were here. Alone. Vulnerable.”
“I had guards—”
“I do not trust guards.” His eyes blazed. “I trust me. And I was not leaving you.”
The words hit somewhere deep. Made my chest tight in a way that had nothing to do with broken ribs.
“Okay,” I said softly. “But I'm awake now. And I'm starving. So we're getting breakfast.”
“Noah said bed rest—”
“Noah can say whatever he wants. I'm going to the kitchen. You're coming with me. We're eating real food like real people instead of hiding in here like we're still in danger.” I paused. “Unless you want me to go alone.”
His expression said exactly what he thought of that idea.
“Fine.” He stood. Helped me stand. Caught me when my legs decided they weren't quite ready yet. “But slow. And if you fall, I am carrying you back.”
“Deal.”
The kitchen was warm. Always had been. Stone floors and copper pots and the smell of bread baking that made everything feel safer.
Staff froze when we walked in. Not in fear. In shock. The crown prince and his bodyguard, both wrapped in bandages, looking like they'd fought a war and barely won.
“Your Highness.” Mrs. Chen, the head cook, recovered first. “You should be in bed—”
“I should be eating breakfast.” I aimed for one of the stools by the prep counter. Viktor helped me sit. Took the stool beside me without being asked. “Whatever you're making smells amazing.”
She looked at me. At Viktor. At the way we sat close enough that our shoulders touched. At the way his hand hovered near my back, ready to catch me if I swayed.
Something softened in her expression.
“Eggs,” she said. “Toast. Bacon. Proper food for people who need their strength.” She was already moving, pulling ingredients. “And tea. Lots of tea.”
The other staff resumed their work. Slower. Quieter. Stealing glances but trying not to be obvious about it.
We weren't hiding anymore.
The thought settled warm in my chest. We'd survived. We'd nearly died. And we were sitting in the palace kitchen eating breakfast like normal people who had nothing to hide.
Because we didn't. Not anymore.
Mrs. Chen set plates in front of us. Loaded. More food than two people should eat. But she looked satisfied when we started eating like we'd been starving.
Which, honestly, we had been.
“The palace has been talking,” she said casually. Pouring tea. “About what happened. About you two.”
I tensed. Viktor went still.
“Good things,” she added quickly. “About how Mr. Volkov tore through hell to find you. About how you protected each other. About how you're...” She trailed off. Smiled. “Well. The palace isn't blind, Your Highness. We've known for weeks.”
“Known what?” But my voice came out too careful.
“That you love each other.” She said it simply. “And that you're good for each other. Which is all that matters.”
Viktor's hand found mine under the counter. Squeezed.
“Thank you,” I managed.
She nodded. Went back to her cooking. Left us to our breakfast and our quiet and the slowly dawning realization that maybe, possibly, we didn't have to keep pretending.
We ate in comfortable silence. Viktor finishing his plate for the first time in days. Me trying not to wince every time I moved wrong.
“Your father wants to see you,” Viktor said eventually. “When you are ready.”
“How is he?”
“Angry. Grief-stricken. Proud.” Viktor took a sip of tea. “He wants to know what happens next. With Marcel. With élodie.”
The names hit like stones. I set down my fork. Suddenly not hungry anymore.
“I need to see them,” I said. “Before I decide.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. But I need to anyway.”
Viktor nodded. “Then we go together.”
“Together,” I agreed.
My father's study looked the same as always. Books. Maps. The weight of centuries pressing down from oil paintings of dead kings who'd all thought they knew better.
He stood by the window. Back straight. Hands clasped. Looking older than he had three days ago. Smaller somehow.
“Papa,” I said.
He turned. Saw me. Something in his face crumbled.
Then he was crossing the room. Pulling me into his arms. Careful of my injuries but desperate all the same.
“I thought I'd lost you.” His voice broke. “When they told me. When they said Marcel had you. I thought—”
“I know.” I held him as tight as broken ribs would allow. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”
“Don't apologize.” He pulled back. Hands framing my face. Eyes red. “Don't you dare apologize for surviving.”
We stood there. Father and son. Both of us falling apart in the way men tried not to.
“Sit,” he said finally. Gesturing to the chairs by the fire. “Both of you. Please.”
Viktor hesitated. “Your Majesty, I can wait outside—”
“No.” My father's voice was firm. “You saved my son. You stay.”
We sat. My father poured scotch with shaking hands. Passed glasses around like this was just another evening instead of the aftermath of everything falling apart.
“Marcel has been talking,” he said. “Trying to justify. Explaining his vision for a stronger kingdom. His better future.” He took a drink. “I wanted to kill him myself.”
“Why didn't you?” The question came out harder than I meant it.
“Because that's what he wanted.” My father met my eyes. “He wanted to be a martyr. To die for his cause. To let history decide if he was right.” He paused. “I won't give him that satisfaction.”
“And élodie?”
Pain crossed his face. “She won't speak. Just sits in her cell staring at the wall. The doctors think she's in shock. Or grieving. Hard to tell.”
“She betrayed us.” The words tasted like ash. “For eighteen years. She was planning this. Wanting this.”
“I know.” He set down his glass. “And I should have seen it. Should have questioned why she was always so helpful. So perfectly positioned. Should have—”
“You couldn't have known.” Viktor's voice. Quiet but firm. “None of us could. She was very good at what she did.”
“Too good.” My father looked at me. “What do you want to do with them? The decision is yours. As the injured party. As the crown prince. What happens to Marcel and élodie is your choice.”
The weight of it settled on shoulders that were already carrying too much.
“I need to see them first,” I said. “Need to hear what they have to say. Then I'll decide.”
“And I need to tell you something.” The words came before I could stop them. “Before we do this. Before anything else happens. There's something you should know.”
My father's eyes sharpened. “élodie already told me. About you and Viktor. About your relationship.”
My stomach dropped. “She told you.”
“She did. Tried to use it as leverage. As blackmail.” He smiled. Sad. Real. “Except I already knew.”
“You knew?” I stared at him. “How—”
“Sebastian. I'm your father. I've watched you your entire life. I've seen the way you look at him. The way he looks at you. The way you move around each other like gravity.” He laughed. Soft. “Did you really think I wouldn't notice?”
Viktor's hand found mine. Not hiding. Just there.
“You're not angry,” I said.
“Angry?” My father shook his head. “I'm relieved. After everything. After losing your mother. After nearly losing you. You found someone who loves you enough to tear through hell to find you.” His voice cracked. “Why would I be angry about that?”