Chapter 50
Chapter
Fifty
One Week After the Battle for the North Pass
The road to the palace was quieter than Dimitrios remembered. Unsurprising for a country in the aftermath of a battle. Perean had been holding its breath for far too long.
He sat taller in his saddle, though his shoulder ached and his ribs pulled with every breath.
Worth every pain to see his lands at peace.
He’d spent the week at his grandfather’s estate, convalescing beneath mountain air and olive branches, listening to the elders debate the future while servants whispered of the past.
Antonis Nicolea had given him room to rest, but no illusions about what came next. Dimitrios had finally done something worthy of his crown. Now, it was time to wear it.
The time had come to call for a vote. Now, while the provincial lords were still aching from battle.
His horse slowed as he and his entourage—Nikolas to his immediate right—reached a fork in the road. One led directly to the palace. The other, the East Harbor market.
Dimitrios paused there, looking toward the heart of Praevia. Long ago, he’d walked those streets as a normal man, speaking with normal people about their average lives. And a week ago, they’d ridden into battle at his side, untrained and undaunted.
The bravest people he’d ever known.
Nikolas’s horse trotted in place beside him. “We should continue on to the palace.”
That’s what a king would do. Take the path of least resistance. Bypass the reality of everyday life. This intentional fork in the road allowed past royalty to draw their own conclusions about the prosperity of their people and lands without having to see it for themselves.
But he wanted to know how they’d fared after battle. Who lived? Did life change in the wake of so many losses?
Dimitrios kicked his horse toward his people.
On the outskirts, he passed vendors, weavers, children at work. At first, they stilled as he rode by. Then whispers trailed him on the wind. They were saying his name.
But near the central square fountain, the crowd grew. And his name rose into a chant.
He climbed down to the cobbled stones of his city and hugged weeping mothers. Shook strong, soot-stained hands. He laughed with the fishermen.
And he didn’t flinch when they called him King.
Didn’t correct them.
Not anymore.
Hours later, Dimitrios moved through the palace corridors with a thousand greetings still clinging to his bones. His hand ached from relentless handclasps, his face sore from too many solemn smiles.
He turned toward the royal wing just as a breathless page came running behind him.
“Your Majesty. Forgive me. Someone is waiting for you in the atrium and has requested you come at once.”
Milonia’s face flashed through his mind, but he quickly banished it. Wishful thinking would be his downfall if he let it continue.
“Who?” he asked.
“The Inquisitor. Lord Salidis.”
He froze. “Stavros is awake?”
After all these weeks, he’d given up hope that the man would ever wake. He’d almost forgotten about him entirely.
The page nodded. “Awake and issuing many orders, My Lord.”
Of course he was. “Thank you.”
Less than a minute later, Dimitrios’s boots echoed against the polished stone floor of the atrium. The high windows spilled late-afternoon light across the room in golden streaks.
There, resting by the fountain, was the man himself.
Stavros stood to greet Dimitrios with a deep nod. “Your Majesty.”
Salidis looked like a vulture who’d been asked to dress for Court. His pale gray robes hung on a now-skeletal frame.
“As happy as I am to see you, Stavros, I would have gladly come to your chambers.”
He sat with a groan and creak of bone. “I’ve been stuck in those rooms for three days. I heard you were returning and wanted to greet you.” He motioned at the room at large. “This was as far as I could make it.”
“I’ll find someone to help you back. You shouldn’t have pushed yourself.”
Stavros loosed a deep breath and reclined. “First, we have some catching up to do. I’ve heard about how you’ve handled things in my absence. You’ve done well for yourself. You must be very proud.”
“I’m…” Dimitrios sat on the fountain’s edge and threaded his fingers across his thigh. “I’m tired, if you want the truth.”
Stavros nodded. “It won’t get any better, I’m afraid. Especially now that my official determination has been sent to all the provincial lords as of this afternoon. In lieu of an absent council, I thought that would be the best course of action.”
“You didn’t have to do that. I’ve gone this long; a few more weeks wouldn’t have hurt anyone.”
Dimitrios didn’t want to say that it was also unnecessary in light of recent events. A vote would be sufficient.
“I didn’t really have a choice in the matter,” Stavros said. “Your Head of House insisted on it.”
For what felt like an eternity, he could only stare. “…Milonia?”
“She waited all of one night to arrive at my bedside with paper and ink, then penned every letter on my behalf. All I had to do was sign. She took them to the rookery herself this afternoon.”
Dimitrios’s heart slammed once—hard—against his ribs. “Is she still here? They haven’t left yet?”
“They?”
“Milonia and her son, Caius. I ordered her to leave days ago.”
Before the battle. The pass had been a mess ever since. She probably had to wait even longer for it to clear.
Dimitrios stood so fast that his head swam. “Thank you, Stavros. I will send someone to fetch you momentarily. Are you all right here until then?”
Stavros blinked rapidly, his brows knitted together. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. I just—”
He just…what?
Dimitrios could hardly breathe around his racing heart. For seven days, he’d played arguments in his mind. Reunions, both good and bad. He’d pictured every version: her denial, her confession, her tearful silence.
Fury warred with hope, because he was also—stupidly—in love with her. All he really wanted, what he needed, was an explanation. What exactly did her father want? What had she given him, and what changed her mind? Why had she put herself on the line that day?
But then he remembered… He’d told her in no uncertain terms to go. And she had no reason to believe he’d softened to her since.
However, she wouldn’t risk Caius’s safety if the roads were unpassable.
And she spent all these days ensuring no one could argue his right to the crown.
Her father would be furious.
A smile broke across Dimitrios’s face before he could stop it. “I have to go.”
Dimitrios searched the palace until his legs burned—gardens, dining halls, kitchens, council chambers. Offices. Bedrooms.
He was nearly outside when he caught the faintest hint of her presence, having almost missed her entirely.
Inside the Gallery of Ancients, marble pillars circled the two-story chamber, each standing between towering marble statues of ancient Perean heroes from a long-ago war.
At the far end, beneath the dome’s purest beam of light, the most curious statue of them all overlooked the lower floor.
A man and woman, immortalized forever in a sad embrace.
He, standing tall, and she, a limp body in his arms. No one alive remembered when or why they’d been immortalized in that moment. Even their names were lost to time.
Milonia stood with her back to him, staring up at the stone couple, almost exactly centered on the floor’s red-and-gold star pattern. Her hair was unpinned, and her gold himation draped off one bare shoulder.
In another life, as another man, he would have kissed her warm skin in greeting. Inhaled deeply of her scent in that space between her neck and shoulder.
And in that life, she might have turned and smiled and welcomed him home.
Instead, she remained still, eyes turned upwards to the lover’s embrace.
Dimitrios crossed the room, slow and quiet, until he stood at the edge of the floor’s polished star.
“This has always been my favorite room,” she said. “Otuvian heroes are remembered in song, immortalized before fires with music and dancing. Here, they’re remembered in the quiet. In shadows and sunlight. In peace.”
With a sigh and a shake of her head, her chin sank toward her chest. “I didn’t intend to be here this long. We’re leaving momentarily.”
Dimitrios lurched forward before catching himself. “That isn’t necessary. I was harsh before. I was in shock.”
“It wasn’t how I wanted you to find out.” She gave him the briefest glimpse of her profile over one shoulder. “I knew you would eventually. I thought I would be home by then. Maybe even married off to some influential lord. Someone useful to my father’s cause.”
That was not a future he’d imagined, and the idea of another’s hands on her…
His nails bit into his palms. “Is that the life you want? A marriage born of influence at your father’s whim?”
Milonia stared up at the statue again and was quiet for some time. Finally, she said, “Thank you for what you said to Caius. For the promise. It means a great deal to both of us that you would try.”
“I meant every word.” He dared another step and could almost smell her lilac-scented skin. “I would offer him the world if it were within my power.”
She didn’t answer for a moment. Then her shoulders pulled taut. “Caius is waiting for me in the carriage. I must go.”
She started toward a second set of doors that would take her outside.
“Did I lose you?” he called to her back, his heart pounding in his ears.
Even as the words left him without forethought. In none of those imagined arguments had he handed over his still-beating heart on a platter. Not once had he feared losing her, because in every instance, he forgave her.
He’d forgive her anything.
When she didn’t answer, he took two more urgent steps, his hands trembling. “Milonia. Stay. Help me understand.”
Milonia stood in silence for so long that he thought she might turn around. Might finally grace him with those beautiful eyes.
Instead, she walked away. Silent. Certain.
Gone.
Milonia sank into the shadows of the carriage, throat tight, heart unraveling thread by thread. Only then did she let her tears fall.
Caius lay curled in sleep on the opposite bench, cheeks stained and eyes swollen from too much crying. He’d been furious with her all day. Yelling one minute, and sobbing the next.
It was her fault.
With every day they lingered, he’d imagined a new ending. He’d naively declared Dimitrios’s forgiveness before it was even given. He’d planned to stay.
But he was still just a boy. He didn’t understand what forgiveness really cost. He was still too young to grasp the complex weight of history, politics, and pride.
She had to face her father in person. There was no other way. She had to make him understand. Dimitrios was a good man. He would do right by Otuvia. He could still make things right—for all of them.
And if she failed—
The carriage jostled over a bump in the road.
Milonia clutched her belly, fingers splayed protectively.
She couldn’t fail.