C H A P T E R N I N E T E E N
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
C H A P T E R N I N E T E E N
Olwyn
T he throne room hums with quiet conversation, the distant sound of shuffling feet and the low murmur of voices echoing off the high stone walls.
I sit beside Altair, a step lower on my own seat. And though the grandeur of the room surrounds us, Altair’s presence makes it feel less daunting.
Altair looks every bit the king—strong, composed, and regal in the way he carries himself—but there’s a warmth in his face as he listens intently to the vampire kneeling before us. His hand rests loosely on the arm of his throne, his body angled slightly forward, giving the farmer his full attention.
The man’s voice is steady, though there’s a nervous tremor there, not because he’s afraid of his king, but simply because it’s Altair. He explains something about his crops, how the weather has been unkind further north, how despite his best efforts, the soil has been slow to recover.
Altair listens carefully, his dark eyes softening. He doesn’t rush the man, doesn’t interrupt. He lets him speak. When the farmer finishes, there’s no awkward pause, no fear. Instead, Altair leans forward just slightly, his voice steady and full of understanding.
“Have you spoken with the master gardener?” he asks, his tone gentle but direct. “He’s been working on improving soil conditions after the weather you’ve been having. I’ll send him to you, and we’ll make sure your land recovers.”
The man smiles gratefully, nodding with confidence. “Thank you, Your Majesty. The gardener has helped before. He’s a good man.”
Altair’s lips curve into a small, knowing smile. “He is. We’re lucky to have him. I’ll make sure he visits your farm within the week.”
The farmer bows his head, his gratitude clear, but there's no shock or disbelief in his expression. No wide-eyed surprise at Altair’s generosity. It’s as if this is something they all expect from him—kindness, support, solutions.
But as I watch, I feel a stirring deep inside, an uncomfortable twist in my gut. This is what he is to them—a protector, a king who doesn’t just sit on a throne giving orders, but who actively acts , who sees their struggles and tries to ease them. And it hits me in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
All this time, I’ve been fed a different story. My parents told me about Altair's cruelty, how he ruled with an iron fist, how the world feared him. But standing here, watching this exchange, I realise I’ve been lied to. And it makes me feel... unsettled. Maybe even betrayed.
I want to push the thoughts away, to hold onto the version of him I’ve been taught to believe, but it’s hard. Because this doesn’t fit with that narrative. The Altair they warned me about—the cold, heartless king—isn’t the one standing before me right now.
His gestures, the way he speaks to the farmer, to the people—there’s no facade here. It’s real. And that realization is shaking me. Was I really that naive? Or did I want so badly to believe the lies they told me?
I can’t help but feel angry at my parents for painting him as a monster. They built their walls around me and kept me from seeing the truth. But now, seeing this... seeing him care about his people, I realise just how much they’ve manipulated me.
A part of me wants to demand more proof, to challenge Altair’s motives, but another part is simply... confused. How can the man who’s done all this be the same one who took me from my home? Who terrified me with his shadows and cold touch?
This moment, this small act of kindness, shifts something inside me. It’s like a crack forming in the wall I’ve built around my own heart. And the worst part? I don’t know how to stop it from growing.
“Thank you, my king,” the farmer says, his voice filled with a deep respect.
Altair nods. “Take care and let me know if you need anything else.”
The man rises, but before he leaves, his gaze shifts toward me. I sit straighter, unsure of what to do. My hands are clasped tightly in my lap, and I try not to fidget under his gaze. Then, with a warmth that surprises me, the farmer bows deeply.
“My queen,” he says with a gentle smile, his voice carrying the same respect he showed Altair.
I blink, a rush of emotion filling my chest. I'm used to hearing 'Your Majesty'—so formal, so distant—but this feels different. The way he says it, so openly, so genuinely, strikes a chord I didn’t expect. It’s the first time someone has called me that without hesitation, without the sense of duty.
I force myself to nod back, offering a small, uncertain smile. “Thank you,” I manage to say, the words soft but sincere.
As the farmer leaves, I glance over at Altair. He’s watching me with a small smile tugging at his lips.
“You’re a part of this,” he says quietly, his voice low and steady, meant for me alone. “They see you, Olwyn. You’re as much a part of this kingdom as I am. They trust you.”
His words land heavier than I expected, but not with the weight of pressure or expectation. There’s a warmth to them, a sense of security that I didn’t realise I needed. The people see me? It’s an odd thought, but it’s comforting, too. For the first time, I feel like I’m not just an outsider here—like I’m meant to be a part of something bigger than myself.
I look at him, a flicker of hope stirring in my chest. It’s strange, but I feel... grounded.
I turn back toward the throne room as another citizen steps forward, ready to present their own request. And I realise something then. This throne, this place beside Altair, it’s not a burden. It’s a role, a responsibility. One I could grow into, if I gave it a chance. Back in Avantra, I was kept so hidden, veiled away behind walls and whispers, that the idea of ruling, of standing openly before my people, was no more than a dream. I never saw a day where I could lead as freely as Altair does.
But now, here, I can see it clearly. The chance to be seen, to be known—not just as a figure, but as a force that could make a difference, to do good for them. The realisation stirs something deep within me, and for the first time in a long while, the idea of it doesn’t feel so daunting. It feels right.