Chapter 41-Like father, like son
The corridors remain lit through every hour of the night now, torches burning low against dark stone while servants move quietly through the halls like frightened ghosts trying not to disturb something dangerous lurking beneath the surface.
Guards rotate in double shifts. Physicians whisper in corners.
Nobles who once filled these walls with laughter and politics now lower their voices the second I pass them, careful not to speak too loudly in case the emperor hears something he dislikes.
Fear has settled into the bones of the palace.
And I am the reason why.
The empire feels different now.
Quieter.
Tighter.
Like the entire kingdom is holding its breath while waiting to see if its queen survives.
I sit alone in my office long after midnight, surrounded by enough parchment to bury a lesser ruler beneath the weight of his own failure.
Reports cover nearly every surface in the room: interrogations, poison inventories, servant schedules, guard rotations, physician testimonies, and witness accounts that contradict one another so often they blur together into meaningless noise.
I have read the same pages so many times that the words barely resemble language anymore.
Nothing helps.
Nothing answers the only question that matters.
Who touched my wife?
The candles near my desk burned low hours ago, their wax melting down in uneven rivers that hardened across the silver trays beneath them. The room smells faintly of smoke, old paper, and lavender. Always lavender now.
Ophelia did that.
Months ago, she decided my office felt "emotionally hostile" and began quietly changing things one piece at a time until the room no longer resembled the Cold War chamber it once was.
Fresh flowers appeared every few days. Blankets replaced military furs on the couches.
Candles started smelling sweet instead of medicinal.
Even the ink jars changed because she said black ink alone made the room "look like depression lived here. "
I hated every adjustment she made.
Now I stare at every trace she left behind like a dying man desperate to remember how breathing once felt.
The flowers in the corner have wilted.
No one replaces them except her.
The pale petals had drooped lower each day, curling inward at the edges while the water inside the vase grew cloudy. I keep meaning to throw them away, yet every time I look at them, something stops me.
Because they remind me too much of her.
Beautiful things are fading quietly while I fail to stop them.
I rub one hand over my face slowly and feel exhaustion dragging at every part of me. My shoulders ache constantly now. My jaw hurts from clenching it too hard every waking moment. I cannot remember the last time I slept more than an hour uninterrupted.
Not that it matters.
Every time I close my eyes, I see blood running from Ophelia's eyes again.
I hear the coughing.
The choking.
The sound her body made when pain tore through her was hard enough that she folded against me, shaking and terrified, while asking me what was happening to her.
Gods.
The fear in her voice still claws at my ribs.
My gaze drifts toward the couch near the fireplace.
Her blanket still rests there in a careless heap where she left it days ago. One of her books sits facedown beside the cushions, a ribbon marking a page she never finished reading. There's even a half-empty bowl of candy beside it because she liked eating sweets while pretending to help me work.
Everything in this room still looks like her.
Which means nothing inside it feels survivable anymore.
I haven't stepped inside our bedchamber since the poisoning.
I've tried multiple times.
I made it to the doorway before turning around again because the sight of her on the bed nearly destroyed me. her body shivering as Elias sat next to her witha rag wiping th sweat of her forehead.
I stood there staring at it for almost a full minute before realizing I couldn't breathe properly.
So I left.
And I never went back.
Now the entire empire watches me unravel quietly while pretending not to notice.
The office doors open without warning.
I already know who it is before looking up.
Only one man still walks into my office like he has the right. Elias steps inside, carrying another stack of reports beneath one arm. He closes the door quietly behind him before stopping completely the moment his eyes land on me.
The disappointment on his face hits harder than anger ever could.
He looks emotional. exhausted. Like grief has been slowly stripping pieces from him every hour, Ophelia remains trapped in that bed, fighting to breathe.
His dark hair is messier than usual now, loose strands falling around tired eyes, shadowed from lack of sleep. The sleeves of his shirt remain rolled unevenly to his forearms, stained near one cuff with dried blood where Ophelia coughed against him earlier.
His gaze drifts slowly around the room. The untouched food tray near my desk. The papers were scattered across the floor. The blanket on the couch. The candles burned nearly to nothing.
Then, finally, back to me.
"She is awake again."
Every muscle in my body tightens instantly. I force my expression to remain empty.
"How long?"
"A little while."
Never enough.
"Did she eat?"
"Yes."
I nod once.
The answer should relieve me.
Instead, my stomach twists harder because I know how difficult eating has become for her now. Every swallow hurts. Every breath exhausts her. The poison weakened her body badly enough that even speaking for too long leaves her trembling.
And still she smiles whenever someone enters the room.
Gods.
Even half-conscious, she still tries to make other people comfortable. Elias walks toward the desk slowly before setting the reports down with more force than necessary.
"She asked for you."
The words settle heavily inside the office, quiet but devastating enough to make my hand still against the parchment beneath my fingers. The crackling fireplace behind me suddenly feels too loud.
I do not look at Elias.
i let my eye wander the tall windows, watching as rain lashes violently against the palace walls, the storm turning the world beyond the glass dark and blurred.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbles low across the mountains, but it is nothing compared to the storm currently standing inside my office before turning my gaze back to the parchment.
"She thought maybe you were resting," Elias continues quietly after my silence stretches too long. His voice is controlled, but I know him well enough to hear the anger hidden beneath it. "She tried coming to see you herself."
Something sharp twists painfully beneath my ribs.
"I had to stop her halfway down the corridor because she nearly collapsed."
My jaw tightens.
Of course she did.
God forbid that a woman think about herself for even a single moment.
"She asked if your headaches were getting worse," he says. "Wanted to know if you'd eaten yet."
The words hit harder than they should. Dying in bed and still worrying about me.
I stare harder at the parchment in front of me, even though the words have long since blurred together into meaningless lines of black ink.
My eyes burn from exhaustion. I have not slept properly in days.
Every time I close my eyes, I see blood staining white sheets.
Pale trembling hands. Her body limp in my arms.
"She'll stay awake longer tonight, too," Elias says softly.
That finally makes me look at him.
His face looks exhausted. Not physically. Soul-deep exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that comes from spending your entire life carrying burdens that never should have belonged to you.
"She keeps trying to stay awake because she still believes you'll come."
My throat tightens painfully.
I look away first.
Coward.
"I'm busy," I mutter.
Elias lets out a quiet laugh.
Cold.
Disbelieving.
"No," he says flatly. "You're hiding."
The room falls silent again.
Heavy.
Tense.
I slowly lean back in my chair, staring at him across the desk. Most men would have backed down, seeing the expression on my face now. Elias never has.
"I am trying to find the people responsible for hurting her."
"And while you search," Elias cuts in sharply, "you are also hurting her yourself."
The words land like a physical blow.
Anger flashes hot through me instantly because some ugly part of me wants him to stop talking before he says something I cannot survive hearing.
I stand abruptly enough the chair scrapes violently against the stone floor.
"Careful."
The warning leaves my mouth low and dangerous.
Elias does not even blink.
"No."
The single word cracks through the room like thunder.
Outside the office doors, movement immediately stills. Even the guards know better than to interrupt now.
Elias rarely raises his voice.
Which somehow makes it infinitely worse when he does.
"She wakes up crying." My chest tightens violently. "She wakes up crying because she thinks you stopped loving her."
The breath leaves my lungs slowly.
Painfully.
I feel it physically, like someone driving a blade directly between my ribs and twisting.
"She asked me this morning if seeing her weak disgusts you."
Gods.
My stomach drops so violently it nearly makes me sick.
"And then," Elias continues mercilessly, stepping closer toward the desk, "she apologized for being weak in the first place.
" Every word cuts deeper. "She kept saying she would recover faster if she tried harder.
" His jaw clenches hard enough I hear his teeth grind together.
"She's forcing herself to walk before her body is ready because she thinks if she gets strong enough, you'll finally come back to her. "
I cannot answer him.
Because there is no defense for this.
None.
"My little girl is lying in that bed trying to kill herself, proving she still deserves to be loved," Elias says harshly, emotion finally cracking through his voice now, "while her husband hides in an office pretending paperwork matters more than she does."
"You think I don't care about her?" I snap.
"Not enough." The answer comes instantly. Without hesitation. "She still smiles every single time someone says your name," Elias continues, stepping around the desk now. "She still defends you every time Veronica or I get angry on her behalf."
Another step.
"She still tells people you're tired."
Another.
"She still tells everyone you're overworked."
Another.
"She still makes excuses for why her husband won't even look at her anymore."
My hands curl into fists so tight my knuckles ache.
Every instinct inside me screams to end this conversation.
To leave.
To make him stop talking before he tears open something inside me I cannot put back together.
But Elias keeps going.
Because someone has to.
"You know what's truly pathetic?" he asks quietly.
"She still believes in you. She made Veronica leave her room earlier because she thought everyone worrying about her condition would stress you.
" Elias laughs again, but there is no humor in the sound.
Only bitterness. "She is protecting you from her suffering while you hide from hers. "
I look away instinctively.
"i was wrong," he says quietly, "i expected too much of you. I believed you when you said you wanted to become a man worthy of protecting people."
His eyes harden.
"And now look at you."
The disgust in his voice nearly destroys me.
"A coward hiding behind responsibility because he's too afraid to sit beside his suffering wife."
"That's enough."
"No," Elias says sharply. "I spent years trying to make sure you did not become your father."
The room goes deathly still.
"He abandoned his sons because grief hurt too much." His voice lowers dangerously. "And now his son abandons his wife and his child for the exact same reason."
The truth of it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs.
Because he is right.
Gods.
He is right.
Every time I see Ophelia lying pale against those sheets, all I can think about is death.
Funerals.
Graves.
Cold hands that never warm again.
I have buried too many people.
Too many.
And the thought of burying her feels unbearable enough that some selfish, pathetic part of me thought distance might somehow make it easier.
Elias sees realization flicker across my face.
His anger only grows.
"You think staying away prepares you for losing her?" he asks viciously. "You think abandoning her first will somehow hurt less later?"
No answer comes.
Because there isn't one.
"You know why I never had a family of my own?" Elias asks suddenly. I blink slightly. His laugh is soft. Broken. "Because I was too busy raising everyone else's."
Pain slices violently through my chest.
"Fixing everyone else's messes. Comforting everyone else's grieving hearts. Doing the jobs that weak men abandoned because pain frightened them."
"I thought I raised you better than this."
The disappointment in his voice hurts infinitely worse than the anger ever could.
"I thought you would become a greater man than the ones who failed you."
Silence stretches between us.
"But instead I look at you now and realize you are no different."
The words hollow something out inside me.
"I am ashamed we share blood." I physically freeze. "You are not acting like a king," he says coldly. "You are acting like a frightened little boy pretending duty matters more than love because he cannot survive the terror of losing it."
My breathing grows uneven.
Elias stares at me for a very long moment before walking toward the wine display. He examines the bottle carefully before pulling one out and walking back towards me. Slowly, he places it down on the desk between us.
The glass clicks softly against the wood.
"Since I know you plan on sleeping in this office again tonight," Elias says quietly, "at least send word to your wife first."
Pain twists violently through my chest.
"So she doesn't stay awake all night waiting for footsteps that never come."
"Then you can sit here alone," he continues softly, pushing the bottle slightly closer toward me, "and drown your grief at the bottom of a bottle the same way your father did."