It was night in Earl Undine’s castle, and Royce was restless. He stood underneath a torch bracket, looking out through one of the keep’s windows at the encampment spread out below, as far as the eye could see. They had returned here in the wake of the battle, their army marching back in a mixture of exhaustion and elation, but now there was more to do than ever. From the moment they’d come back, Royce had found himself having to give orders and make decisions, unable to stop even for a moment.
Maybe that was a good thing though, because it stopped him from focusing on everything that had happened in the battle. While he was busy, Royce didn’t have to feel the pain of a lost brother, or the deep heartbreak of Genevieve’s death. Royce felt sure that victory should feel better than this.
“My lord,” a servant said, hurrying up to him. “Lord Aversham’s son seeks an audience. His father was killed in battle, and he seeks to claim his father’s lands.”
“That’s a matter for tomorrow,” Royce said, “and for my father.”
How many times had he said those words since they arrived back at the castle? There were so many decisions that were his father’s to make, not his, so many decisions that merely seemed urgent to the people who wanted something. Royce suspected that in the morning Lord Aversham’s son would find himself disappointed. There was no sign that he had opposed his father’s support for the king, no sign that he had sought to free Garet. He seemed to want his lands only because that was the way things had always been.
“The way things have been will change,” Royce said to himself, and caught the servant staring at him. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
There was more, because there were too many things to do for one night. They had not one but three armies camped on their doorstep: Picti, commoner, and knight. They had nobles arriving with every moment, obviously hastening to solidify their place in the new order. They had to find food and shelter for everyone, rewards for those who needed rewarding, and punishments for those who had committed evil acts in the war.
“Royce doesn’t need more for now, thank you, Faulks,” Olivia said, stepping forward into the light.
“Of course, my lady,” the servant said, offering a bow before backing away.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Royce said.
Olivia came in close to him, hugging him and pressing her lips to his. “I did. You’re running yourself ragged to stop yourself feeling anything.”
“Some of the things I’m feeling hurt too much,” Royce said.
“I know,” Olivia replied. She put her hand over his. “And that’s all right, Royce. You don’t have to be the strongest one here. Take the time to feel everything you need to feel. Take the time to sleep. Other people’s problems will still be here in the morning.”
Royce knew it was the truth. They had won the battle, won the war, but there was still so much to work out. They needed to decide what would come next for the kingdom, for all of them.
“I’ll be waiting for you in my chambers when you’re done,” Olivia said gently, moving back from Royce.
“When I’m done?” Royce asked, not understanding.
Olivia sighed. “Your father wants to speak with you. We’ve tried to send physicians to him, but he’s refusing their help. He’s in the highest rooms. You should go to him.”
Royce nodded and headed up through the keep. It was easy to find the room where is father was ensconced, because it was the room where it seemed that about half the castle were looking on through the doorway, trying to work out what was happening. They stepped out of the way the moment they saw Royce to let him pass, most of them bowing as they did so.
His father lay inside in a four-poster bed, surrounded by figures with leeches and bleeding bowls, powders and herbs. He looked like a shadow of the man he had been, hollow eyed and almost white with the loss of blood. The crown sat on a stand near his bed, apparently untouched. He looked up as Royce entered, and that seemed to bring him to life.
“Royce, you’re here,” he said with a smile. “My son, come here to me. Talk with me. All of the rest of you, get out. I’ve lost enough blood without having more bled from me.”
The physicians scattered quickly enough that several had to leave their herbs and powders behind. Royce could hear them muttering as they went, obviously worried that the king wasn’t taking their advice.
“Come closer, my son,” his father said.
Royce came close, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You should let the physicians help you.”
“Do you think that any of them has the skills?” his father asked. “I’m dying, Royce.”
“No,” Royce said, shaking his head. “You can’t. I need you. People need you to be the king!”
“They need a king, but they don’t need me,” his father said. “I know you destroyed the mirror; would you like to know what I saw in it?”
“Father—” Royce began.
“I went questing for the mirror in the hope of gaining the wisdom I needed to be the greatest king that I could be,” his father said. “In that mirror, I saw that I would never be that king. If I tried, I would bring darkness in my wake. The king who was awaited was not me… it’s you, Royce.”
Royce didn’t know what to say to that. He’d gone so far looking for his father, had tried to bring him back because he’d thought that the people needed their king, yet here he was saying that he didn’t want to rule.
“I can be king after you,” Royce said.
“That won’t be long now,” his father replied. “Royce, the only part of this that I regret is that I couldn’t be there for you while you grew up.”
He was talking about his own death as if it were a certainty. Royce wasn’t sure he could cope with that.
“You’re stronger than you know,” his father said, reaching out a hand to catch Royce’s wrist. “I had to stay away so that you could grow into the man you are; a man… a man I’m proud of, Royce.”
“You stayed away for my whole life because of what the mirror showed you,” Royce said. He let out a sigh. “I’m glad I broke it.”
“I’m glad that you’re glad,” his father said. “I think you’re more than wise enough to pick out the right path by yourself now.”
That wasn’t what Royce had meant, and his father seemed to guess what he was thinking then.
“I’m sorry,” his father said. “I wish I could have been there for more of this. I wish I could have saved you every moment of pain, but… who would you have been then, Royce?”
“I would still have been me,” Royce said.
His father gave him an inquiring look. “Would you? I was a young man a lot like you, Royce. I had strength like you, intelligence, quickness, I thought that I would do what was right. I was trained from birth to be a king.”
Royce knew what his father was saying. “And yet the mirror showed you that something would go wrong? That there would be some kind of disaster?”
“I was the disaster,” his father said. “I told you before that I went looking for wisdom, but I didn’t say why. My own nobles had come trying to kill me. I went looking for enough wisdom to strike back at them and hold my throne.”
That didn’t sound so bad to Royce. “So, what future did you see in the mirror?”
“It wasn’t just the future,” his father said. “The mirror showed me myself. It showed me who I truly was. It showed me that I could never be the king that all my people needed, because I’d never experienced anything but nobility and entitlement. I’d had the finest of everything from the moment I was born, and servants obeying my every order; how could I hope to understand the peasants who needed my help, or the Picti who didn’t trust kings?”
“So you left because you wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t have that?” Royce asked.
“I’m sorry, my son,” his father said, “I know how hard parts of your life have been. I think that they have helped to make you who you are, though. Yes, you are a warrior and a leader, but you are also someone who cares about everyone who follows you. You are someone who won’t stand by and let nobles raid villages, because you know what it felt like when they raided yours. You have the magic of kings in you, but you have more than that; you have the heart of a good man.”
“That doesn’t mean that you have to give in and give up your throne,” Royce said, gesturing to the crown.
His father smiled softly. “I’ve had a throne once. It’s enough. But let’s not argue. I love you, Royce, and I’m proud of you. I couldn’t have wished for a better son.”
“I… thank you,” Royce said. He hugged his father tight.
“I think I will sleep now,” his father said.
“You’ll feel stronger in the morning.”
His father just smiled in response, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep. Royce sat there beside him, wanting to be near his father, not wanting to leave him even though Olivia was waiting. Royce wanted this moment with him, wanted to be here when his father woke. Maybe he would be able to convince him that being king wasn’t so bad.
Royce sat there beside the bed, watching his father. It meant that he saw the moment when his breathing slowed, then stopped, saw the way that his father grew still as no living thing was ever truly still.
“No,” Royce said. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew.”
Royce went back through the things that his father had said to him, and realized that the old king had been saying goodbye. Royce didn’t know what to do, or what to think, when he’d lost so many people in such a short space of time.
Royce sat there staring, trying to make some sense of things. He sat there beside his father, thinking of the few moments they’d had, and of every instant that had brought them both to here. He sat there beside his father’s bed until the first rays of the sun came through the window, almost startling Royce with how long he’d been sitting.
Slowly, carefully, he stood and reached out for the crown by the bed. Lifting it up, he set it on his brow and strode to the door, ready to face whatever came next.