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“But he could wake up.”
The two physicians exchanged glances, and Muriel knew that between their stares all hope was lost.
“He’s comfortable,” one of them confirmed, turning to smile reassuringly at the queen. “All we can do is wait and see.”
Charisse—the second wife of King Lyson Ronen—smiled back as if she had stated a fact. If she thought and prayed hard enough, her husband lying in front of her would prove her right. For a split second, Muriel saw where Davien inherited his grandiose thinking from.
As the physicians saw themselves out, Muriel remained standing to the side, watching as the king lay sunken in his bed. The bed sheets were still folded neatly in place, covering him up to his chest with his hands lying listless on either side of him.
Charisse’s jeweled hands found his as she sat back down in the chair next to his bedside. The bright fuchsia and violet of her jeweled gown counteracted the solemness of the room, and Muriel had to look away, her eyes drawing to the window as if getting a breath of fresh air.
She could see the ripples in the lake the castle backed up to, the hills and mountain peaks jetting up into the sky in the distance. Another morning had gone by in silence of Callan’s whereabouts, or news from Callan himself. After last night and witnessing Davien’s takeover into becoming regent, Muriel felt like she had been scraped empty on the inside. Even her appearance showed it: her dark mauve gown was plain compared to the queen’s ensemble, and her lack of jewelry simplified her look. Her thick, curly black hair was braided back. She hadn’t wanted to bother with it.
As she stared out at those mountains, the doors opened, and she heard Davien’s voice as his footsteps echoed into the room.
“Any signs yet?” he questioned as the doors closed behind him. No greeting; just facts.
Muriel shuddered as if the words were crawling against the back of her neck. She still couldn’t forgive what she had seen the previous night in the meeting hall, lying on the ground in between the benched rows and listening to the council install Davien as regent. It was a simple political tactic, a way to get a stronger standing as being made king in case anyone questioned him. Or, worse for him, if Callan returned.
Thinking of her husband made her eyes mist over, and so like all the times before, she swatted his memory away so she could think clearly. She had to; it hadn’t done her any good those first couple of years he was missing, and now all anyone ever saw in her was a running joke. The sad princess; the wife without a husband. And that’s only if they weren’t trying to find some scandal involving her to amuse themselves.
“He’s comfortable,” Charisse spoke up, reiterating the doctor’s words. “I’m sure he’s just over exhausted and needs his rest. The news of Callan must have overexcited him.”
“News. What news?” Davien replied, and the coldness in his tone caught Muriel’s attention, prompting her to swing her gaze at him.
“That Callan might have been found,” his mother replied, looking at him as if it were absurd that he could have forgotten.
“Ah, well,” Davien replied, his pointed look falling on Muriel. “We know who’s responsible for all this, then.”
Muriel’s jaw dropped open, seeing the threat. Yes, she had been the one to send out the criers and pardon without authorization, but the king had understood her motives. However, the idle gossip throughout the years hadn’t helped her relationship with the queen. Charisse never took kindly to anything that might tarnish the reputation of her family, and since Callan was her stepson and half-brother to her boys, Muriel was nothing more than a liability. King Lyson had always stood up for her, knowing Muriel since she was a child, but things had changed, years gone by, and now the only person who could vouch for her was silent.
“Enough,” Charisse hissed, surprising both of them. She had taken the king’s hand, was pressing it to her cheek. “He just wants one of his sons back.”
“You’re siding with her?” Davien gawked, still not over the conversation.
“You’re not a parent. You don’t understand.” Charisse kept her eyes on her husband, and Muriel felt a pang of sympathy, understanding the pain and frustration of being unable to reach the man she loved. “Besides, Lyson was right,” she continued, “I would have done the same thing, sending those criers out.”
Davien was about to object again, but the doors behind him opened, hushing his remarks.
Another set of footsteps entered, followed by a cheerful tone none of them expected to hear.
“The prodigal son has returned,” the man boosted, coming to stand next to Davien. Patting him on the back in teasing, he turned towards the rest of them, his tone sobering a little at the sight of his father. “Any changes yet?” he asked a little more sympathetically.
“Eiden,” Charisse smiled at her youngest as she rested her husband’s hand back on the bed. “When did you arrive?”
“Not that long ago,” he reassured her, and although he smiled back, the way his eyes diverted back to his father gave away that he was still looking for an answer.
“He’s going to be fine,” Charisse reassured him, but when she looked away, Eiden’s eyes found Muriel, who shook her head softly.
Eiden nodded once, still catching the attention of Davien who just missed their exchange.
Muriel tried to hide her smile. Eiden matched his brother in looks—short curly sable hair, light brown skin—but his personality was the complete opposite. It seemed where Davien’s personality ended, Eiden’s began, a much lighter version than his brother.
“You didn’t have to travel all the way over here,” Charisse continued. “I know training comes first in all things.”
“Training is an undertaking, but nothing I can’t handle.” He smiled suavely as he walked around to the other side of the bed.
“Second time’s a charm,” Davien pointed out smugly.
“You’d know since you’re always second best,” Eiden jabbed back. “You never were able to beat Callan’s records. Excellent job, brother,” he mocked.
“And you have?” Davien raised an eyebrow, curious but cautious. The jealousy was beginning to show.
“I don’t bother with records,” Eiden admitted off-handedly. “They don’t often protect you in battle.”
It was the one smart thing he had said, but then again, Eiden usually said things that were smart but often dismissed. His flippant attitude and toxicity with women alone gave him a rogue status he hadn’t been able to shake, not that he bothered to try. It amused him that people thought so lowly of him, possibly because everyone thought so highly of his brothers. Well, one of them, and he had been missing for years.
“They help in other aspects,” Davien countered, standing up a little too proudly.
“I’m sure they do, regent,” Eiden winked, mocking his brother and the news he had already been told.
Davien was about to counteract the slight when their mother hushed them. “Boys, enough,” Charisse groaned, keeping her gaze on her husband. “If you’re going to bicker, do it elsewhere. Your father doesn’t need to hear it.”
Muriel watched as the two exchanged harsh glances. As if bored with the idea that he wouldn’t be able to harass his brother anymore, Eiden moved away from the bed. “Apologies, mother. I better be going anyway. I have some princely duties to attend to.”
“Oh yes, I’m sure those harlots need attending,” Davien mumbled.
Eiden smirked as he rounded past his brother and made his way to Muriel. “Sister.” He smiled in both greeting and farewell, kissing her cheek before winking at her. Turning away, he replied lightly, “And don’t forget the wine, brother. Need to get my fill in before you abolish it like you will anything fun.”
Eiden left the room with a chuckle, and Muriel pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t laugh along with him.
In Eiden’s place came one of Davien’s companions, a knight who had stood by his side in the meeting hall, causing Muriel’s hidden smile to fade. The knight had no business being there, and by how he acted, he didn’t want to be either. He immediately went to Davien, whispered something in his ear, and then hurried back out.
The change was drastic, the harsh lines in Davien’s face becoming harder.
“Excuse me, mother. I have some things to attend to as well.” He bowed before Charisse could acknowledge him, and only a glare at Muriel sufficed as a farewell.
Muriel watched him go, curious as to why he was acting more concerned while leaving than when he arrived.
Knowing it would be better to leave Charisse alone than stay with her, Muriel quietly made her way to the door. But before leaving entirely, she turned back to face the king’s bed where he remained unconscious next to his wife.
“Thank you for earlier, Your Majesty,” Muriel said softly as she bowed, alluding back to Davien’s earlier accusation.
“It wasn’t for you.” Charisse turned a hard look towards her, and that was the expression Muriel knew so well. “The duty of a queen is to always make sure the king’s image is untarnished—is favored—no matter the gossip.”
Muriel swallowed hard, knowing another rumor must have been circling. That, or Davien had said something to his mother about making Muriel his wife, a long-running threat which was becoming more real by the day. “I understand,” she reassured her, though Callan was the only king she had in mind.
“I’m glad you do.” Charisse nodded, though her expression didn’t change. “Because no matter your feelings, you must always stand beside him. You must always uphold his image. It takes an extraordinarily strong man to hold the burdens of being king. It takes an equally strong woman to share in carrying that weight.”
He had told her. Muriel felt it in her chest by how her heart pounded away, the corner of her eye twitching though she tried to blink away so it wouldn’t show. Davien was no longer just threatening her; he had gained an ally in his mother. No matter how begrudging she was towards it, it was only a matter of time until Muriel would be forced to decide and suffer the consequences. She already knew she’d say no; she just didn’t know how vengeful his spite would be afterwards. So far it had been a dangerous dance between them, a cat-and-mouse game where Davien planned to force her to take his hand. She was a little scared to know what he’d do with her once it occurred to him that he couldn’t win this game, that he could never have her.
Muriel slipped out of the room, making her way back to her chambers. Her ladies-in-waiting would have greeted her out in the hall, but she had dismissed them earlier that morning, not wanting to bore them with her routine. They were always around first thing in the morning and in the evenings to help her get ready for supper and then bed, and sometimes they would go with her to the cathedral to pray. But Muriel had made her routine so basic that she decided not to drag them into it, allowing them to have lives when she couldn’t. It also didn’t help overhearing one of the girls gloating about being with one of Davien’s men. That made distancing herself a little easier.
Walking the corridor alone, she passed by sconces burning with electrical light, showing her the way. A couple of guards passed her in the hall, bowing to her before continuing on to relieve those at the king’s door.
Muriel was approaching another hallway when she overheard someone speak out, their words lost by distance. Coming to a halt, she heard another sharp whisper, a demand.
Inching closer, she came to where the halls met, pressing herself against the wall. Carefully, she looked around the corner, finding Davien and his friend a little ways down. Davien’s fists were locked on the man’s collar, his friend staring at him in a mixture of shock and shame.
“What do you mean he’s here?” Davien seethed, his face close to the knight’s.
“H—He was spotted near the outpost,” the man stammered. “He might be entering Aselian anytime. We had no warning—”
“There were plenty of warnings!” Davien yelled, pushing his friend away. His hands immediately went to his forehead as he started pacing, something Muriel had never seen him do before.
“We didn’t know it was really him,” the knight tried to defend. “So many people have come forward pretending to be Callan Ronen—”
“She sent a pardon!” Davien snapped, his eyes squeezing shut, his rage manifesting in his ever-tightening first that shook as he paced the floor. “She sent criers, so she knows it’s him—” he growled the rest of the words “—which means he’s alive!”
Callan! Her mind screamed, and she had to clamp her hands over her mouth as she moved back, leaning against the wall to steady herself.
“He’s not alone.”
Muriel heard Davien stop short, and when she peeked again, her mouth still covered and her heart pounding in her ears, she saw him slowly look at his knight.
“Two others are with him,” the knight spoke up, standing his ground against the prince’s icy glare.
“So, he made friends,” Davien thought out loud, rubbing his jaw in thought. “Keep everyone on alert. The minute he’s spotted again, find me. I want to deal with him myself.”
Davien marched off in the opposite direction, the knight following a couple paces behind.
Muriel stared at the two men as they vanished around a corner, eyes wide as she lowered her hand, her body trembling. He’s alive. Her mind looped back, a smile forming through her gasps, tears springing to her eyes.
He was alive, and she had been right. Muriel looked both ways then, realizing she was by herself, still alone with this knowledge.
When she bolted into a run, needing to get to her chambers quickly, it was out of a different type of desperation. Callan was alive and she needed to find him first, to get to him before Davien.
