Six

Duke Harlan Graves stood near the front of the courtroom, the fur lined cloak across his shoulders looking heavier than usual under the king’s stare. The other lords shifted in their seats. The air in the hall had changed the moment Ravyn locked eyes on him.

Ravyn leaned forward on the throne, fingers tight around the carved arms. “Duke Graves,” he continued, voice low and even. “For some months now, I don’t understand why I haven’t seen some of the records of the trades that have been going in and out of Eldoria. The southern routes in particular. The ledgers that used to reach my study every fortnight have grown thin. Incomplete. Missing pages.”

Graves’ face went grim. Color drained from under his beard. His eyes flicked once toward the other dukes before snapping back to the king. “But my king….”

“I want them on my desk before the end of this week,” Ravyn cut in, not raising his voice. The quiet made it worse. “Every ledger. Every merchant mark. Every shipment that crossed the southern border or left through the river ports. If even one page is missing, I will know. And I will not be pleased.”

A thick silence fell. Graves swallowed hard and bowed, the movement stiff. “As you command, Your Majesty. I will have the scribes gather everything at once.”

Ravyn gave a short nod and turned his attention to the rest of the room. “Next.”

One by one the other dukes rose. They spoke of the border taxes, the usual complaints from the eastern marches and the northern trade posts. Voices rose and fell. Some argued for higher rates to fill the royal coffers after the last hard winter. Others warned that raising them would choke the flow of grain and iron.

Ravyn listened with half an ear. His mind kept circling back to Graves’ pale face and the missing records. In the last life, those same southern routes had been the veins that carried bribes and weapons into the hands of Liora’s allies. He remembered the day the truth had come out, too late, after the castle was already burning. He would not make the same mistake twice.

“No increase,” he said when the last duke finished speaking. His voice cut clean through the room. “The border taxes stay as they are. Any man who raises them without my seal will answer for it personally. We do not bleed the common folk to line the pockets of men who already eat better than most.”

A few of the older lords exchanged glances. The King of Eldoria had never spoken like that before. Ravyn ignored them. He kept the rest of the session short and sharp, signing only what was necessary, dismissing the rest. By the time the last petition was set aside, nearly two hours had passed.

He rose from the throne feeling the weight of the day settle into his bones. The courtroom emptied slowly. Guards stepped forward as he left the hall, falling into place around him without a word. Captain Garrick walked a half step behind on his right, silent and solid as always.

The corridors felt longer than usual. Torchlight flickered against the stone. Servants pressed themselves against the walls as the royal party passed. Ravyn’s boots echoed. Every step carried him farther from the politics and closer to the one person in the castle who still looked at him with something other than fear or calculation.

When they reached the east wing, he stopped outside Caelian’s chambers. “Wait here,” he told the guards. “No one enters.”

He pushed the door open and closed it firmly behind him. The latch clicked soft in the quiet.

The room was dim. Only a single candle still burned low on the table near the bed. Caelian lay on his side under the heavy furs, one hand curled tight around the edge of the blanket. His dark hair spilled across the pillow. The soft rise and fall of his breathing was the only sound.

Ravyn stood still for a long moment, just watching. The bandage on Caelian’s hand was still neat. The prince’s face looked younger in sleep, the usual tension smoothed away. For four years Ravyn had never bothered to look at him like this. He had never wanted to.

He crossed the room quietly, stripped off his heavy outer tunic and boots, and climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. Caelian stirred faintly but did not wake. Ravyn eased closer and carefully pulled the sleeping prince into his arms. Caelian’s body was warm. He fit against Ravyn’s chest as if he had always belonged there.

Ravyn rested his chin lightly against the top of Caelian’s head and closed his eyes.

The memories came without mercy.

He saw the great hall two winters ago. A feast. Music and loud laughter. Liora in a low cut gown the color of blood, sitting on his lap while the court watched. Caelian had been seated at the far end of the high table, forced to attend. Ravyn had made sure of it. He had laughed with his mouth against Liora’s neck and looked straight at Caelian while he did it, daring the prince to show any reaction. Caelian had only lowered his eyes and cut his meat into smaller and smaller pieces until the plate was a ruin.

Another memory rose. Late one night in the king’s own chambers. Liora had come to him after the council, all soft words and sharper ambition. Ravyn had known Caelian was in the adjoining sitting room, he had ordered the door left open on purpose. He had taken Liora against the wall, loud enough that every sound carried. When it was over, he had walked into the sitting room half dressed and found Caelian standing by the window, hands clenched so tight the knuckles had gone white. Ravyn had smirked and told him to get used to it. The prince had only bowed his head and left without a word.

There were more. Days when Ravyn had refused to let Caelian eat at the same table. Nights when he had locked the prince out of the royal wing entirely. Mornings when he had thrown the marriage treaty in Caelian’s face and called him a chain around his neck. Every time Caelian had endured it. Quiet. Loyal. Still looking at him with those steady eyes that somehow never turned completely cold.

Ravyn’s arm tightened around the sleeping man. His throat felt thick.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the dark. The words barely made a sound. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Caelian shifted in his sleep, pressing closer without waking. One of his hands found the front of Ravyn’s shirt and held on. Ravyn stared at that small grip and felt something crack open inside his chest.

Outside the window, the night wind moved across the castle roofs. Somewhere in the distance a night guard called the hour. Inside the quiet room, the king held the prince he had once broken and made himself a silent promise for the hundredth time since waking up in this second chance.

He would not waste it.

He would burn every last one of them first.