Three

Prince Caelian Voss woke before dawn, the way he usually did.

The big bed in his private chambers felt cold even under the thick furs and wool blankets. He lay on his back for a long time, staring up at the dark wooden beams across the ceiling. Four years of marriage had carved grooves into his habits. He slept lightly, always listening for the sound of heavy boots in the corridor or the sharp click of the door latch. Tonight had been the same as every other, restless dreams where he stood alone in the great hall while laughter echoed around him.

He turned onto his side and pulled the blanket higher. His body ached in the old places. Not from fresh beatings anymore. Those had mostly stopped after the second year when the king grew bored of using his fists. These were deeper aches. The kind that came from staying silent for too long. From smiling politely while Princess Liora, his own stepsister sat on the king’s lap during feasts. From pretending he didn’t hear the servants call him “the Valthorne mistake” behind his back.

Caelian sat up slowly and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The stone floor chilled his bare feet. He lit a candle and looked around the room that had never truly felt like his. Heavy tapestries with Eldoria’s black wolf emblem covered the walls. A small shelf held the few books he had managed to bring from Valthorne, mostly histories and poetry. On the table sat an unfinished letter to his father that he would probably never send. What was there to say? “The king still hates me. Your treaty is working perfectly.”

He washed his face in the basin, the cold water shocking him fully awake. In the polished silver mirror, he looked pale and tired. Dark circles under his brown eyes. His black hair had grown longer than he preferred, but he hadn’t bothered to cut it. No one cared how the prince looked as long as he stayed quiet and out of the way.

Caelian dressed carefully. A simple dark green tunic, black breeches, and his worn riding boots. He strapped on a plain dagger more out of habit than need. The castle of Eldoria was full of eyes. Some friendly. Most not. As the son of King Edric’s mistress, he had grown up knowing how quickly favor could turn to poison. His stepsister Liora had made sure of that. The queen had hated his mother and hated him even more. The marriage to Ravyn had only given her a new stage to perform on.

He stepped out of his chambers into the quiet morning hallway. A single guard nodded to him, one of the few who didn’t openly sneer. Caelian nodded back and made his way toward the kitchens first. The cooks had grown used to him appearing early. They usually left him a plate of bread, cheese, and watered wine without comment. Today was no different. He ate standing up near the big hearth, listening to the servants gossip.

“Did you hear? The king was acting strange this morning. Called for every trade record in the kingdom.”

“Probably planning another war.”

Caelian kept his head down. Wars. Treaties. Politics. All of it had trapped him here. The blood sealed pact between Eldoria and Valthorne had been signed by their parents to prevent border skirmishes. But Ravyn’s parents had hated the idea of him marrying Liora. They had demanded the prince instead. And so here he was. Four years later. Still breathing. Still trying not to break.

After eating, he walked the long way to the stables. The morning air felt good on his skin. Horses stamped and snorted in their stalls as grooms mucked them out. Caelian stopped at the stall of a big grey mare named Mist that had come with his dowry. She nudged his shoulder gently, looking for treats. He smiled a little, the first real one of the day and fed her an apple he had saved.

“You’re the only one who doesn’t expect anything ugly from me,” he murmured, stroking her neck.

He spent nearly two hours there, brushing her coat until it shone. It was peaceful work. No one bothered him much in the stables. The head groom was an old Valthorne man who had come with the marriage party and stayed out of loyalty. They exchanged a few quiet words about the weather and the new foals.

By mid morning, Caelian returned to the castle. He avoided the main halls where courtiers and nobles gathered. Instead, he took the quieter passages, the ones used by servants and lesser guests. He carried a book under his arm, planning to read by the small fountain in the east garden. The fountain had become his place over the years. The sound of water helped drown out the noise in his head.

He read for a long time. Old Valthorne legends about kings and lovers and second chances. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He traced the words with his finger, wondering what it would feel like to be wanted. Truly wanted. Not tolerated because of a blood pact.

The sun climbed higher. Servants passed through the garden paths, giving him wide berth. One young maid muttered something about “the foreign prince wasting space” as she walked by. Caelian pretended not to hear. He had gotten good at that.

When the light started to shift toward afternoon, he closed the book and stood up. His legs felt stiff. Time to return to his chambers before someone decided his presence was an inconvenience. He took the eastern corridor, the one lined with tall windows that overlooked the training fields where Eldoria’s soldiers drilled with swords and lances.

That was when he spotted movement ahead.

King Ravyn.

The king stood near the entrance to Caelian’s private wing, half hidden by a thick stone pillar. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Ravyn rarely came to this part of the castle unless it was to deliver orders or fresh cruelty. But there he was, hair messy, tunic slightly rumpled, looking like he hadn’t slept. He seemed to be staring at the door to Caelian’s chambers, hesitating.

Caelian’s heart slammed against his ribs.

He turned sharply on his heel, trying to slip back toward the side stairs without being noticed. If he could circle around through the servant passages, he could return to his rooms later when the king had gone. Whatever this was, he didn’t want any part of it. Not today.

But his movement caught the king’s eye.

“Caelian.”

The voice echoed softly down the corridor. It wasn’t sharp. It didn’t carry the usual edge of contempt. It sounded rough. Almost uncertain.

Caelian stopped mid step. His shoulders tensed. Slowly, he turned around to face the man who had made the last four years feel like a prison.

Ravyn stepped out from behind the pillar. Their eyes met across the distance. The king took one step forward, then another. Something in his expression made Caelian’s stomach twist with confusion and old fear.

For the first time in years, the King of Eldoria looked at him like he was actually seeing him.

And Caelian had no idea what to do with that.