Something With a Prince

Chapter Twenty-One: War and Weddings

Arlyn

It was decided at two in the morning, not twelve hours since Cassida arrived, that the coronation would be pushed up to tomorrow. I was going to be the first King crowned on a Friday instead of a Sunday, which really seemed to ruffle some feathers on the council. Others just seemed grateful to have some sort of celebration in the future instead of the never-ending dread accumulating over Tuisedor's future.

What a long week. I couldn't help but think to myself as I left my room and headed down the stairs toward the courtyard. On top of welcoming Queen Cassida into the castle, keeping an eye on her, spending time with Elleanor (as per our parents urging), doing the everyday necessities for running a kingdom, and trying to strategize with Oveda and her team, I felt as if my head were about to split down the center.

A plan was generally solidified, and now all that was left to do was hope we would never have to use it. Wishful thinking at its finest.

It seemed every choice was weighed down by my father. His memory remains closer than it ever has been, and I found myself straining to remember how he would have handled this. Losing him at fifteen was... I never really felt I had the right to a childhood, but it was even more apparent to me that what little I did have would be cut short the minute I was handed the title. Before he passed, I sat by his bed holding onto his hand despite knowing that, if he were awake, he would hate the affection. A single question was lodged in my throat, but I never asked. I probably wouldn't have got an answer anyway. What am I supposed to do if you go?

No one warned me how hard it was going to be. Even when I was reminded countless times by my mother and advisors that things would be different after his passing, nobody stopped to tell me I could do it without him. It was just expected of me. It is what he expected of me. Thinking of that moment is something that occurs to me often. Like looking out the windows, I am doing it before I realize.

My father woke up that night. He had slept for most of his sickness, always sallow and green looking. His eyes were sunk in, the same light brown color as mine and my brothers. (It was the only thing I got from him.) He pointed them at me the best he could, then looked down at our hands. I know now I should have moved them away, or at least tried not to cry so hard. I think he hated me at that moment.

"Straighten up, Son. You're going to be King."

I hated him too. And yet, those words carried me through countless hours of meetings, decisions, years of paperwork, and calls to arms. They picked me up off the floor when my spine hurt too much to move, when my hands were cracked open, and my eyes burned with sleep. It was never a decision of me choosing. It was just my path.

I hit the foyer and noticed that the side door was open, leading out toward the gardens. The trees stretched like giants in the early morning mist, and part of me shivered despite not feeling the least bit cold. Lansing and Thea should be halfway to the Summer palace by now. Another thing to keep me up at night. I was going to take a ride around the eastern perimeter with Oveda this morning to pick the most advantageous marks for battle. It sounded all very militant and proper in the war room, but now that I was breathing fresh air, I found I was just happy to get out of the castle.

I stepped out through the open door, fastening the last two buttons on my vest as I went. Last night wasn't the best night of sleep I've ever had, but thankfully it wasn't the worst. I might have stolen four hours this time instead of the typical two.

"You look terrible, Your Majesty."

I turned to my left after completing my last button, finding Cassida sitting on a bench playing with a daisy. It was five in the morning, and here she was sitting on the veranda like it was teatime.