Eclipsed

Chapter 31

Alric stepped into his room, his sharp silver eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. The walls, adorned with intricate tapestries of the royal family’s history, seemed distant to him. He had always found the palace to be cold and impersonal—no matter how grand. It was his prison in all but name. The scent of freshly polished wood filled the air, and the dim light from the window softened the room, but it still felt empty.

A maid, dressed in a simple yet elegant outfit, was tidying up the space. Her movements were precise, almost mechanical, like she was part of the furniture rather than a person. She was one of many hired for such tasks—an unremarkable presence.

“Your Highness,” she said in a soft, rehearsed voice, her eyes never meeting his. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

Alric stopped for a moment, watching her, his gaze distant. He didn’t know if it was the years of repetition or his own growing indifference, but her words no longer held any meaning. She was like a doll, an extension of the palace, serving but never living. He sighed, his lips curling slightly with frustration.

“No, it’s fine,” he muttered, rubbing his temples as if trying to shake off the weight of royal life. “You can go home for the night.”

The maid nodded, her face unreadable. “Thank you, Your Highness,” she replied, before slipping out of the room without another word, as though she were simply another object to be moved aside.

Once alone, Alric’s shoulders relaxed. He undressed slowly, taking off the ceremonial attire he wore during court, revealing his sharply defined muscles and broad shoulders—a testament to years of training, not for the crown, but for himself. His body was a weapon, built for more than just show. His torso was sculpted like marble, veins snaking down his arms and chest, every muscle honed to perfection. Yet, despite his strength, he felt a weight in his heart, a hollowness that no amount of physical training could erase.

Stepping into the shower, the hot water ran over his skin, washing away the exhaustion that had settled deep within him. His thoughts wandered as the steam curled around him—thoughts of his family, of Kaelen, of the heavy responsibility that had never truly been his choice.

He was just finishing drying off when a knock on his door interrupted the quiet. Alric frowned. Who could it be now?

Pulling on a loose shirt, he walked toward the door. "Come in," he called, his voice low, laced with a subtle irritation.

The door opened to reveal a messenger, a young man with nervous energy about him, who bowed deeply as soon as he entered. “Your Highness, Queen Mizarra requests your presence.”

Alric sighed, frustration flickering across his face. “I’ll be on my way.” His voice was calm, though there was an underlying weariness that couldn’t be masked. The weight of his title always seemed to follow him.

After quickly pulling on a jacket and fastening it, Alric left his room, the cold stone corridors of the palace echoing his footsteps. He moved through the palace with a sense of inevitability, each step leading him further into the game his family had created—a game he had no choice but to play.

When he entered the meeting room, the atmosphere was as heavy as always. Taven, his older brother, was already seated, his sharp features fixed in a calculating expression. His presence was commanding, his quiet confidence unshakable. Beside him, Zarin was still as ever, a calm intelligence in his eyes that Alric often found unsettling.

At the center, Kaelen sat, her eyes downcast. Her flowing blonde hair framed her face, but it did nothing to mask the sadness that lingered in her gaze. Alric could see the heavy weight of royal life bearing down on her, just as it had for him. And beside her, Queen Mizarra—cold, regal, and always too composed—gave him a faint, knowing smile as he entered.