The World Cannot Know

Chapter 64

Prince Sebastian

The morning light filtered through the tall windows, muted by the heavy curtains that had been drawn back just enough to let the day in. A quiet, golden hush settled over the king's chambers—my chambers now. That truth hadn't fully settled, and I wasn't sure it ever would.

I shifted in the grand bed, the linen too stiff, the mattress too firm. My body ached—deep, pulsing bruises beneath my skin, the wound on my thigh bandaged tight. Each breath was easier than the last, but the weight inside my chest hadn't lifted.

My father was dead.

He had died without forgiving me. Without seeing me as anything but a failure... and a disgrace.

Matthew sat by the hearth, legs stretched out, eyes half-lidded from a sleepless night. He looked out of place in this room, all carved marble and gold trim—a room that had never known warmth, despite the fire burning now.

He must've felt me watching, because his gaze slid to mine, tired but tender. "You're awake."

I nodded, my throat thick. "Unfortunately."

He rose and came to sit beside me on the edge of the bed, his hand brushing mine. "You're safe. That's what matters."

"I killed him," I whispered. "Not by my hand, but... I still feel like I did."

"You didn't," Matthew said firmly, but gently. "Gregory did. Your father made his choices long before that night."

I turned my head, looking toward the high ceiling where banners of the old king still hung. "This place doesn't feel like mine. Not yet."

"It doesn't have to feel like it yet," he said. "Just... let it become yours slowly."

I exhaled. "He died hating me."

Matthew was quiet for a beat, then said, "Maybe. But you're not him. And that's the point."

Matthew's fingers tightened around mine, grounding me in a way nothing else had in days.

"You don't have to be strong right now," he said quietly. "You almost died, Sebastian. You've lost your father, your kingdom is barely holding together, and half the court still doesn't know what to make of you."

I laughed softly, the sound brittle in my chest. "You really know how to lift a man's spirits."

His lips curved into a faint smirk. "I'm just saying... you don't have to carry it all today."

"You think sending Louie to Canterbury would be best?" I asked

Matthew's smirk faded, replaced by a thoughtful frown. His thumb moved absentmindedly across the back of my hand, grounding and distracting all at once.

"I do," he said quietly. "He needs stability. Safety. And right now, that's not here. Not yet."

I turned my head to stare at the carved ceiling above the bed—my father's bed. It still felt like I was borrowing something I hadn't earned.

"When he was born..." I hesitated, the words catching like thorns in my throat. "I hated him."

Matthew's fingers twitched against mine but didn't let go. I couldn't look at him. The shame was too much.

"I didn't want to. Gods, I didn't want to feel that way. But I'd look at him and all I could see was what had been done to me. What I'd lost. What was taken. Every time he cried, it echoed something I wasn't ready to face."

I let out a shaky breath, running a hand through my hair. "To be honest, I don't know how this is going to work."

Matthew looked at me, his brow furrowing slightly, waiting.