Under the Oak Tree - Riftan's POV - Multiverse

Chapter 39: Waiting

Even after leaving Croix, meeting the king in Drakium, and finally returning to Anatol, Riftan's thoughts were shackled to one place alone. Or rather, to one person.

Maximilian.

He sat in his study, Ruth's monotonous voice droning on about construction delays, timber shortages, and attacks during his absence. Riftan's eyes drifted to the frost-laced window, to the lifeless gardens beyond, but in his mind he saw only fire—her copper curls glowing in candlelight, her wide gray eyes darting nervously when he caught her gaze, the taste of her lips still burning against his.

"...Did something unpleasant happen at Drakium?" Ruth's cautious voice cut into his reverie.

Riftan blinked. He hadn't heard half of what the wizard had said. He shook his head without answering and bent over the parchment on his desk, though the words on the page refused to take root in his mind. His temples throbbed. With a curse, he shoved the papers aside and rose abruptly, striding into the cold halls.

The echo of his boots followed him as he walked through Calypse Castle. Once again, he saw its battered walls and rotting beams through Maximilian's eyes. If she ever set foot here, would she flinch? Would she turn away from its filth and decay? Croix Castle was marble and grandeur. This place was a ruin. And what did he have to offer her?

He stepped outside, saddled his horse, and rode across the frozen estate. The sight was worse than the reports—farmers in ragged coats, half-collapsed huts, oxen dragging carts through the mud. Poverty clung to them like a disease, and their eyes, when they turned up to him, were heavy with hope he didn't know how to carry.

He clenched his jaw. His mind told him to abandon this land, to let it rot and swallow itself whole. It was nothing but a money-devouring monster. But his conscience, that cursed conscience, saw Maximilian's face each time he thought of turning away.

If I cannot even tend to this place, how could I ever stand before her father and claim her?

The ache in his chest worsened as he thought of her. He had spent years believing ambition alone was his compass, that honor and land and title were the measures of a man. But now... none of it mattered if she was not at the end of it. She had become his only end goal.

That night he dreamed of her again—her voice trembling, her small hands clutching his tunic, her hair slipping through his fingers. Every night his body betrayed him, consumed by fire he could not quench. He had never sought such release before her, never yearned for a woman so desperately. The torment shamed him. If he had more to offer, he would have married her that night in Croix and damned the world.

When dawn broke, he rose, more determined. He would endure. He would fight. He would make Anatol into a land worthy of her.

Back in his study, Ruth's voice cut sharply.

"As you may have already noticed, construction has made little progress. Several workers dead. Timber burned. At this rate we'll be building walls until your grandchildren's time."

Riftan tugged his cloak off with a harsh sigh. "So in conclusion...?"

"We lack men. We lack materials. And funds are nearly gone."

"Then I'll raise them," Riftan said flatly.

Ruth rubbed his forehead and muttered, "It's like pouring water into a bottomless pit. Even the king doesn't expect you to save this place. Stop bleeding yourself dry for a hopeless cause!"

Riftan's eyes hardened, and his voice turned to iron. "I decide how to spend my fortune. Don't overstep."

Ruth threw his hands in the air. "And when we're beggars? Should I conjure bread with a spell?"