pater regis {hiatus}

prologue

A single star fell from the sky on the night of the king's death.

It had been a quiet day, although the atmosphere had been considerably more tense than customary. The curtains in the royal house had been shut for several weeks now. No longer could the sound of chattering civilians be heard in the streets. Now, people stayed inside and prepared themselves for the end of an era. The death of a much-beloved monarch was not something to be taken lightly, and even those that had opposed the king respected the unspoken rule: stay silent, and wait.

For one boy, it was much more than the death of an era. It was the death of a father, the death of his world.

The young prince had watched as the physicians entered and left the king's quarters, their expressions concerned and resigned. He watched as his father choked back brews, struggled to breathe, reached out to something that nobody else could see. He watched as healers did their best to bring life back into a man who was turning into stone. He watched as the sky outside grew darker, and he waited.

He found himself surveying the scene with a cold, analytical eye, as he had been trained to do in times where emotions ran rampant. He studied the man in the bed, the man choking on air. This man before him was not the powerful king he had once known. This was the shell of that king, of that man. This was what weakness truly looked like.

'Reba,' the king moaned, shaking the young prince out of his reverie. 'Come to me.'

Reba looked over at the attendant physician, who nodded with a sad smile. He took in a shaky breath, then forced himself out of his chair.

The prince approached the bed tentatively, his footsteps quiet, his breath held. He knelt beside the king, and bowed his head. 'Sire,' he murmured, stumbling over his words.

Survey. Do not attach.

'Reba, you're a good son. Such a good son, do you hear me?' the king coughed. Reba kept his head bowed. He knew that he was just going through the motions. He knew his father did not want to leave with regrets.

'Whatever you say, sire,' Reba said. He couldn't make himself look up.

Look up. Your father is almost gone.

He jumped as he felt a strong hand jerk his chin up. Before he could pull away, he found himself considering the king's eyes.

Reba wondered if he'd ever really seen his father before. Not as a king, as a leader, but as a man. As a human.

The king's eyes bored into Reba's own. Reba forced himself to keep steady eye contact. His father's face was gaunt, his eyes were darkened with exhaustion, but his eyes were determined.

'You are powerful, you have control, and you will rule. Do you hear me? You will rule, and you will not give up. Not on this country, not on these people. You will succeed where I have failed. God knows I've failed. God knows I've... failed you.'

Reba fought to keep his gaze locked on his father. This was a battle, and he would win.

'Reba, you will be king. And so help me, God, you will not fail me. You never have,' the king gasped, then slumped back, releasing Reba's chin. The physician made to move forward, but Reba held up a hand. 'Go,' he said, simply, and the physician left.

Once he heard the click of the closing door, Reba reached out, hesitantly, and took his father's hand. He already knew that the king was gone, that his father was dead. He couldn't quite wrap his head around it. He didn't want to.

The king is dead. Long live the king.

'I will not fail you, father,' he whispered, and then fell silent. Words didn't matter anymore.

******

Time stopped when the king died. Anything after that moment was just a dream, a blur. At some point, he was ushered out of the room. He didn't look back at the corpse. That was not his father, not anymore. That was a shell.

As he was moved away by a maid, Reba could hear wailing coming from the former king's chambers. He felt as though he could taste blood in his mouth, had he bitten his cheek? He couldn't tell.

He swatted away the servant's hands as they tried to feed him. He refused to bathe, and no, he was not interested in delivering a public announcement about the king's passing. Someone else could do that.

All he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts.

That night, as he lay awake in bed, he found himself looking out the window. His phone was buzzing on the other side of the room, but he couldn't make himself answer it.

He knew if he did, he'd break down.

Father's gone father's gone he's dead he died/ no you can't do this, Reba, he's dead and you're in charge and you can't cry/ but he's dead and I didn't hold him, nobody did, he died alone

Reba forced himself to keep looking at the night sky. His was the only room in the building with the curtains opened. He knew, for courtesy's sake, he should have them closed, but fuck it. He needed something, anything, to keep his eyes glued to.

His father had taught him the constellations when he was very young, only just able to speak in full sentences. Reba would point to a star, and his father would show him where it joined up to Orion, to Draco, to Aquila. He'd stare, wide-eyed, as the stars would glisten, high in the dark night, proud and haughty.

'Which one's your star, Father?'

His father chuckled, then picked up Reba's small arm and pointed to a large star, shining brightly. 'See that one? That's mine. I claimed it just now.'

Reba laughed. 'You can't do that! That's arrogant.' His father laughed along with him, then smiled. 'Would you do your king the honour of naming it for him?'

'I'd like nothing more,' Reba replied, formally. He frowned, thinking, then a smile lit up his face. 'Pater Regis.' His father's eyes crinkled at the edges. Reba had never seen his father smile so openly.

'Royal Father. I love it,' he said, drawing his tiny son in for a hug. Reba snuggled in, a content sigh escaping his lips. He'd never felt so loved.

Now Reba lay, alone, making himself look at the star. Was his father there, now? Had he left Reba here, while he travelled across the stars, carefree? Reba looked away for a split second, then whipped his head back around.

His eyes widened as he saw Pater Regis fall, and that was when his composure broke.

Reba screamed.

Maids rushed in. Maids rushed out. He threw things. He cried out. He hugged himself, because nobody else wanted to hold him. His eyes burned, and he couldn't help it as he began to lose control of his carefully placed mental blocks.

'Sire!' 'Stop it, please!' 'Oh god, oh god! She's unconscious!'

Officers pulled at his arms, and his head ached, and he hurt them because nobody would ever understand, could ever understand the pain. He heard screams, and he heard them fall, one by one.

'Please, don't do this!' he heard a maid cry, and he looked at her. In her arms was a younger woman, eyes closed, face pale. He knew he had to stop. He had to survey, to become unattached.

YOU PROMISED, PLEASE DON'T DO THIS, KEEP IT TOGETHER!

But he'd had everyone taken away from him. Now it was their turn.

'Not anymore! No more,' Reba yelled, then let himself go.