The little box on my desk is buried beneath piles of stained parchment.
I hide it there whenever I get the urge to think too long on my decision. The decision that Calum assured me was the right one. Though, reminding me of my father’s three B’s to becoming a great king did help convince me further.
My fingers drum against the wooden desk, the sound hollow and harsh.
There’s a quick knock, knuckles on the door that echo my fingertips on the desk.
“Come in.”
Hinges groan before a masked Imperial peeks his head into the room. “Your Majesty. Excuse my interruption, but you informed me to—”
“So no sight of him?”
I hear the Imperial swallow. “No, Your Majesty. None of his men, either.”
“And her?”
“Nothing, Your Majesty.”
He should be back by now. It’s been over two weeks, and he should be back by now. He should have brought her to me. Or maybe he brought her somewhere else. Maybe he never intended to bring her back. Maybe he ran away with her. Maybe they are running away from me—together. Because he should be back by now. Because—
“My Enforcer should be back by now.”
“Yes.” The man nods fervently. “He should be, Your Majesty.”
“Keep searching the edge of the city.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” He looks sidelong at the door, practically begging to be dismissed.
“Go.”
With a curt nod, he ducks out the door before closing it softly behind him.
I run an ink-stained hand down my face.
He always completed his missions. Well, he always completed his missions for Father. But I’m not him, am I? He reminded me of that every day. And then he’d spend the rest of that day training my future Enforcer. The one who should be back by now. The one who is running away with her. Or from me. Or his life.
I tear at the parchment littering my desk, digging until my fingers find that small box I buried beneath.
I look at it like I do every day.
The kingdom thinks I’ve gone mad.
I think I’ve gone somewhere. A darker place, maybe.
I hear servants whispering as they step past my door, watch Imperials eye me when I happen to walk the halls.
They think I’m mad with grief over a man who felt little more than disappointment and obligation for me.
How absurd.
How absurd to grieve a man who loved power more than his sons. How absurd to grieve a man who offered me no praise. How absurd to grieve a man who could never be pleased.
How unfair to grieve such a man.
So, I won’t any longer. I’m done with it. Truly.
I miss who I was before finding him with a dagger buried in his neck. I miss the brother I was to Kai and Jax, miss sweaty days in the training ring. I miss running away from balls to drink until sunrise. I miss running from responsibility in general.
Kai and I were good. Especially so after Ava. We became impossibly closer with every night he spent fighting tears in my bedroom. I remember stealing alcohol from the cellar for the first time after it all, remember spitting out the first sip.
How odd that some of the fondest memories now were anything but in the moment.
Though I doubt I’ll grow fond of the life I’m now living anytime soon. I may not even live long enough to look back and miss the days I hated.
My fingers brush the top of the box, feeling the significance of it with each swipe. I don’t want to hate every day. Maybe I won’t have to hate every day. Maybe this is for the best….
I roll my shoulders, the ones now carrying the crushing weight of this kingdom.
And then I manage to find a relatively clean sheet of parchment.
This letter is for him.
For the man I’m sick of mourning.
This letter is addressed to the grief he’s left me to grapple with.
The grief he doesn’t deserve to make me feel.
The next letter is to her.
They usually are.
She makes for quite the muse.
Or maybe she’s just easy to think about, easy to translate into words.
I pour my thoughts onto the page.
She should be back by now.
Another smudge of ink.
She should be back by now.
The paper tears beneath my pressing hand.
She should be back by now.
I add the parchment to the pile.
