Chapter thirteen

"It's been days now. When are you planning to get rid of that kid?" the king asks sharply, his voice cutting through the quiet tension of the dining hall.

Prince Arthur, seated across the table, stops chewing. He hasn't had much of an appetite in weeks, but tonight, the king's question robs him of the little will he had left to pretend.

"I will, Father," Arthur replies curtly, pushing his chair back and standing. He strides out of the dining hall without another word, leaving his meal untouched.

Since the truth about Madin's identity was revealed, Arthur has been a shell of himself.

The next day after the revelation, he forced himself to wake up and carry on as though nothing had happened. He resumed his royal duties, maintaining the mask of strength and control that his position demands.

But inside, he is crumbling. He hasn't spoken about Madin, not to his father, his advisors, or even himself in the rare moments of solitude he allows.

The palace is abuzz with whispers, the truth about Madin spreading like wildfire, but Arthur refuses to let anyone bring it up in his presence.

He has avoided the dungeons entirely, unable to face the person who shattered both his trust and his heart.

In the sanctuary of his chambers, Arthur locks the door and slumps to the floor, his back against the heavy wood. The tears come quickly, as they do every night, silent and bitter no matter how much he tries to ignore the need to let them out.

For weeks, this has been his nightly ritual: endless tears in the darkness, consumed by the weight of emotions he cannot name. When the sun rises, he wipes his face, puts on his armor—both literal and figurative—and pretends that nothing is wrong.

But nothing feels normal anymore. No matter how hard he tries to push Madin out of his thoughts, the memories claw their way back. The laughter they shared, the ridiculous arguments, the moments of quiet companionship—all of it lingers, haunting him.

"Why?" he whispers to the empty room. "Why am I still feeling like this? I know the truth. I know he's not… not who I thought he was. He's a man. I've seen it with my own eyes. So why does it hurt this much? Why can't I stop thinking about him?"

His fists clench, and his voice rises in desperation. "What have you done to me, Madin? What spell have you cast?"

Arthur stands abruptly, his mind racing. He paces the room, his breaths coming in short gasps as anger and heartbreak twist inside him. Finally, he stops and grips the edge of his desk, leaning forward.

"Maybe there's only one way to end this," he mutters, his voice low and venomous. "If I get rid of him, maybe I'll be free of this torment. Maybe then I can go back to the way things were."

His resolve hardens, and he storms out of his chambers, the fire of determination burning in his chest.

The night is cold and quiet as Arthur makes his way to the dungeons. The guards are asleep at their posts, and Arthur kicks them awake one by one. They scramble to their feet, startled and fearful.

"Open the gate," He commands, his tone brooking no argument.

The guards obey quickly, fumbling with the keys before swinging the heavy iron door open. Arthur steps inside, his footsteps echoing in the damp, musty air.

In the dim light, he sees Madin curled up on the cold, bare ground, his thin frame shivering in his sleep. Arthur's heart twists, but he shoves the feeling aside, focusing instead on his anger.

He grabs Madin by the collar and yanks him upright. Madin wakes with a start, his wide, frightened eyes locking onto Arthur's face.

"How can you sleep so peacefully on this filthy ground, with mosquitoes biting you, while I'm suffering every night because of you?!" Arthur roars, shaking him violently.

Madin stares at him, too shocked to respond.

"I hate you," Arthur hisses, his voice trembling with fury. "I hate you so much. Tonight, I'm going to end your miserable life."

Arthur draws his sword, raising it high. But as the blade hovers above Madin's chest, Arthur feels a sharp, stabbing pain in his own chest. The sensation is so intense, it forces him to drop the weapon.

Arthur clutches his chest, gasping for breath. The pain feels like a physical manifestation of his heartbreak, as if the sword he intended for Madin has turned against him.

Madin, who had squeezed his eyes shut in preparation for the end, opens them slowly. When he sees Arthur doubled over in pain, his instincts take over.

"Are you all right?!" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern. He reaches out to steady Arthur, his hands trembling.

"Do not put your filthy hands on me!" Arthur pushes him away with a force that sends Madin stumbling backward. Madin's head strikes a jagged rock on the ground, and he collapses.

Arthur freezes, staring in horror at the crimson blood pooling beneath Madin's head.

"Madin?" he whispers, his voice barely audible. He rushes to his side, shaking him gently. "Madin, stop this. Stop playing tricks on me. Wake up, you little rascal!"

The guards, hearing the commotion, rush in to find Arthur kneeling beside Madin's unconscious form.

"Get me the palace doctor!" Arthur barks, his voice trembling with panic. "Now!"

One of the guards sprints away, returning minutes later with the doctor in tow. The old man hurries into the cell, a leather satchel in hand.

"Fix him," Arthur demands, his eyes wild. "Do whatever you have to do, but save him."

The doctor examines Madin, his expression grim. "Your Highness, his pulse is weak. He's lost a lot of blood. If we don't act quickly, he may not survive the night."

Arthur's chest tightens. "Then stop talking and do something!"

The doctor hesitates, then mutters under his breath, "Perhaps it's better this way. The boy has suffered enough. And wasn't he sentenced to—"

Arthur grabs the doctor by the collar, his face inches from the old man's. "Who are you to decide that!? Let me make this clear: if he dies, you will take his place in that sentence you are talking about. Now do your job!"

The doctor says nothing more and works with swift efficiency. After stabilizing Madin, he stands and gives his report. "He needs rest, Your Highness. If he wakes, he must eat to regain his strength."

Arthur nods, his jaw tight. "Leave us."

Arthur stays in the dungeon through the night, refusing to leave Madin's side. He watches every shallow rise and fall of his chest, every twitch of his pale hands.

By the next afternoon, Madin still hasn't woken. Arthur paces the small cell, his emotions spiraling out of control.

"Is this what you want, Madin?" he says bitterly, his voice hoarse. "To torture me even more? Fine, you win. But at least wake up and face me. Don't leave me like this. Don't…"

His voice cracks, and he sinks to the floor beside Madin, his head in his hands. "Please," he whispers. "Just wake up."