A father's sin

"At least I, for all my so-called recklessness, have yet to cause a scandal. Unlike you. And the funny part? You weren't even capable of keeping them alive."

The ballroom fell silent.

Rowan didn't think. He didn't hesitate.

His fist collided with Gareth's face in a sickening crack, sending his younger brother staggering backward. Gasps rang through the air as Gareth crashed into a nearby table, shattering glass and sending wine spilling across the marble floor.

Across the room, Julian—who had been deep in conversation with a group of noblewomen—froze mid-sentence.

Cassian, seated near the food court, lowered his glass slowly, his playful expression fading.

Even King Edric and Queen Vivianne, who had been in discussion with nobles, stilled.

The ballroom was suffocatingly quiet.

Rowan stood tall, shoulders squared, knuckles still aching from the force of his strike. Gareth lay sprawled on the polished marble, his lip split, blood staining his pristine white collar.

But he was smiling.

Breathless, amused, Gareth wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ah… the great Fourth Prince," he drawled, sitting up. His grin stretched too wide, eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. "Tell me, does your daughter haunt you still?"

The air cracked with tension.

Rowan didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't blink.

Gareth pressed on, savoring the silence like fine wine.

"You—Rowan Solmara—the undefeated knight, the hero of a hundred battles," he mused, voice slow, mocking. "Yet when it truly mattered, you failed."

The words sank deep, laced with venom meant to destroy.

A few gasps rang out among the nobles, though most held their breath, watching, waiting. They had never seen the Fourth Prince lose control before, and now, Gareth had pressed on the one wound that could shatter a man.

Rowan didn't break.

Gareth's smile faltered—just slightly.

"You abandoned the battlefield," he continued, voice sharper now, desperate to force some reaction. "If you couldn't even save your own flesh and blood, tell me, Rowan, what use was your strength? What use was—"

Rowan stepped forward.

The breath hitched in Gareth's throat.

Because while the Fourth Prince didn't say a word, his presence alone sent ice shooting down Gareth's spine.

The last time Gareth had felt this way, he was 16 watching Rowan,barely 13, return from war, armor drenched in the blood of his enemies, his sword so sharp it seemed to hum with death. Back then, Rowan had been nothing but a force of nature, unstoppable, untouchable.

And now, standing before him, he looked the same—older,but the same.

Unbreakable. Unyielding. And terrifyingly calm.

Rowan gazed down at him, voice low, steady, dangerous.

"You should choose your next words carefully, brother."

The air thickened, every noble frozen in place.

Even Gareth's usual smugness cracked under the weight of it.

----

Alistair didn't intervene.

He watched from his seat, sipping his wine, eyes half-lidded in amusement. Gareth was an idiot.

Of all the brothers he had, Rowan was the one he truly never wished to cross.

Not because he had power in the court. No, that was Alistair's domain. Gareth, for all his scheming, had managed to gather his own shaky alliances, enough to be a nuisance.

But Rowan? Rowan had none of that.

What he did have, however, was absolute strength.

Had he ever wanted the throne, he could have taken it—not through politics, not through careful manipulation, but by sheer force. The people adored him, the soldiers worshipped him, and every war council respected him. If he had even an ounce of ambition for the crown, Alistair knew he and Gareth would already be dead.

But Rowan didn't play their game.

And Alistair was grateful for that.

Gareth, on the other hand… Idiot.

He leaned back, eyes sharp with silent amusement, as Rowan turned and walked away without another word.

Gareth remained frozen on the floor, his so-called victory tasting like ash in his mouth.

###

The door slammed shut behind him.

Rowan stood before the fireplace, fingers gripping the mantel as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered. He should have killed him.

Cassian shifted. "Rowan—"

"Leave."

Cassian hesitated, glancing at Julian, who stood unmoving. Then, with a sigh, he nodded and stepped out, closing the door behind him.

Julian stayed.

Rowan didn't turn. "I told you to leave."

"I know."

"Then go."

Julian didn't.

Instead, he stepped forward, closing the space between them, until Rowan could feel his presence behind him.

"You can't keep doing this," Julian murmured.

Rowan let out a slow, shuddering breath. "Doing what?"

"Pretending."

The word was quiet, but it cut deeper than Gareth's taunts ever could.

Rowan's fingers clenched against the stone. "I'm not—"

Julian moved.

Before Rowan could step away, Julian's arms wrapped around him from behind, firm, steadying. Rowan stiffened, but Julian didn't let go.

"Let go," Rowan said, but his voice wasn't sharp anymore. It was unsteady.

Julian tightened his hold.

Rowan's breath hitched. His shoulders shook.

He wasn't going to break. He wasn't—

But when Julian pressed his forehead against his shoulder, not speaking, not asking for anything—Rowan finally shattered.

The grief came like a storm, silent at first, then violent. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps. The weight of his daughter's death, the years of guilt, the knowledge that no matter how strong he had been, it hadn't been enough—it crushed him.

And Julian held him through it.

For the first time in a long time, Rowan allowed himself to grieve.

#

Rowan exhaled slowly as he opened his eyes,Julian was beside him, seated on the floor, leaning against the bedpost. He hadn't said much after they left the ballroom, just stayed close, his presence a quiet reassurance. Rowan hadn't realized when he'd fallen asleep, but as the steady rhythm of Julian's breathing reached his ears, he realized his friend had succumbed to exhaustion as well.

For a long time, Rowan simply sat there, staring at nothing, drowning in the suffocating silence. Then, without making a sound, he shifted, moving carefully to avoid waking Julian. He stood and stretched his sore limbs before making his way toward the desk.

Reaching for a small piece of parchment, he dipped his quill into ink, pausing briefly before he began to write. His script was precise, deliberate. Short and to the point.

Once finished, he tied the parchment with a small piece of rope and set it aside.

Rowan opened one of the drawers, fingers brushing against familiar objects until they found what he was looking for. A wooden box, small but sturdy. Lifting the lid, he retrieved a single cracker from inside.

Then he turned to the window.

With practiced ease, he unlatched it and pushed it open just enough to avoid making noise. The cold night air greeted him, carrying the scent of the distant sea. The sky was bathed in silver light, the moon hanging high, illuminating the quiet city below.

Rowan pressed his lips together and whistled—low and controlled, a distinct tune only one creature would recognize.

For a moment, there was nothing but the rustling of leaves in the distant trees.

Then, the sound of soft wings cutting through the wind.

A small shadow swept across the moonlit sky before a sleek, dark-feathered bird landed gracefully on the windowsill.

"Hey, Willow," Rowan murmured, reaching out to stroke its delicate feathers. The bird chirped in response, fluttering its wings before rubbing its small head against his fingers.

Rowan huffed a quiet chuckle. "Missed me, huh?"

Willow trilled and hopped onto his shoulder, nuzzling against his neck before flapping its wings and darting around the room in excited circles. Rowan smirked, shaking his head as he watched the little creature's antics.

"Keep it down," he warned softly. "Unless you want to wake him up." He flicked a glance toward Julian, who remained undisturbed, his breathing still even.

Willow chirped in what Rowan could only assume was an apology and returned to perch on his forearm.

Reaching for the parchment, Rowan carefully tied it to Willow's leg, ensuring it was secure but not uncomfortable. He fed the bird the cracker, watching as it nibbled contently.

"Alright, you know what to do," Rowan whispered. "Take this to Miss Selene, and don't get distracted along the way."

Willow chirped once more, then, with a quick turn, took off into the night, disappearing into the vast sky.

Rowan watched for a while, his gaze tracing the dark horizon. The world was peaceful in this moment.

For the briefest moment, he allowed himself to admire it.

Then, with a quiet exhale, he closed the window and returned to bed. Sleep found him soon after.