chapter 21

Chapter 21

The night was thick with silence, save for the occasional crackling of the torches outside the grand stone walls of the palace. In his chamber, King Tommen lay restless, the weight of his crown heavier in sleep than in waking hours. His breath slowed, his mind slipping into the depths of his subconscious.

He stood in the royal gardens, the golden sun warming his skin. Laughter echoed through the air-Hosea's and Hera's, their small hands clutching his as they ran through the blossoms. His wife, Celine, watched them with soft adoration, her beauty untouched by time.

"Hera, don't run too fast," Celine called, her voice like a melody.

"I won't, Mother!" Hera giggled, her blue eyes-so much like her mother's-sparkling with joy as she twirled around.

For the first time in years, Tommen felt at peace.

But then, the warmth faded. The sky darkened unnaturally, the laughter warping into distant echoes. He looked down-his hands were slick with blood. Celine gasped, her gaze dropping to the gaping wound in her chest before she collapsed at his feet.

"Celine!" His voice broke, but he couldn't move, couldn't reach for her.

Hosea was gone.

Hera stood before him, her face twisted in terror. She screamed, but no sound came out.

Then-shadows.

A woman emerged from the darkness, her cloak billowing as she stepped forward. Her face remained hidden, but her long fingers grasped Hera's wrist, yanking her back.

"Father!" Hera cried, her voice suddenly clear, piercing through his very soul. "Please! Don't let her take me!"

His body refused to move.

His feet were rooted to the ground as he watched the woman drag his daughter away, her desperate screams fading into nothingness.

Then-blackness.

Tommen gasped awake, sweat chilling his skin despite the warmth of his chambers. He clutched his chest, his heart pounding like war drums. The dream clung to him, vivid and unrelenting.

He buried his face in his hands, the echoes of Hera's cries still ringing in his ears. Even in sleep, the past refused to loosen its grip.

---

Hosea stood in the dim candlelight of his private chamber, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed at the flickering shadows on the stone wall. His personal shadow guard, clad in dark clothing, stood silently behind him, waiting for his orders.

"She's alive," Hosea murmured, his voice devoid of emotion, yet his fingers curled slightly. "The witch confirmed it."

The shadow guard nodded. "Yes, my prince. But knowing she lives is not enough. If we are to find her, we must follow the next lead. The contact in Raventhorn is willing to speak-but at a price."

Hosea exhaled slowly, tilting his head slightly. "Of course. No one in Raventhorn does anything for free." He turned, his piercing blue eyes meeting the shadow guard's masked face. "Whatever they want, we give. As long as they give us what we need in return."

A pause. Then the guard stepped forward. "Are you certain about this, my prince? Raventhorn is dangerous. The contact we seek is not known for his generosity. If he senses weakness, he will exploit it."

Hosea's lips curled into something like a smirk, though his expression remained cold. "Let him try."

There was a moment of silence between them before the prince spoke again, his voice quieter. "All these years, I've been searching. They say she's dead. My father says nothing. But now I know. She's out there, somewhere. And I will find her."

The shadow guard bowed his head slightly. "Then we leave at nightfall."

Hosea nodded once before turning back to the candle's glow. The light flickered, casting long shadows against the walls-shadows that stretched far, just as his search for his sister had.

----

The halls of Aethelgar's grand palace were in chaos. Servants rushed from one end to another, knights exchanged hushed words, and advisors stood in uncertainty as King Tommen paced furiously in his chamber. His son, Prince Hosea, had vanished without a trace.

Tommen's grip tightened on the armrest of his throne as his council awaited his command. He had ordered the entire palace to be searched, but there was no sign of Hosea. The stables confirmed that a horse was missing. The prince had planned this.

Esmeralda, adorned in her regal gown, stood nearby, watching her husband with careful eyes. A slow, knowing smile curled on her lips as she stepped forward, her voice silken and deliberate.

"Perhaps," she murmured, tilting her head slightly, "he has gone searching for his dear sister."

Tommen's sharp gaze snapped to her, his nostrils flaring.

"You seem to not value your tongue." His voice was low, warning.

But Esmeralda did not stop. She stepped closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "If he searches too deep, he may uncover things you wish buried. And then, what will he think of you, my king?"

Tommen's jaw clenched. He knew what she was doing-trying to unnerve him, trying to get into his head. But the flicker of fear, the possibility of Hosea learning the truth, lodged itself deep in his mind. He had spent years burying that night, burying the weight of his choices. If his son ever found out-

"Enough," he growled, his voice sharp as a blade. "Hosea will return. And until he does, you will not speak of this again."

Esmeralda studied him for a moment, then gracefully bowed her head. But the glint in her eyes did not fade.

As Tommen turned away, the weight of the past pressed upon him. His son was out there, searching for a sister who should have never existed. And if he found the truth... what then?