The throne room had been built to intimidate. For all that the rest of the palace seemed ornate and fitting of royalty, this was suited to the gods. Golden ceilings pressed with delicate flower shapes, tall walls decorated with portraits beyond beautiful, marble floors that clicked loudly underfoot so as to make anyone in the room far too aware of their own presence.

Simon did not like this room. It was not a place where one wished to be summoned. Walking in with his arm tucked in Isador’s was suffocating. Simon felt as though he was going to faint. The way Isador had hesitated before even offering his arm had been welcome and the idea of not having to touch anyone was welcome, but it was better for them both if they entered this room as a united front.

Especially with Dorian there.

Frigid blue eyes stared directly through him.

There was no time to concern himself with Dorian’s staring. Simon released Isador’s arm and bowed low toward the thrones. Before he even rose, His Majesty spoke. “What is that?”

It was Mari who answered. “It is magical energy.”

”Obviously.” Dorian’s voice was cold. “However, how did it expel itself like this? I have never seen it channeled without an artifact nor without a direct descendent of the royal line in control.”

Every direct descendant stood in this room. Katherine, Salvador, Dorian, and Isador. None of them were powerful enough to do something like that, though, and certainly not from such a distance. 

“Archivist Al-Din,” Her Majesty said, resting her head in her hand. “What do you make of it?” Simon did not like the way Mari eyed him. It was too blunt, too obvious. Before she even had a chance to speak, Her Majesty shook her head. “Simon. What do you know?”

Simon glanced toward Dorian, just a for a moment. He couldn’t look longer than that. “The First Scepter was returned. It would not be that.”

The Queen’s eyes darkened.

Simon’s blood felt hot in a way that seemed as though it was becoming entirely too familiar lately. He swallowed. “My apologies, again.” He bowed low. It had been foolish to believe that the royal family would overlook something so egregious just because they had not summoned him to discuss it.

”What in the name of the heavens are you talking about?”

Mari’s voice pierced the air. “Simon.”

His eyes were wide and his pulse quick.

”You discussed the matter with Their Majesties, did you not?”

As Dorian’s eyes landed upon him again, scraping over every inch of him with a gaze like a dagger, Simon knew. Dorian spoke. “What does that have to do with any of this?”

Simon could argue. He could make a fool of himself in an attempt to defy the prince. But that would not yield any result that would benefit him. Fighting with Dorian had only ever made him afraid or angry. Doing so before the entire royal family would do nothing. Simon let out a sigh, glancing toward the ground. “Aria Knight took my key from my office and stole The First Scepter. I retrieved it and ensured there were no damages.” He paused. “I did not wish to alarm anyone.”

There was a great quiet in the room, so stark that Simon was certain if he attempted to breathe, the roughness of air catching in his lungs would sound akin to an explosion.

”It wasn’t Simon who stole anything,” Isador said. Simon didn’t have to look at him to know the way the man pouted his lip as he spoke.

”You told me you spoke with Prince Dorian on the matter,” Mari hissed. It was the same tone Simon’s own father had used when disappointed with him. There was no anger. Just… the weight of knowing that he had defied her trust.

”I did speak to Simon,” Dorian said softly. “Only I spoke of his plans and his potential. I did not know of this.” He scoffed. “Simon, my dear, I am deeply invested in your success as the future archivist, but this… it is inexcusable.”

Simon was going to throw up. Of that, and nothing else, he was certain. The room in all of its elegance seemed to sway around him. There was no chance of speaking. The words would not form nor would they leave his lips. If he had done as this council believed, it would be inexcusable. He held his tongue.

”Let us not be too harsh,” Her Majesty said, rising from her seat. “Simon is young. He has made a poor choice. To my knowledge, there is no world in which this choice could have led to whatever is out there. Miss Al-Din, Simon, you have both studied magic extensively. Is there something you know that would cause it?”

He should speak. If he gave up Aria in an instant, it would likely absolve him of any perceived wrongdoing. Things would return to how they had been. It would, potentially, shield him from whatever game Dorian was currently playing. It was impossible to know what consequences that game was going to have, only that they would be. Dorian was not the type to cause trouble with no plan.

Mari answered calmly, her hands clasped before her. ”The royal bloodlines draw power from our world. There are those from families best suited for it, with their own histories of magical study, who would be exceptionally powerful if brought into a royal line, but… There are no others except those in this room who could cause such a scene. And even then… I do not understand what it is there. For another to access it would be an entire other field of study, which no one has ever found fruitful.”

As Her Majesty turned, locking eyes with her husband, Simon shuddered.

No one spoke his name aloud.

Mikhail Knight. The study of that type of magic had shattered him.

”Aria Knight may be more involved than expected. Simon, my dear,” Her Majesty hummed, moving toward him, “do you believe there is any possibility of her involvement?”

He stared downward. “If I understand what you are implying, perhaps it is possible.”

”Simon ought to be the one to investigate it.” Dorian’s voice was cold.  “Accompanied, of course.”

So that was the game.

It was not one that Simon knew how to avoid playing. Fighting with Dorian in front of his family would not succeed. How much had Dorian connected? Did he suspect Aria the entire time? The moment he spoke here, had he done so knowing there was no way for Simon to remain remotely in the good graces of the family and avoid this snare?

”Isador will go.” His Majesty’s voice was calm. From his place upon the throne, he was above all of this back and forth. “Dorian, you are needed here. The people will seek you for guidance. And if it is dangerous, Isador is the wiser choice.”

A fourth son was disposable.

No. That could not have been what he meant. Isador was strong.

Isador bowed his head. “We will prepare quickly.”

There was nothing to prepare. Not for himself. Simon bowed. “I will do what I can.”

”Go.” His Majesty did not speak unkindly, but he would not allow for dallying.

Isador offered Simon his arm. It was a rather inappropriate time for that sort of display, but even with his back turned, Simon could feel the way Dorian watched him. If he left this room alone, he would be followed. He took it, ignoring the way his stomach turned. There were worse things than being gently escorted by Isador.

As they entered the hall, Simon let out a sigh. “I will have my bag in an hour. I must ask a favor of a friend and then you may send a carriage to collect me at my home.”

Isador frowned. “And while we are in the carriage, you’ll explain this to me?”

Simon hesitated. What part had Isador missed? Had that entire thing gone completely over his head? Surely he was aware of Mikhail Knight’s studies. Every royal in this generation was. He sighed. “Yes. I will explain.”

“Thank you.” His voice was so soft that Simon felt a pang of guilt for even being frustrated.

There was no need to voice that aloud.

Right now, the only thing Simon needed to concern himself with was the way that Chalice would surely murder him before he ever got into that carriage. The walk there was shorter than he had hoped. It was not at all enough time to find a way in which to present this problem without Chalice and Gris both being furious with him.

When he entered the house, he did not greet Gris’s sleeping mother. He moved past, through to the door that led him to the warmly lit patio. In the candlelight, the surprise on their faces was soft.

“Simon. You look like a mess. What is going on with you?” Chalice’s voice was soft.

Simon had made a mess of everything.

The plan they had worked out, to keep out of trouble and avoid Aria, avoid Isador, stay away from the family enough that he would not owe them anything and could leave peacefully as soon as he had enough money to pay for it— he had ruined it all by simply leaving his keys out. What was there to solve this?

The light in the distance illuminated even this tucked away yard.

He couldn’t speak. Not with the way his heart was pounding in his throat.

”Simon, sweetheart, come here.” Chalice stepped forward, placing her hand delicately on his bicep.

Dorian had dug his fingers in so tightly that Simon could feel the man’s bones pressing against him. Simon had not moved. He had not fought. He had allowed it.

He threw himself back, blinking until it was Chalice standing before him again. Chalice. Not some memory that made him feel ill every time it surfaced. 

Simon hardly had the chance to grab the railing of the patio before he heaved. The contents of his stomach emptied out into the garden. Cool hands pulled his hair from his face and he lazily pushed them back, his eyes and nose stinging as sour liquid fell from his lips.

”It happened again, didn’t it?” Chalice whispered.

Simon shook his head. It had not. He had stopped it. He had pushed Dorian off of himself in his office and he had walked away on Isador’s arm tonight. Nothing had happened.

”The apple and the tree,” Gris murmured. They stood close, but did not reach for Simon. “Tell us what happened.”

Simon shook his head. “That light. I… I am to investigate it with Isador.”

Chalice and Gris shared a glance. A decision. They were either going to press for more details or they were going to allow him a moment of grace. “Is there anything you need from us?” Gris kept their voice low. “We will do what we can.”

Simon pressed his lips tightly together. There was no avoiding it. And perhaps if he asked now, he might look pathetic enough to avoid their anger. They had never been harsh with him when he came to them like this before, on the nights when he had been unable to stand being alone. “Mikhail Knight needs someone to look after him.”

”No.”

Simon had anticipated that. He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, nodding. “Aria is the cause of that light. I am… I am involved more than I would want.”

When Chalice opened her mouth, Gris took her hand. It was not the right time to scold him. They all knew that. If Chalice snapped at him for being a fool, his moment of panic would become so much more long lasting. He could not be like this with Isador arriving soon.

”Please. I would not ask this of you if there was another option. I will pay.”

Chalice’s eyes looked like those of a corpse. “Fine.” She took a breath. “But you will not give us money. Accepting it would be accepting a haunting from your father.”

Simon nodded.

He could use him right now, spectral or otherwise.

A quick note from the writer! I'm hosting my annual Pledge Drive right now to keep creating during art school! We're really close to a lot of our goals and I'd love if you checked it out! The special work for the pledge drive is all accessible for free! For now, please enjoy this Simon from Wednesday's stream! Thank you so much for your support and for reading!