The tolling of the cathedral bells of Elios echoed through the city, making the walls of every home tremble. In response to the grand occasion, the palace gates opened in solemn ceremony. The crowd did not hesitate to enter, filled with excitement—few were the times commoners were allowed to set foot within royal grounds.

Carriages from nobles across every corner of the kingdom formed a magnificent procession upon arrival. From them descended the most honored names of Diodain, ready to take their places in the front rows of the royal hall.

Though the preparations for a coronation were extensive and took weeks, the ceremony itself was simple. The new king would walk through a formation of knights and kneel before the priest, who would raise the golden crown before the masses, transforming the prince into the king of Diodain—all just after the twelfth toll of the bells.

It was at the tenth toll when Sven slipped into the antechamber of the throne room. He glanced around, calling a name, his voice nearly drowned by the thunder of the cathedral bells.

Then he noticed the fabric of one of the curtains shifting more than it should. He pulled it aside and stepped behind it. Framed by a stained-glass window, he found Eidan sitting on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around his legs. Though he had only just turned fifteen, the posture made him look much smaller.

“They’re all waiting for you,” Sven said softly.

“I don’t want to be king yet,” Eidan murmured.

The blond boy kept his gaze fixed on the window. His hands clutched the fabric of his clothes as if he feared it might unravel in his grasp.

“But… you were born to be,” Sven frowned, confused. “They’ve always trained you for it.”

“My father was the greatest king Diodain has ever had,” Eidan replied, his voice breaking. “The strongest. And even so…” he trembled at the memory of his fall in battle, “I can’t live up to him. Not yet.”

Another toll of the bells rang out, deepening the moment. Eidan buried his face in his knees.

Sven felt a knot tighten in his chest. To him, Eidan was already someone incredible.

He stepped closer and awkwardly patted his back, just as he had seen his mother do when someone cried.

“If you want, I can hold your hand,” he said, remembering how his parents and his brother would guide him when he was afraid to do something difficult. “We’ll do it together.”

Eidan lifted his head. The sadness was still there, but something in his expression softened.

“Don’t worry,” Sven added, smiling. “Everyone will love you when you’re king. You’re amazing.”

He extended his hand.

Eidan hesitated for a moment before taking it. He noticed how small Sven’s hands were—but also how firm they felt as they pulled him to his feet. There was something strange in that gesture, a gentle strength that moved him where the other led. Perhaps it was an ancient bond, something he did not yet understand.

“If you’re afraid,” Sven said, guiding him toward the door, “I promise I’ll stay with you.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

Before them, the doors that separated the antechamber from the throne room seemed impossibly large. One final toll shook the walls. The light filtering through the stained glass grew brighter—embracing.

The doors opened wide.

The two boys walked into the hall as applause and cheers from the people wrapped around them at the sight of the heir to the fallen king.

Eidan felt his father’s crown weigh like a ton as the priest placed it upon his head. But when he remembered the hand that had guided him there, he managed to rise and face the crowd.

Hundreds of voices erupted into cheers.

“Long live King Eidan!”

“Long live the king!”

That day, hundreds of eyes fell upon him, foretelling a prosperous future.

But Eidan held the gaze of only one face in the crowd.

A boy who smiled at him as if the world would never break.

And in that moment, he knew he would want him by his side for the rest of his life.

The memory shattered like glass as it touched the present.

“Your Highness.”

Eidan’s eyes snapped open. Sunlight poured through the windows of his chamber—harsh, unforgiving. There were no colored glass panes now, no small hand pulling at his own. Only the weight of a crown that now burned against his temple.

A soldier stood by the door, rigid.

“We have word from the scouts. They found tracks heading north.”

Eidan took a moment before rising. The echo of a child’s laughter still lingered in his chest.

“Ready every available rider,” he ordered, his voice cold. “And if you meet resistance along the way, do not ask permission.”

The soldier hesitated.

“Even in allied villages, Your Highness?”

Eidan lifted his gaze. There was no softness left in his eyes.

“There is no alliance above my command.”

The soldier bowed and left.

Eidan remained alone. The promise was still there, buried in memory.

“Together…” he murmured, unsure when those words had stopped being true.

He looked out over the golden city.

And this time, there was no one left to smile back at him.