Chapter 14 — Understanding

Of course, Rhys was enraged. Alaric could sweep him away from his family and castle and ruin his life to then belittle him down to a young prince twirling his hair.

Rhys was no fool; he understood the world of politics and royalty alike, and to be left out of something so important felt both wrong and disrespectful. He was not a child. He was nearly twenty-one.

“You cannot keep this a secret forever, Alaric.” He ran slender fingers through his hair, combing out the day’s work of tangles. It fell in soft waves, crimped by the braid. “If you do not tell me soon, I will investigate myself. Your soldiers like me.”

“How soon is soon, Rhys?”

“One week.”

“That is far too little time.”

“Well, you should have thought about that before declaring you have an idea of who the killer is. As I recall, both the kingdoms of Vaust and De Guise have pulled away from war to focus on Iron Aris. We don’t need this, much less now.”

“I understand your frustration, but if I am wrong, then what? If my suspicion remains just that, and we do find out the true killer is not him, then why should I concern you with it?”

So it's a him, thought Rhys. His skin prickled like pins and needles poking their way through his flesh at Alaric’s remark of it not being Rhys’ concern.

“Because it is my concern as future queen.” He frowned, folding his arms over his chest, “This is just as important to me as it is to you, Alaric. We have drawn our white flags, we should not have to investigate a murder after that—certainly not one involving a civilian.”

Alaric buttoned the last one of his sleep shirt with a sigh, his tongue in cheek as he considered how to answer—or rather, not answer, Rhys.

“Should you not wish to sleep in my quarters, go to the guest room. I am retiring for the day.”

“You should retire as king if you cannot even tell the queen at your side something so grave.”

Rhys raised a brow at Alaric, waiting for a response. When he received none, he turned on his heel, not bothering to close the door behind him.

What a moron. Thought Rhys, closing the door to his own quarters quietly. He fell upon the bed dramatically, limbs sprawled out as he stared at the red velvet bed canopy. He would find out who this mystery suspect was on his own. Rhys, too, had connections and allies. Though, perhaps not as many as before the Castle burned down, he could still write letters.

He would begin with Fallon Ridge. Alaric would not set up a meaning, but Rhys could ask his own questions through writing. Supposedly, King Fallon had adopted a personal scholar five years ago. The scholar was albino, Rhys remembered, he could hardly see, but his genius was incomparable despite the disability. Rhys found it rather inspiring. 

He turned onto his side, feeling the cool breeze of nearing autumn against his cheeks. It was calming, despite the smell of smoke that tugged at his stomach, stirring it with brief nausea.

Perhaps it was unbecoming of him to stay away from the infirmary, after all, he was to be queen to these people. He should be helping however he can—which reminded him, Vaust was short on rations, and De Guise was fruitful near the Western borders. He would demand Alaric return him to De Guise, then, so he could bargain with the farmers and bring back food for the soldiers and people of Vaust. They would be much appreciative.

Finally, Rhys found himself growing tired, if only because his breathing slowed and he yawned. Though, he could not sleep.

Throughout the night, as any other night since the fateful one of his castle burning down, Rhys slept as soundly as a prey animal. Every soft breeze that blew hair into his face, tickling his nose, every chirping cricket, tweeting bird made him toss and turn once more.

He groaned, lying once more on his back, slamming his fists against the soft sheets. Why did Alaric’s room seem to always be quiet? It was peaceful in there, and the wind did not find its way through the lattices, it seemed to only keep the room cool.

Despite himself, Rhys stood up, leaving his quarters. Isla and Penelope had both tired for the night, so the tower was eerily silent. Even the corridors seemed more comfortable than his room.

At Alaric's door, Rhys raised his fist to knock, hesitating. What would he do when Alaric opened it? Ask to share his bed? Demand they switch places? Rhys furrowed his brows, dropping his hand, staring blankly at the door. 

“Are you certain he is still not your groom?”

Rhys flinched so suddenly, his head nearly smacked against the door. He spun around to see Edmund standing before him, leaning against his walking stick.

“What are you doing here at such a late hour? I thought Alaric found you a house.”

“He also allows me to come by and check on you. I have been doing so nightly.”

Rhys pouted. That Alaric. I ought to give him a piece of my mind. “You should be resting, Edmund. There is no need to check on me throughout the night. And why would you? You cannot see me during the day?”

“I disagree, and it is nothing like that, dear. You are not difficult to find around here, but I know you would not tell me anything had I asked, so I simply drop by to make sure you are well. Even if it is in slumber, which, to no one’s surprise, you aren’t.”

Rhys crossed his arms with a raised brow, his heart still pounding from the scare. 

“You have been rolling about in your bed since your first night here. I understand this is difficult for you, but you should know His Majesty is not the monster you believe him to be.”

“I disagree.” Rhys mocked, unwanted tears stinging his eyes. He hated how easily he cried these days. Then, more quietly, “You don’t resent him at all? He has burned down the Castle with my mother inside, his men have killed both Aris and Father,” the tears spilled freely now. Rhys’ voice cracked, nails digging into his arms where they were still crossed over.

“How can you so easily forgive him? Did you not love my family as dearly as I thought? Tell me, Edmund, if you know how, how do I remove this heavy feeling within my chest?”

“I did not say I forgave him.” Edmund’s voice softened as he gently placed a hand on the prince’s shoulder. “But I cannot resent him for what the world made of him, either. You should know better than most that Alaric was not the commencement of the war between Vaust and De Guise, just as you were not. It was your parents, and their parents, and perhaps even the generation before that. This has been a long time coming, sweet child. You shall not blame yourself just as you shall not blame Alaric.”

“But my parents’ enemies never burned down the Castle.” Rhys whispered, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

“Perhaps Alaric did not want to, either. Have you spoken about this with him at all?”

“No.”

“Well, then.” Edmund hummed. “That is the reason you are left without answers.”

“Goodnight, Edmund.”

“Goodnight, Rhys.”