C8 The Attack

Her words just wouldn't leave him alone—soft but sharp, the kind that burrow deeper when you try not to hear them.

Before Adrian could reply, a voice broke in from the balcony doorway. "Your Highnesses."

They turned. Lira was standing there, as graceful as ever, barely making a sound.

"His Majesty asks to see you. Both of you."

Athalia smoothed her dress in a single sweep. Her face shifted into something calm and perfect. "Of course."

As they headed back inside, she leaned in so only he could catch her words. "Think about what I said."

The king's private chambers felt too warm—lamps glowing gold, fire flickering in the hearth—but King Jeremy looked older than he had that morning, like the warmth couldn't touch him.

"Sit," he said.

Adrian and Athalia found their seats across from Fredric and Arianna, already there, silent and watching. The king looked at the four of them for a long, heavy moment, fingers slowly tapping the armrest.

"A year ago, you each married," he said at last. "I let you settle in, but now you need to understand. Marriage means responsibility."

"I understand, Father."

He just watched him. "I hope you do. Arrandelle sits closer to the edge than you know. Restless borders, a doubtful council, the people turning to us to hold it all together."

Athalia kept her head bowed, all respect. Inside, her mind spun.

"Adrian," the king continued, "stand with your brother. Back him up. He knows the people—you still have things to learn."

Athalia's mouth pinched, a tiny, unreadable movement.

Something in Adrian dropped. "What?" He didn't bother hiding the shock. "Fredric? Why him?"

"Because he listens. He knows how to speak to them, and they trust him."

"Father, I don't think—" Fredric started.

The king cut him off with a raised hand.

"And me?" Adrian asked, softer now.

The pause that followed said more than any answer.

"You are the firstborn," Jeremy said finally, "but that's not enough. This kingdom needs strength. It needs loyalty."

"Father—" Fredric tried, but Jeremy shut him up again.

Adrian's hands had gone cold. He could feel Athalia's stare, her earlier words twisting tighter around everything he wished he didn't understand.

Now the king looked straight at her. "Athalia. Guide him wisely."

Her smile looked soft, gentle. All for show—only Adrian sensed what it really was.

"Of course, Your Majesty. I'll do all I can."

The corridor outside felt endless and dim. Adrian walked ahead, thoughts a mess; Athalia stayed close behind until she finally spoke.

"You see?" Her voice was quiet but deadly. "Even your father doubts you."

"Athalia, please."

"He wants Fredric beside you. Soon enough he'll want Fredric instead."

"Don't."

"No." She stepped straight into his path. "Not until you admit it. Do you get it now?"

She met his eyes and didn't back down. "You can lose everything. Or you can fight for it."

He just stood there, stuck on the edge between loyalty and something he didn't want to name.

Then—glass shattered somewhere behind them. A yell. Heavy footsteps.

"Your Highness!" A guard, out of breath.

Adrian spun around. "What?"

"There's been an incident. The King—"

Something turned in Adrian's gut. "My father—what happened?"

The guard went pale. "He's been attacked, my prince. Someone tried to kill him."

Athalia let out a gasp—a little too perfectly timed, but nobody seemed to notice.

"He might not survive the night."

The palace broke open. Guards shouting, servants running wild, fear spreading faster than flames.

Adrian barely thought, just moved, chasing the guard down twisting hallways that suddenly felt foreign.

"What happened?"

"We found him in the west courtyard. There was blood. He was out cold."

"That doesn't make sense," Adrian said. "My father's got no enemies here. Not inside—how could this happen?"

"Everyone has enemies, my prince."

"Not like this. Not him. Unless—"

"Prince Fredric was there."

Adrian stopped in his tracks. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said, my prince."

A dark thought started to form, and he shoved it down. Not now.

Inside the healer's room everything reeked of herbs and smoke. Adrian opened the door and froze.

Queen Elizabeth knelt by the king's side, his hand in hers, her gown stained with blood. "Jeremy—please. Open your eyes."

Her voice broke.

Fredric and Arianna stood nearby, silent, shell-shocked. The healers moved fast, trying to close deep wounds on the king.

"Mother." Adrian stepped closer. "How is he?"

She looked up, tears smudged across her cheeks, helpless.

"He's alive," Arianna whispered. "But it's bad."

Athalia's hand lay flat on her chest, concern painted on her face. Beneath it, her eyes were steady.

The Queen's voice pitched higher, desperate. "Adrian, who would do this? Who would want him hurt?"

He had nothing.

A healer stepped forward. "Your Highness. These wounds weren't an accident. They meant to kill."

Adrian's face went hard. "Find out who did this. Search everywhere. No one leaves until you find them."

"Yes, Your Highness." The guards scattered.

The silence that settled was thick, broken by footsteps and the queen's uneven breaths.

Adrian turned to Fredric. "Brother. You were there. What happened?"

Fredric shook his head, wild-eyed. "I—I don't know. I didn't see anyone."

Athalia watched him—sharp, searching. "Why are you so frightened then?" Her voice was soft, but it pressed for truth. "What happened?"

All eyes went to Fredric.

"Fredric." Arianna's voice wobbled. "Tell us."

Athalia stayed quiet now, but her silence made things worse.

Adrian crossed the room, grabbing Fredric by the collar. "Tell me."

"They were trying to kill me!" Fredric gasped.

Time stopped. "What?" Two, three voices at once, stunned.