In the Royal Palace, Sara's voice trembled.
"I have never once thought that he is not my child. He is my son. I gave birth to him—my blood. But after the twins were born, I got busy. I thought he'd be fine… he always seemed so mature."
Her hands shook as she tried to hold herself together.
"I thought… he would grow well on his own. I never realized that my negligence would make him suffer alone."
She buried her face in her hands, sobbing. The Queen rose silently and walked over, wrapping an arm around her.
"Come with me," she whispered. "You need to rest."
Sara didn't resist. She followed like someone who didn't know where she was going anymore.
The King stayed behind, eyes fixed on James.
James looked smaller somehow. His shoulders, once so broad and unshakable—the same shoulders that had carried the kingdom through a war—were bent. Heavy. Quiet.
The King broke the silence.
"James… what about the incident that happened when he was thirteen?"
At the Bolton mansion, Edward had just closed his eyes when a memory came uninvited.
He was thirteen. Top of his class at the academy. Brilliant, focused, disciplined. That year, the academy organized a ceremony to reward excellence. Edward had been named the top student across all disciplines.
The day of the event, he waited by the gates, eyes scanning every carriage that arrived. But the Count and Countess never came.
He stood alone on stage when his name was called. Applause rang through the hall as he received the award.
He turned and looked toward the entrance, hopeful—just for a second. Maybe, just maybe… his father would walk in.
But no one came. Just rows of unfamiliar faces.
The cheers faded into a quiet ache.
That night, he sat on a bench under the old tree behind the academy, his medal still in hand. The leaves rustled above him.
Then a group of students approached. Boys from a noble house. Older, louder.
"What's the point of being a topper if no one shows up for you?" one of them sneered.
Another chimed in, "Maybe your parents didn't want to be seen with you."
"They probably hate being called your parents," the third added with a laugh. "Even the academy couldn't force them to show up."
Edward didn't say anything. He just stood up—slowly, calmly.
What happened next was a blur of fists, blood, and rage he hadn't known he had. By the time teachers intervened, three students were on the ground—battered badly.
The next day, a letter arrived at the Bolton mansion.
James opened it, expecting praise. But his expression hardened as he read:
"Physical altercation. Severe injuries. Disciplinary concern."
He stormed to the academy.
He barely spoke to the teachers before walking into the infirmary. The boys lay on their beds, bruised and swollen.
His rage surged.
Without a word, he marched to Edward's quarters, flung the door open, and struck him across the face.
The slap echoed in the quiet room.
Edward stumbled back, blinking, stunned.
"I don't want to hear a word," James snapped.
Edward opened his mouth—but the moment he tried to speak, James grabbed his collar and dragged him out.
Back at the mansion, James locked Edward in his room and ordered the servants:
"No food. No water. Let him learn what disgrace feels like."
That night, James paced the halls, muttering. The servants heard it all.
"I can't entrust my county to a boy like that. I'll name one of the twins as heir. Edward will be sent back to the estate where he belongs."
Behind the locked door, Edward sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. Hungry. Silent. Listening.
He didn't cry.
But something in him cracked that night.
He never asked me why.
He already made up his mind.
The next morning, without a word, Edward was sent to the remote estate. Alone.
Back in the palace, the King sat forward. His voice was low. Dangerous.
"You never even asked what happened, James? You passed judgment without hearing him out? And then you talked of replacing him?"
He tossed a sealed document onto the table.
"Read this. The report from the academy. What actually happened."
James picked it up with shaking hands. His eyes scanned the pages.
His throat dried.
"He… he was provoked," James whispered. "Those boys mocked him… humiliated him. He didn't start it. They… they called him unwanted."
He lowered the report slowly.
"I'm… I'm really sorry."
The King looked at him with hollow eyes.
"You didn't just punish him. You took the only thing he had."
At Bolton mansion, Edward's voice was calm. Too calm.
"You never asked me anything," he said aloud to the quiet room. "You just jumped to your own conclusion. Like always."
He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.
"I wasn't angry because you hit me. I was angry because you didn't care why."