The morning stretched long. Rowan had been awake since dawn, dressed and ready long before the sun had risen fully over the city. He sat at the edge of the bed, hands clasped, staring at the polished floorboards as though they might offer him clarity. Every sound outside his door, the shuffle of boots, the faint murmur of servants, set his pulse racing. He had been told the king would summon him today. He only did not know when.
The knock came at last, firm but not urgent. Rowan stood quickly, smoothing his tunic before opening the door. The same attendant from the night before stood waiting. His posture was formal, but his voice was steady when he spoke. "Lord Rowan. His Majesty requests your presence. He waits in his private study. Please, follow me."
Rowan nodded, his throat dry. He fell into step behind the man as they wound deeper into the palace. The grandeur of the outer halls gave way to quieter passages, their walls lined not with banners and marble but with portraits and soft carpets. The light here was warmer, filtered through tall windows draped in velvet.
It felt different, as though he had crossed an unseen boundary. This was no longer the realm of ministers and guards. This was where the king and his bloodline lived. The attendant finally stopped before a tall set of double doors framed in silver filigree. He bowed lightly. "His Majesty awaits within. You may enter."
Rowan hesitated only a heartbeat before pushing the doors open. The study was vast yet lived-in, the scent of parchment and ink lingering in the air. Shelves lined the walls, heavy with tomes, and tall windows spilled daylight across a carpet of deep blue. Near the hearth, on a low sofa, sat King Hector Ashvall.
He was not adorned in his ceremonial robes now. His attire was simpler, made of dark cloth and clean lines, though no less commanding. A book rested in his hands, and he set it aside as his eyes lifted to meet Rowan's."Come," the king said, his voice steady, carrying no edge of coldness. He gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit."
Rowan obeyed, his legs stiff but controlled, lowering himself carefully onto the cushioned chair. For a moment, silence stretched between them. The king's gaze lingered, sharp yet not unkind, as though weighing the boy before him against some measure only he knew.
When at last he spoke, his tone was firm, though not distant. "Did you rest well?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Rowan replied softly.
The king's lips curved faintly, a shadow of a smile."First, Rowan, do not call me 'Your Majesty.' Not when it is only us. To you, I am your uncle, nothing more."
Rowan blinked, startled, then gave a small, hesitant nod. A flicker of warmth passed across the king's face, though it faded swiftly."I am sure you carry many questions within you. Let us begin at the beginning."
His words grew slower, heavier, each syllable wrapped in memory. "Vareth has always loved war. To them, conquest is as natural as breathing. For years they pressed upon our borders, clashing with Nirathal, Dregrath, and Valdros alike, always seeking to carve away our lands and claim them as their own.
But they did not succeed. When our three nations forged their alliance, their advance was finally blunted. And when the Crownlands stepped in to enforce balance, peace of a sort was secured. It was fragile, uneasy, but peace nonetheless."
The king's gaze sharpened briefly before softening again as he continued."During those peace talks, Duke Vexlaar proposed your mother's marriage to his second son, a gesture of goodwill. Your grandfather agreed. I will speak plainly, Rowan: I was against it. I did not see why Elira should be bound to Vexlaar, of all houses. They were known for cruelty, among the worst in Vareth. But my father… he believed there was no harm in it, only advantage."
The king leaned back slightly, his voice lowering."Elira accepted without bitterness. She was strong-willed, but she did not oppose the match. And your father, he had a good reputation. They had known each other before. In time, I convinced myself it was not a bad path for her."
His eyes darkened."Yet only a year after the marriage, word reached me that her husband had vanished, dead, or simply disappeared, no one knew. And I… I could do nothing. That was when you were also born."
Silence lingered, heavy between them. Then his tone hardened, shaded with regret."But four years after the wedding, the world shifted. A mana stone mine was discovered, vast and rich, on Nirathali soil, close to the Vareth border. Mana stones, Rowan… they are the lifeblood of mages, the foundation of armies. That mine was a treasure beyond measure."
His eyes grew colder, distant."When Vareth heard, they demanded the land be ceded to them. Claimed it had always been theirs. We refused. And so the peace ended. War returned."
His jaw tightened."But this time Nirathal was alone. Dregrath and Valdros… they had no desire to risk their own peace. Conveniently, they abandoned us. The war dragged on. After three years, your grandfather fell on the battlefield, and I was crowned king."
His voice dropped low, carrying a weight that seemed to sink into the chamber itself. "The fighting continued. And then came word from House Vexlaar."
He looked Rowan directly in the eyes."They claimed your mother was in their custody. If I wanted her to live, I was to agree to Vareth's proposal to split the mine. At court, it was decided. Vareth had already lowered their demands, from full control to fifty percent. If we resisted longer, perhaps they would bend further. That was the judgment of my council."
The king's hands tightened against his knees, his voice low but unwavering."I loved my sister dearly, Rowan. But as king, I could not let feelings decide the outcome of a war that threatened all of Nirathal. I agreed with the council's decision, because it was the best choice for our people. And I believe… Elira would have understood that as well."
For the first time, his voice faltered, the unyielding steel of a ruler cracking just enough to reveal the man beneath."A year later, word reached me that Elira had died in her cell. They claimed it was sickness that took her."
He closed his eyes, the grief plain in his features at last."I mourned her. I still mourn her. Yet I do not regret the decision I made for the kingdom. What I regretted… was leaving you in that hell."
He drew in a long breath, steadying himself before continuing."Vareth's hunger did not cease. Our armies bled year after year, and still they refused to yield beyond their half-claim. At last, with the kingdom on the edge of ruin, I was forced to accept their terms. But when the treaty was written, I made one demand of my own. You were to be exiled from House Vexlaar. That was the only way I could claim you back. The only way I could honor your mother's memory."
The king's voice grew firmer, more personal now, as he leaned closer. "Here, in Nirathal, you will not be cast aside. You will not be treated as lesser, nor scorned. Here, you are of my blood, and you will be treated as a prince."
Rowan's throat ached, his breath catching under the weight of the confession laid bare before him. For a long moment, he could only look at the king, this man who had been a distant figure all his life, and see in him both the strength of a ruler and the pain of family.
The king's voice softened, though it did not waver. "I would understand if you hate me, Rowan. I left your mother to rot in her cell. I agreed too late to save her. Perhaps you believe me weak, or cruel. But know this, I was helpless, bound by the crown, and I am trying, even now, to make amends."
Rowan's answer came quietly, his words steady with conviction. "I have never hated you, Uncle. Mother always spoke well of you. I can understand the weight of your position. I never blamed you."
The king's eyes searched his nephew's, testing the truth in them. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. His gaze softened, and a long, weary breath slipped past his lips. For the first time, Rowan felt not just the presence of a king before him, but of family.