The time read two o'clock in the afternoon when the peaks of the Kingdom of Dawn emerged from behind the mist rising from the blue sea. As the royal plane approached the palace's private airport, Murad felt a strange tightness in his chest. He didn't know its cause… yet it intensified with every mile closer to the kingdom's land.
When he stepped onto the royal carpet stretching toward the palace gate, he noticed the air was heavier than usual. The soldiers stood motionless, faces pale, and soft whispers swept through the ancient halls. Something here was broken… something wasn't as he had left it.
He didn't wait for the reception procession, nor did he care about protocol appearances. He walked quickly, as if his heart was leading his feet. The closer he got to the grand reception hall, the silence intensified… until he arrived.
He opened the door.
At that very moment, everything inside him froze.
His mother, Queen Roxelina, was sitting on the floor, her silk gown torn at the shoulder, hair disheveled, her face buried in tears. Beside her, his sister, Princess Iris, trembled as she tried to hold her mother's hand without collapsing herself.
When they saw him, his mother's sob rose suddenly, as if his presence had doubled her pain.
"M… Murad…"
She couldn't finish the sentence. Her voice choked.
He approached cautiously, his heart pounding painfully. He looked around, searching for his brother… for Rayan… perhaps he was injured, perhaps it was a misunderstanding, perhaps—
But his father, King Roland II, stood before him slowly. The strongest man Murad had ever known, yet now he appeared broken in an almost unbelievable way. His shoulders were slumped, his features drained of strength.
He placed a hand on Murad's shoulder, and with a shaky exhale said:
"Rayan… has died."
The words did not arrive easily. They struck Murad's chest, then shattered, sinking into his depths like a stone thrown into darkness.
"No…"
His voice was only a broken whisper.
"Father… this… it's impossible."
Yet the devastated gazes around him left no room to escape the truth.
"Rayan…? My brother?"
His voice trembled, shaking as if his chest could no longer bear the air.
And in the moment he tried to process what was happening, memories struck him like a violent storm.
He remembered him as a child, laughing while holding his hand under the old apple tree in the palace gardens. Rayan had taught him to read, corrected his words whenever he stumbled, lightly tapped his head if he forgot a letter, then embraced him, saying:
"You're clever, Murad… far beyond this entire palace."
He remembered the days of wooden sword training, when Rayan, years older, treated his lessons as a fun game.
"Raise your hand like this… don't be afraid. The sword won't hurt someone who holds it right."
He would laugh, run around him, then they'd fall together on the grass, rolling like two children with no titles or protocols.
He also remembered the first time Rayan taught him to ride a horse. Murad had trembled, clinging to the saddle as if the ground might swallow him, but Rayan held him from behind and said calmly:
"I'm with you… even if you fall, I'll fall with you."
Then came the harshest memory… the one that tore him from the inside.
The nights when young Murad was scared of storms, darkness, and loneliness. He would sneak into his brother's room without anyone seeing, yet Rayan would always wake before he reached the bed.
"Come… I knew you'd come."
He would make room beside him and hold him until he slept.
Warmth… safety… laughter… everything vanished suddenly.
Murad burst into tears. Not the tears of a prince or a man… but of a child who had lost the person who had shaped his world.
Princess Iris approached, and despite her red, swollen eyes from crying, she tried to hold herself together. She placed her hand on her mother's shoulder first, pressing lightly to calm her, then wiped her father's tears, who seemed like an old man losing all his years in a moment.
Finally, she sat beside Murad. She didn't speak… for there were no words capable of containing such pain. But her presence alone, her attempt to remain composed despite the grief crushing her heart, was like offering light in a dark room.
As for Louis, her husband, he stood near King Roland, supporting his arm and preventing his body from collapsing. He treated him as if he were his real father, offering him a glass of water he couldn't drink, then covering his shoulders with a thick cloak so he wouldn't feel the cold beginning to take over the hall.
The scene resembled a family statue of sorrow: a mother weeping, a father collapsing, a sister striving to be strong despite her own breaking, a brother-in-law standing as a pillar, and a prince… a prince who had lost half his soul.
Murad finally lifted his head, his voice shattered:
"Rayan… you promised me you wouldn't leave me…"
And he collapsed once more.
After Murad's breakdown and the family's withdrawal to a smaller, warmer hall, King Roland sat in front of his son, trying to gather his scattered words.
"They… the doctors tried everything, Murad."
The king wiped a tear clinging to his cheek involuntarily.
"Rayan fell ill a few days ago but hid it… he didn't want to worry anyone. When we discovered his condition… it was far too late."
Murad couldn't comprehend what he heard.
"An illness? What illness? How could he disappear like this? How could he leave without telling me?"
There was no answer to ease the pain. Rayan had fallen victim to a sudden sepsis caused by a severe internal infection, which progressed shockingly fast, and his body could not resist.
The illness came like a storm… and Rayan vanished with it.
Within hours, the palace was engulfed in suffocating mourning. The servants walked silently, faces downcast, candles lit along the corridors, the scent of incense filling the air as a desperate attempt to drive away the grief entrenched in the walls.
Princess Iris continued attending to her mother, wiping her tears from time to time, then moving to her father to reassure him, and returning to Murad, who was full of shock and pain. She moved among the family members as if she were a single maid holding an entire tent so it wouldn't collapse.
Louis accompanied the king every step of the way, preventing his collapse and keeping the journalists away, who had started flocking to the palace as soon as the first leak emerged.
They knew very well: the death of the heir is no ordinary event… it's a political earthquake.
By nine in the evening, the palace's official spokesperson appeared on global news channels, face pale, voice low:
"With deep sorrow… we announce the death of His Royal Highness Prince Rayan, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Dawn, after a sudden struggle with a severe infection that led to critical complications…"
Within minutes, social media exploded, and news channels worldwide broadcast the report, accompanied by images of Rayan's charming smile, clips from his official duties, and excerpts from his diplomatic speeches.
The headlines all spoke as one:
"Global Shock: Death of the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Dawn"
"The Young Prince's Passing Shakes Royal Families and Public"
In many cities, crowds appeared outside the embassies of the Kingdom of Dawn to lay flowers.
John was lying on his couch after a long day of training at the club. He grabbed the remote control, flipping through channels without interest until he stopped at the international news bulletin.
Prince Rayan's image appeared on the screen, behind him a faint funeral melody.
"Breaking News… Death of Prince Rayan."
John sat up quickly, as if slapped.
"Rayan…?"
He knew Rayan through Murad's stories… that brother spoken of with eyes shining with love and admiration.
Then a short video of Rayan smiling in front of cameras played, and grief flowed in John's chest like a wave.
He brought his hand to his mouth, covering his shock, eyes wide.
"Oh my God… Murad…"
He barely noticed himself standing, pacing around the room in unsteady steps. His heart trembled with fear for the person he loved and imagined the pain Murad must be enduring now.
He picked up his phone several times to call Murad… yet hesitated.
Would he disturb him now? Was it the right time? Would he help or add to the burden?
But one thing was clear: John didn't pity the prince… he feared for Murad himself.
He saw before him the image of a broken Murad… and his heart ached.
After more than three unsuccessful attempts to reach Murad, John realized staying at the palace wouldn't help. The phone rang, then stopped… and each time his anxiety increased.
He sat on the edge of the bed, running his hand through his hair with a nervousness he had never felt before.
"I can't leave him like this… not today."
He stood, grabbed a small bag, packed some clothes, and took his passport. He didn't think much. He didn't need to. It was Murad… and that was enough.
Within less than an hour, John was at the airport, heading to the Kingdom of Dawn. The world around him seemed hazy, movements fast, sounds unclear. All he could focus on was the image of a broken Murad in a vast, cold palace, surrounded by protocols and official faces, while all he needed was an arm to hold him and give him strength.
As the plane neared the Kingdom of Dawn, John saw the crowds outside the royal palace, the black banners, and images of Prince Rayan hanging on buildings. The atmosphere was somber, even into the evening itself.
"Stay strong… I'm coming."
He whispered softly, staring from the plane window at the city lights dimmed in mourning.
Two days later, the royal funeral was held at the "Heart of Dawn" square within the palace. Kings, presidents, and leaders from various countries gathered, and the square was filled with thousands of citizens who came to bid farewell to their crown prince.
The atmosphere was heavy, solemn. The sky gray, as if sharing in their grief.
Rayan's casket, draped in the royal flag, was placed in the center of the square, surrounded by white flowers from every side.
The royal family stood in the front row:
King Roland, face shattered though attempting composure.
Queen Roxelina, holding a trembling white handkerchief.
Princess Iris, back straight despite tears.
Louis, standing behind her as a supportive shadow.
And Prince Murad… who seemed to have lost both voice and soul together.
Alongside the world leaders, in the row for princes and heirs, stood Prince John, Crown Prince of Florida. Dressed in his formal black suit, shoulders squared in full respect, yet his face could not hide the deep concern he carried for Murad. Despite the formal distance separating them, his eyes followed Murad every moment—each tremble, each sigh, each collapse.
As for Murad, he was pale, eyes red, hands shaking every time he tried to control himself. Every passing moment weighed heavier on his chest.
And when the royal funeral march began—the tune played only upon the loss of family members—another part of Murad crumbled inside.
He took two steps forward to place the final flower on his brother's coffin. A white rose… simple… yet chosen because it had been Rayan's favorite.
He stood before the casket for long seconds, then whispered so no one could hear:
"I needed you… why did you leave?"
And behind him, John closed his eyes for a moment…
Not only out of respect for the deceased, but in pain for the person he loved, seeing him break down before him without being able to get close.
By the end of the exhausting day, after the official delegations had left and the crowds had dispersed, the palace returned to a deeper silence, but it was not the suffocating silence of previous days.
It was more like the silence of exhaustion… the silence of attempting a breath after long weeping.
Queen Roxelina sat in the small sitting room, sipping a bit of tea that Iris had prepared for her.
She was still sad, but her features were beginning to regain a portion of their strength.
King Roland sat beside her, speaking softly with Louis, thanking him for standing by him through these difficult days.
As for Murad…
he had gone alone to the palace balcony overlooking the gardens.
He stood there, watching the candles lit by people along the outer fences.
His chest still ached, but for the first time since his brother's death, he felt that air could enter his lungs without hurting him.
The kingdom was beginning to calm…
and the royal family was beginning to regain their breaths…
yet one thing was missing:
Murad did not yet know that one person had crossed distances to be near him.
And that John… was still within the walls of the Kingdom of Dawn.
He headed toward the palace's back garden, the place he always went to when everything became overwhelming.
Night had begun to fall, the air cold but refreshing.
He sat on an old stone chair among the trees, staring at the fountain that reflected the light with a sorrowful sparkle.
For the first time in many days…
he felt able to think without immediately collapsing.
He closed his eyes, breathing slowly.
And then…
his phone vibrated.
He opened his eyes slowly, looking at the screen.
An international number.
The same number… the one he had ignored three times before the funeral.
He froze for a few seconds.
Then he let the phone ring without answering.
Not now… he couldn't.
After a few moments, a text message arrived:
"Murad… I'm here. I won't pressure you. I just wanted you to know."
—John
Murad's heartbeat quickened.
"Here? What does he mean, here?"
He placed the phone on his knee, staring at the screen as if afraid to read more.
Then a second message came:
"I'm still at the Emerald Royal Hotel."
Murad's eyes widened, and he swallowed slowly.
John… hadn't returned to his country?
John had stayed here?
So close… all this time?
Something heavy began to melt inside his chest, something like guilt… and relief… and repressed longing.
He didn't reply.
He placed the phone on his chest and closed his eyes.
After long minutes of silence, during which Murad sat in the garden holding his phone as if it were something fragile, he felt a strange weight on his chest… a weight that wanted to move.
He opened his eyes slowly.
The lit fountains, the trees, the darkness… all had become meaningless.
The only thing occupying his mind now:
John was here.
Here in the kingdom.
And close… so close that meeting him could be only ten minutes away.
He rose without thinking, without even organizing his thoughts in his head.
He moved quickly toward the palace's side gate, the one he had used in childhood when he secretly ran off with Rayan to ride horses.
He didn't tell the guards where he was going.
Just a short, firm look from the prince was enough for them to let him pass without question.
He wore a dark coat to hide his features, placed a low hat on his head, then rushed toward the black car he had left near the stables.
He got in, slamming the door shut… then froze for a few seconds, unable to start the engine.
His hands were trembling.
Not from fear…
but from the intensity of longing, and the pain it brought.
"What do I do…?"
he whispered in a broken voice.
Yet his heart had made the decision before him.
He pressed the ignition button.
The car roared to life into the cold night while the enormous palace receded behind him, as if distancing itself from all protocols, all restrictions… everything that kept him from the person he needed more than ever.
Throughout the drive, he tried to convince himself that he was going only "to check on John," nothing more…
but every heartbeat betrayed him.
On his way to the hotel, he noticed the dark streets, the candles lit by citizens along the sidewalks, Rayan's portraits hung on buildings…
everything reminded him that life had changed forever.
Yet, a small light of hope glimmered within him:
John was still here.
He hadn't run away.
He hadn't left him alone.
He arrived at the luxurious Emerald Royal Hotel, the massive glass building gleaming in the night like a mirror.
He parked slightly away from the main entrance, so no one would notice him.
He stepped out, feeling the cold air slap his face, as if bringing back some of his awareness.
He entered through the hotel's side corridor, usually reserved for guests arriving quietly.
He whispered his name to the guard in a low voice, who allowed him in without any protocol.
The hotel's rich scent, the silence of the hallways, the soft golden lights…
everything felt strange and moving at the same time.
When he reached the seventh floor—the floor for VIP guests—his steps stopped in front of a specific door.
Room 705.
John's room.
He raised his hand to knock…
but his fingers froze in the air.
They trembled.
Then slowly lowered, while his chest constricted as if all the memories, all the pain, all the unspoken words weighed on him.
He whispered to himself:
"Am I ready…?"
And at the moment he tried to summon courage—
The door opened from inside.
And John stood before him.
His eyes wide…
his mouth half-open…
his voice escaping as if it had been held back for many days:
"…Murad?"
He wore a simple black shirt, hair messy from running his hands through it over the past hours, and his eyes…
his eyes were frighteningly red, as if he hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, and hadn't stopped crying since hearing the news.
When he saw Murad…
he froze.
Neither spoke.
Long seconds passed between them…
heavy…
silent…
but filled with everything: longing, pain, fear, guilt, love.
John raised his hand in a hoarse whisper, barely audible:
"Murad…?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
Suddenly, without warning, his shoulders fell, and his eyes filled with tears again.
As for Murad…
he took a single step forward before the wall he had built around himself collapsed.
In an instant…
John found himself in his arms.
Murad hugged him tightly, with desperate ferocity, as if the world would explode if he let go even for a moment.
He buried his face in John's shoulder, his breath breaking, voice shattered:
"John… I couldn't… I couldn't bear it…"
John wrapped his arms around him immediately, holding him close as if afraid he would disappear from his grasp:
"I'm here… I'm here, Murad… I'm with you."
For the first time since Rayan's death was announced…
Murad allowed himself to cry out loud.
Not as a prince.
Not as an heir or a politician… but as a broken human, a lost child between his world and the absence of his brother.
John entered first, as if afraid that what he saw was an illusion that could vanish at any moment.
Murad followed with hesitant steps… steps carrying mountains of grief and guilt.
The suite was dimly lit, except for a soft light from the lamp near the window.
The room was in silent disarray: half-filled coffee cups, scattered papers, a jacket thrown on the floor…
everything indicated that John had not been able to control himself since learning the news.
John sat on the edge of the bed, while Murad remained standing, as if afraid to sit… afraid to relax… afraid to let the grief swallow him further.
But John raised his eyes to him and said softly, broken:
"Come… don't stand away from me."
Murad slowly approached and sat beside him.
They didn't touch, yet their closeness alone was enough to break something inside them.
Murad hesitated a little, then said in a weak voice:
"Rayan… was a part of me.
I never imagined… a day his existence would end."
John looked at him, drying a treacherous tear on his cheek:
"Murad… everyone saw the loss of the crown prince.
But I…
I saw the loss of your brother.
The child who used to sleep beside you…
who taught you… who protected you."
Murad's lips trembled, and without realizing it, he leaned his head slightly on John's shoulder.
No permission was needed… John did not object.
He raised his hand and slowly ran it through Murad's hair, as if calming a bleeding heart.
Murad whispered:
"I used to return to his room every night as a child… I was afraid to sleep alone.
And he… he held my hand all night.
How… do you deal with the absence of someone like that?"
John gently squeezed his hand:
"You deal with it… by not facing it alone.
Especially when you have people who love you… and I'm one of them."
Murad's breathing suddenly quickened, as if trying to suppress a new wave of crying.
But John did not allow him to hide.
He turned toward him, held his face in his hands, and looked into his eyes directly:
"Murad… you don't have to be strong with me.
Not tonight."
Murad needed no more words.
He leaned fully against John's chest, letting his tears flow freely.
They sat like this for a long time…
Murad crying softly, John stroking his back gently, whispering words only their souls could hear.
When the first light of dawn approached the window, Murad suddenly sprang up.
He wiped his tears quickly, as if remembering he was a prince… and that every step he took was scrutinized.
"I have to go back… if they see my room empty… it would be a disaster."
John also stood quickly, as if fearing Murad might vanish the moment he did.
"Be careful… it's sensitive. I don't want you to take more pressure."
Murad put on his coat, then approached John for one last step.
He raised his hand, touching John's cheek with his thumb… a short, light touch, yet filled with everything he couldn't say.
"Thank you… for being here tonight.
If you weren't here… I don't know what would've happened to me."
John smiled, sad but warm:
"And I'm here… any day you need me."
Murad opened the door slowly, cast one last glance… then disappeared into the corridor.
He returned to the palace before anyone woke.
He entered his room lightly, as if fleeing a shadow chasing him, and changed clothes quickly, to appear as if he hadn't left all night.
At nine in the morning, they all gathered in the Royal Sun Salon:
King Roland, exhausted, lines of fatigue etched on his face.
Queen Roxelina, holding her husband's hand tightly, as if supporting herself on him.
Princess Iris, despite her grief, trying to remain composed for their sake.
Louis stood behind her, holding little Lawrence, who seemed confused by the heavy atmosphere.
And Murad… sitting in silence, eyes hiding a whole night of crying, though no one noticed… or so he thought.
The queen finally spoke, her voice calm:
"We need to talk… about the next step."
Everyone turned to her…
King Roland took a deep breath, then looked at everyone with tired but resolute eyes:
"The coming days will be difficult…
but the kingdom's interest comes first.
Rayan is no longer with us… and the throne needs an heir who can lead this land with confidence."
Queen Roxelina nodded, her voice calm yet strong:
"Murad… you are now the temporary crown prince.
We suggest accelerating your official coronation ceremony, so your leadership is clear to everyone… the palace, the kingdom, and the world."
Murad's heart trembled slightly, feeling the weight of responsibility overwhelm him.
He was no longer just a grieving brother…
no longer just a small prince in his father's wing…
he had become the heir to the kingdom, entrusted by all.
He looked at his parents, then at Iris and Louis, and finally at Lawrence.
He knew all their eyes were fixed on him… waiting for his decision, his confidence, his strength.
He whispered slowly, as if to himself before speaking:
"I will be up to the responsibility…
I will be crown prince… just as Rayan wished me to be."
The queen smiled, the king nodded, Louis gently took Iris's hand, while Lawrence hugged his father.
The scene was a mixture of sorrow, determination, and hope…
and thus, the chapter concluded, marking the beginning of a new chapter in Murad's life as crown prince, with the burden of responsibility, and the memory of his brother forever present in his heart.