I foundmy father in his study, standing by the window with a glass of scotch in his hand. Dawn light made the liquor glow amber, caught the silver in his hair. He looked older than he had a year ago. Older than he had a month ago. Grief aged him faster than time ever could.
“You wanted to see me?”
He didn't turn immediately. Just kept staring out at the gardens, at the white roses my mother had planted when I was small. They bloomed every spring without her, and I think that hurt him more than anything else. The way the world kept going like she'd never mattered.
“Come in,” he said finally. “Close the door.”
I did, crossing the study to stand beside him. We looked out at the gardens together, father and son, two men drowning in the same grief but too proud to reach for each other.
“You look tired,” he said.
“Couldn't sleep.”
“You never sleep anymore.” He took a sip of scotch, and I watched his throat work as he swallowed. “When's the last time you had a full night's rest?”
I couldn't remember. “I'm fine.”
“You're not.” He turned to face me then, and I saw the fear in his eyes. Raw and desperate. The same fear I'd seen eighteen years ago when he'd held my mother's body and realized he couldn't fix this. Couldn't protect us. “You're running yourself into the ground, Sebastian. And I don't know how to stop you.”
My chest tightened. “I'm just restless. It's not?—”
“You're disappearing.” His voice cracked, just slightly. “Right infront of me. Every day, I watch you slip a little further away, and I don't know how to reach you anymore.”
“I'm still here,”
“Are you?” He set the glass down on the windowsill and reached for me, hands settling on my shoulders. Heavy. Warm. Anchoring me to the moment in a way that made my throat burn. “Because some days I look at you and I see that boy kneeling in the rain. Thirteen years old and covered in blood. And I wonder if I lost you that night too.”
“Papa—”
“I failed her.” The words came out rough. “I failed to protect her. I failed to keep her safe. And I swore, standing over her grave, that I wouldn't fail you. That whatever it took, I'd keep you alive.”
My eyes burned. “You didn't fail anyone.”
“I did. I do. Every day I wake up and she's gone and you're—” He stopped, jaw clenching. “You're so much like her. Stubborn. Reckless. Too brave for your own good. And it terrifies me.”
I didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to tell him that I was already gone in the ways that mattered. That the boy he was trying to save had died in the rain beside my mother.
“The threats are getting worse,” he continued, his grip tightening on my shoulders. “Intelligence reports coming in weekly now. There are people out there who want you dead, Sebastian. Who want our entire family erased. And I can't—” His voice broke. “I can't lose you too. I won't survive it.”
“So increase palace security,” I said, keeping my voice steady even as my heart hammered. “Add more guards. Lock down the gates. Whatever you need to do.”
“It's not enough.” He shook his head. “You need someone with you. Someone trained for this. Someone who won't let anything happen to you.”
My stomach dropped. “What are you saying?”
“You'll have a new bodyguard,” he said quietly. “Personal protection. Someone who stays with you at all times.”
“I don't need a bodyguard.”
“You do.”
“I have guards. The palace is crawling with them.”
“Palace guards follow protocols. They stand at posts. They're not trained for what's coming.” He pulled me closer, and I could smell the scotch on his breath, see the exhaustion carved into every line of his face. “This man is different. He's trained for war. For keeping people alive when everything's trying to kill them.”
“Papa—”
“He comes highly recommended. Sentinel Network. Best in the business.” His hands were shaking now, just slightly. “Adrian Calloway vouched for him personally. Said he's the only man he'd trust to protect what matters most.”
