I took his hand. Held it. “I'm sorry I've been difficult.”
“You're my son. Difficult comes with the territory.” He squeezed my fingers. “But Sebastian. I need you to know. Whatever you're going through. Whatever you're dealing with. You can talk to me. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because for years you've been keeping me at arm's length. Keeping everyone at arm's length. And I understand why. I do. But you don't have to do it anymore.”
I wanted to tell him. Wanted to confess everything. The hunting.The nightmares. The fact that I'd fallen for my bodyguard and didn't know how to stop.
But I couldn't. Because some truths were too dangerous. Some confessions would break him.
So I just nodded. “I'm trying. To let people in. It's just hard.”
“I know. Your mother was the same way. Built walls around herself and called it strength.” He smiled sadly. “Took me five years to get past them. Worth every second.”
“You really loved her.”
“I still do. Will always love her. That doesn't stop just because she's gone.” He let go of my hand. “That's something I want you to understand. Love doesn't end. It changes. Evolves. But it doesn't die just because the person does.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
“You have her fire, but my stubbornness,” he continued. “Try not to burn down the kingdom with both.”
I laughed. Couldn't help it. “I'll do my best.”
“That's all I ask.” He stood, and I did too. “Now go. I'm sure you have better things to do than listen to your father ramble about love and loss.”
“It wasn't rambling.”
“Wasn't it?”
“No. It was. Good. Thank you.” I hesitated. “For talking to me like I am human instead of an heir.”
“You are my son first. Always.” He exhaled, then his mouth set like he had decided something. “And I am not naïve.”
The room shifted under my feet. “About what.”
“About where you go at night.” His eyes did not leave mine. They were tired and clear.
Cold slid down my spine. “Papa?—”
“I hoped you would come to your senses,” he said quietly. “I hoped grief would soften with time and you would stop chasing ghosts that will never turn into people again. I hoped I would not have to say this aloud and make it real.”
I could not find air for a second. “How long have you known.”
“Long enough to be afraid properly.” He came around the desk, slower than he used to, and stopped in front of me. “Long enough to understand that my silence was not protection. It was cowardice dressed as hope.”
He reached for me and I did not step back. His hands framed my face, thumbs warm against bone. “I am proud of the man you are. I hate the nights you give to the dark. I cannot lose you. Not to them. Not to yourself.”
My throat burned. “I thought I was hiding it.”
“You were hiding it from the part of me that wanted to believe you were sleeping.” His voice frayed and held. “I have seen the way you move when a window opens. I have seen the bruises you do not name. I chose not to see the rest because I love you and because the truth hurts.”
“I was careful,” I said. It sounded thin even to me.
“You were lucky,” he said. “Sometimes the world lets luck pretend to be skill. Then it stops. Promise me you will let the people I hired do their jobs. Promise me you will not make your body a wall for strangers when you are already the only wall I have left.”
My eyes blurred. He pulled me in and I let him. He smelled like paper and bergamot and the sea salt he always carried home from holidays we never took again. His shoulder shook once against my cheek. He did not hide it.
