“He used all of us. I just made it easier.” His grip on my shoulder tightened. “I'm sorry, Sebastian. For being weak. For not protectingyou. For letting a monster stand beside us while he planned our destruction.”
The apology hung there. Too big. Too late. Too necessary.
“Then let's stop being cowards,” I said. Placed my hand over his. “For her. For us. For everyone he's hurt.”
“How?”
“By finishing what we started. By making sure he pays for every drop of blood he spilled.”
My father was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded. Once. Sharp. Final.
“Justice or vengeance?” he asked.
“Does it matter?”
“It should.”
“But does it?” I looked at him. At this king who'd spent eighteen years carrying guilt that wasn't entirely his. “She's dead either way. Bringing him to trial or putting a bullet in his skull won't change that.”
“No. But one makes us better than him. The other makes us the same.”
“Then we do it right,” I said. “We bring him to trial. We make sure the world knows what he did. We let history judge him.”
“And if history's judgment isn't enough?”
“Then we'll live with that too.”
My father's expression shifted. Something that might've been pride. Or relief. Or both.
“Your mother would be proud of you.”
“I'm not sure I believe that.”
“I do.” He stood. Offered me his hand. “Come. The rain's getting worse.”
I took his hand. Let him pull me up. We stood there for a moment, looking at her grave, at the roses blooming white against grey stone.
Sunlight slipped through clouds. Brief. Fleeting. Touching her name like a blessing before disappearing again.
A promise of peace that wouldn't last. Could never last.
But it was enough.
Afternoon foundus in my father's private sitting room. Fire crackling. Rain against windows. Tea going cold on a table between us.
The room felt different than his study. Smaller. Warmer. More human. Pictures of my mother everywhere. Of me as a child. Of all of us together before the world fell apart.
Evidence that we'd been happy once. That love had existed here before grief hollowed us out.
“What will you do?” my father asked. “When this is over? When Marcel's been caught and tried and locked away?”
I stared into my teacup. Watched steam rise and disappear. “Make the crown worth the blood that built it.”
He studied me. Really looked. Like he was seeing me for the first time in years.
“You sound like her.”
“Is that good or bad?”
