“He talks about grain subsidies for forty-five minutes without taking a breath. Trust me, I'm doing everyone a favor.”
I heard him move closer. Still didn't look up. Just kept working on the rabbit's whiskers, each line deliberate and fine.
“You have missed three official engagements this morning,” Viktorsaid. Voice dangerously calm. “Your father is asking questions. Staff is scrambling to make excuses.”
“Let them scramble. Good exercise.”
“Sebastian.”
The use of my name instead of my title made me look up. He stood three feet away, dressed in a dark suit that fit him like sin. Jaw tight. Eyes cold. Hands flexed at his sides like he wanted to strangle me.
“You're angry,” I observed.
“I am beyond angry. I am wondering how you have survived this long when you treat official duties like they are optional.”
“Theyareoptional. It's called delegation. Maybe you've heard of it.”
“You cannot delegate your own schedule. You cannot simply disappear for hours without informing anyone where you are.”
“I told you where I'd be.”
“You said you come here mornings. You did not say you would miss three meetings to play with wood.”
I set down the knife. Slowly. “Play with wood.”
“Yes.”
“That's what you think I'm doing? Playing?”
“What else would you call hiding in workshop when you have duties?”
I stood. Moved around the workbench toward him. Watched his body language shift, prepare for confrontation.
“Come here,” I said.
“We do not have time?—”
“That wasn't a request.” I gestured to the projects covering the workspace. “Come here and I'll show you what I'm playing at.”
He hesitated, then moved closer. Wary. Like approaching a trap.
I picked up the toy chest. “See this? This is for Emma. She's eight. Acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Third round of chemo. She collects rabbit figurines because her mother told her rabbits are lucky.” I traced the carved rabbit on the lid. “She needs something beautiful to look at while poison drips into her veins. So I'm making her something beautiful.”
I set it down, picked up the rocking horse. “This is for Marcus.He's five. Born with cerebral palsy. Can't walk. Can't run. But he can rock. So I'm giving him a horse that moves when he wants it to. Agency in a life that's given him none.”
Viktor's expression had shifted. Still hard, but something else underneath now.
“And this,” I grabbed the puzzle box, “is for Aiden. He's eleven. Autism. Non-verbal. But he solves puzzles like a demon. So I make him boxes with secrets inside because he deserves to know that solving hard things has rewards.”
I set them down. Looked at Viktor. “That's what I'm playing at. That's what's more important than listening to men in suits talk about grain subsidies and trade agreements for three hours.”
“Your father does not know you do this.”
“No. Because if he knew, he'd make it official. Photo ops at the children's hospital. Press releases about the caring prince. Ruin the one genuine thing I have left.” I leaned against the workbench. “So I miss meetings. I skip briefings. I carve toys in secret and deliver them myself when security isn't paying attention.”
Viktor's jaw worked. “You could have told me.”
“Could I? You've spent days treating me like I'm a flight risk. Like every decision I make is wrong. Why would I tell you about this when you'd probably report it as a security concern?”
