Page 106 of King of the Crease

“It didn’t. It’s who I am.” I wish I could’ve talked to my mother about this. She saw who I was, and she was delighted. How different my life could’ve been if she were here.

“I see that clearly now.” He heaves out a heavy breath, eyes heavy with guilt. “I taught you duty before joy. Obligation before self. And so I watched you grow lonelier each year and called it strength.”

My throat tightens.

“I thought that was what princes were meant to be,” he says. “Unbreakable.”

A long pause follows. Then he turns his head toward me fully, eyes sharp despite exhaustion.

“Do you love him?”

The question lands without warning. I don’t need clarification.

Hank fills my mind instantly: his crooked smile, grease-stained hands, the way he laughs without restraint, the warmth of his house, the safety I felt sitting beside him watching terrible Christmas movies.

My voice barely works.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I do.”

My father studies my face like he’s memorizing it.

“Does he make you happy?”

I swallow hard. “Yes.”

“Do you feel like yourself with him?”

The answer comes immediately. “Yes.”

He exhales slowly, as though releasing something he’s carried for decades.

“Then you must be with him.”

I blink back tears. “Father⁠—”

“I am dying, Nicholas,” he says plainly. “Titles lose their power when you are counting breaths instead of years.”

Emotion cracks through his composure.

“I spent my life believing the kingdom needed perfection from me. But Ardenia survived my mistakes. It will survive yours.” His eyes shine. “What it will not survive is a king who has forgotten how to live.”

My chest aches. Soon, I will be on this earth with no parents.

“But the heir⁠—”

“We will solve the future,” he says firmly. “Kings always do. But I will not send my son into a lifetime of loneliness.”

His hand reaches for mine. I take it carefully, startled by how fragile it feels.

“I do not want my last gift to you to be a cage,” he says. “I am so sorry you got your heart broken.”

Tears blur my vision.

“I pushed you toward duty because I believed it would protect you,” he continues softly. “Now I see it only isolated you.”

He squeezes my hand weakly.

“Papa.” My voice breaks. I’m not ready to say goodbye. I want one million more of these moments.