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“Sir, I have come with today’s briefings on the Nationalism Reform Act. However...” His voice trailed off.
“However?” I pressed.
“I have just been informed that the king is asking for them.”
I exhaled slowly. Could there not be one good day anymore? Not even one? Rising from my seat, I put my jacket back on, fixing my cufflinks and the rest of my attire before going to the door.
“Where are you going, sir?” Balduin asked as I stepped into the hallway.
“I’m going to see the king,” I said as he followed behind me. “If he wishes to see today’s briefings, I shall be there as he does.”
“Is that wise?”
“No, it very well might not be,” I replied, walking up the stairs. “But what choice do I have? Show him fake ones like Arthur did. Did you prepare fake briefs?”
“Of course not. And Prince Arthur did not show him fake briefs; he showed the king past ones, sir. If you give me time, I can round up some from—”
“You are always telling me we are busy, and yet you wish to go waste time, looking for briefs from a year or two ago?”
“True, but sir, what are you going to do?”
“I do not know, Balduin.” I paused as we reached my father’s wing of the palace, shifting to look at the man beside me. “Maybe I will tell him the truth again. Maybe I won’t. Maybe he’ll kick me out of the room and ask for Arthur. I do not know, Balduin. But I’m going to see him nevertheless.”
I took the first folder from the stack of folders he was cradling to his chest like they were his children before walking down the hall to the door. Grabbing the handle, I inhaled deeply, adjusted my shoulders, and knocked.
When the door opened, I saw that my father was dressing in a suit and tie, adjusting his cufflinks as I had done earlier—like he had done a hundred thousand times in the past before getting ready to start his day. He looked so much like he had once looked. So much better that I glanced at the nurse waiting by the door with hope, only for her to shake her head and instantly destroy it. I nodded for her to leave.
“Galahad?” my father called out, surprised as he turned to me. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, Father.”
“Me?” He chuckled, looking back into the mirror to adjust his tie. “What have you done wrong now?”
I frowned, of course. “Do you truly believe I only come to see you when I have made a mess of things?”
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation, turning back to me. “Especially when your face looks like that. What is that matter?”
“Do you have a moment to spare? It looks as if you are going somewhere?”
“A king never has a moment to spare. I am to have lunch with the Duke of...” He paused, trying to remember but unable to. He shook his head and then turned to look back at me. “Never mind. Sit, and let us talk. In fact, call your brother. It may do us all good to have a conversation together for once.”
“Arty is not here,” I whispered, walking across the room to sit in the chair by the window. There was a chess set on the table beside it, a game unfinished.
“Do not touch that. Your brother and I are in the middle of a heated match.”
“Yes, I know.” I frowned. “But we’ve never played together, Father? Why?”
“Have you forgotten?” he asked, now adjusting the buttons on his suit.
“Forgotten what?”
“That you hate chess? How many times did I ask you to join me for a match only for you to refuse?” He laughed.
That was true.
And then he would order me, and I would still decline, which only made him angrier. So, Arthur would play a match with him instead.
“Father. I’m—I’m sorry.”
