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“And to be a good ruler, we don’t always have the luxury of preference. You know that,” the king continued, his expression hard.
“Why is it always one or the other?” Tristan’s voice was thick with sadness. “Why can't I have both?”
The king’s face contorted with disdain, his gaze turning dark. “The day will come when you’ll have to step into my shoes,” he hissed venomously. “But you don’t have what it takes to lead a nation. Your ideals are misguided and will only lead to your downfall. Fortunately, I won’t be around to watch you destroy everything I’ve worked so hard to build.”
Aurora’s jaw dropped as she stared at the king. Even if he was a figment of Tristan’s imagination, the hurtful words must’ve stung like a thousand bee stings. But what was even more disconcerting was seeing Tristan’s calm reaction to his father’s brutal words. Had he heard them all before?
Suddenly, a raging storm erupted outside, the rain lashing against the windows like an army of drums. Aurora’s eyes flickered to Tristan’s white-knuckled fists and clenched jaw, realizing that he was not as calm as he seemed. He was hurting, and her heart trembled like a bolt of lightning at the sight of a single, angry tear tracing down his cheek.
As the walls shook, Aurora's hand found her sword, the hilt gripped tightly between her fingers. “He’s not real,” she reminded Tristan, her voice low and steady. “He’s just trying to provoke you, to make you lose control. You have to stay calm.”
Aurora watched as the king’s icy gaze pierced through Tristan, his tone rigid as though the weight of the kingdom rested solely on his shoulders. “You have a duty to your kingdom,” he said, his words booming with authority. “No matter the cost, you must fulfill it.”
With that, the door was thrust open, and two guards rushed in. “Everything is ready, Your Highness,” they announced.
The king’s lips curved into a sly smile, and he motioned toward Tristan with a dismissive wave. “Take him away,” he ordered.
The guards grabbed Tristan, one on each side, and Aurora’s hand immediately flew to her sword. In a swift movement, she drew the blade and plunged it into the chest of one of the guards. The man disappeared in a puff of smoke, and Aurora turned her fierce gaze toward the king. She knew he was the root of Tristan’s emotional turmoil. If she could eliminate him, Tristan’s turbulent emotions would subside.
She raised her sword and charged toward the king.
“No!” Tristan cried, punching one of the guards in the face before lunging at Aurora and tackling her to the ground. Her sword slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor.
“What are you doing?” she snarled.
“That's my father!” he protested.
“He's not real!” Aurora shouted back, pushing Tristan away and scrambling to retrieve her sword. But before she could reach it, the king picked it up and held the sharp blade to her face.
Aurora raised her hands as she stood.
“Father, please.” Tristan stepped in front of Aurora, his eyes pleading. “I’m the one you’re angry with. I’m the one who disappointed you.”
“You need to kill him, Tristan,” Aurora’s voice was barely audible, but it must’ve landed on Tristan’s ears like a lightning bolt because he shot her a horrified glance.
“You don’t need to tell him twice, my dear,” the king said, a wicked glint in his eye. “He’s more than capable. Aren’t you, son?”
The walls shook with a violent tremor, and Aurora was thrown against the desk, her senses reeling as books toppled off the shelves.
“Tristan, control your emotions!” she warned, trying to steady herself. “Don’t let them overwhelm you!”
“Guards!” the king bellowed over the tremors. “Escort your prince!”
Several guards burst into the room and seized Tristan once again. The quake subsided, and Tristan locked eyes with his father.
“Where are you taking me?” he demanded through gritted teeth.
The king’s lips twisted into a wicked grin. “To your worst nightmare, my son.”
TRISTAN
The line between reality and illusion became blurred as Tristan began to lose sense of what was real. He was dragged by the guards through two heavy doors and pushed into the main hall of the castle.
He looked up at the high vaulted ceilings and the familiar rays of golden sunshine pouring in through the stained glass windows.
Rows upon rows of guests were seated, waiting, and their gazes burned on him as he walked down the aisle to a priest at the front of the hall.
Hushed voices surrounded him, but he could hardly hear them over the sound of his thumping heartbeat. He swallowed nervously as he turned on his heel, but a string quartet struck up a familiar tune from his childhood—a melody his mother would hum as she rocked him to sleep.
