POV. Kai
Weeks later, the kingdom breathed.
The banquet smelled of browned meat and spiced wine. Laughter filled the room, as if the world had never feared the plague.
I laughed too.
Because it is what they expect.
Because the future king must smile at the celebrations.
The plague receded, like a wounded monster crawling until it disappeared in the forest.
The square was filled with colors, people sang again. The bells rang out with euphoria, announcing not only the cure, but the real commitment.
I was the future.
And I felt more fake than the smile I was wearing.
Beside me, my future wife, the princess of the West, was smiling sweetly. She is beautiful, polite, correct, courteous... too correct and empty for me. Not because of her, but because my heart still bleeds for someone else.
He laughed at my jokes, even though they weren't funny.
He toasted with me, although he did not drink.
My laughter sounded like rotten wood.
"You're quiet," she says, brushing my arm.
"It's your ideas, my dear," I took her hand gently to kiss it, and then stood up. For the health of the kingdom, for the future," I said, raising my glass.
"For love," she replied gently.
"Which one?" I thought. But I didn't say it.
Sibylla was looking at me from the other end of the table.
His bearing was impeccable, as always. But his eyes... Their eyes know my sorrow as they know the maps of the kingdom.
She leaned toward me as I passed her.
"You did the right thing, my son.
I nodded, swallowing the answer I shouldn't give. I replied with a brief, bowed gesture.
A reverence to duty.
And another to silence.
Because since Archie left, something inside me did too.
It was like when my father died: the world went on, yes... But everything became grayer, colder, more boring.
A theater without applause.
Sibylla looked at me with resignation.
And my sister shot me a glance from the Lords' table.
He raised an eyebrow, raised his glass as if toasting my unhappiness.
And perhaps he did.
I bent down to kiss my fiancée's hand. She blushed, believing it to be a gesture of love.
"I'll be back," I said, in a soft voice.
I left the room, without looking back.
I went through corridors. I walked the halls like a thief of his own life. Double doors, empty rooms.
The echo of my footsteps seemed to ask me if it was still me.
I crossed over to the forgotten garden, the one behind the east wing, the one that no one has taken care of for days.
And there... Next to the old laboratory covered in dust and memories, a single flower had bloomed.
Small.
Light.
Unabashedly alive.
As if the love we leave here had germinated in silence, without permission, without the need for witnesses.
I knelt in front of her, letting my crown fall to the ground.
I couldn't help laughing. A broken, incredulous laugh.
"Damn you, Archie," I whispered, stroking the petals with trembling fingers. Even now, you continue to sprout life in corners where no one is looking.
I took it carefully, almost fearing that when I touched it it would fade like a dream.
I came back with a glass box. I kept it tenderly.
Not as someone who encloses something, but as someone who protects a piece of his soul and wants to endure it.
And before returning to the room, I allowed myself one last confession, just for myself:
"I don't know if I'll ever see you again, Archie. But if this flower survives... then so will what we were.
When I returned to the living room, the music had changed.
The court danced.
My mother was smiling.
And I... me too.