Rhett sat in his father’s study—or rather, his study. He was behind an old desk that had been in this room for centuries. It was one of the few things his father had intentionally left behind for the next king: that and the towering stack of papers. The documents in the messy pile were a mix of petitions, requests, and letters from every corner of Sylvaris. Rhett had no doubt his father had been sitting on these for months, purposefully leaving them for the new king to deal with.

  “Typical,” Rhett muttered under his breath as he picked up the first sheet and scanned its contents. He set it down in front of him with a heavy sigh before pulling a clean sheet of parchment closer. He dipped a quill into the inkwell and began to write.

  “This isn’t difficult,” he grumbled to himself in an irritable tone. “Newport needs supplies to repair an old bridge. All that had to be done was consult the Master of Treasury about the restoration fund. Even at the start of the year, there should be enough to send at least half of what they're requesting.”

  He paused his writing, tapping a finger on the desk.

  “It’s not like Newport will be paying taxes this year. If we send them half the funds now, they can draw the rest from their own reserves. That gives them another year to replace it…”

  Rhett trailed off, expecting a comment—an argument, a retort, anything from Silas. But the dragon remained silent. He had been quiet all night, sulking in the back of Rhett’s mind. The young king knew why. Silas was furious that Rhett refused to sleep in Amara’s bed. Instead, he had a couch brought into the study, preferring to spend the night there rather than return to the royal apartments.

  He needed distance. Distance from the woman who had betrayed him.

  Silas didn’t understand. The dragon had made his displeasure clear, but Rhett wouldn’t give in. Not yet… Still, there was no denying the ache that had settled in his chest. It was as though his heart struggled to beat without her. He felt suffocated due to the absence of her honeyed scent and warmth.

  Rhett set the quill down, shifting his gaze to the wall across the room. His family’s portrait had hung there for as long as he could remember. But now, the wall was bare. The painting had been packed away and sent to his father’s new chambers. As the newly crowned king, Rhett was expected to commission a new painting, one that would include him and Amara. But the thought made his stomach twist.

  He could have told himself it was because his time as king would only last nine months—barely long enough to justify a portrait. But that would have been a lie…

  He didn’t know when—or if—he would ever forgive Amara.

  Rhett dragged a hand over his tired face before reaching for the next letter in the stack. His eyes scanned the parchment, but the creak of the door swinging open drew his attention. He glanced up briefly, narrowing his eyes as Tristan stepped inside without asking for permission.

  Frowning, Rhett turned his attention back to the letter, though the parchment crinkled under his tightening grip. He said nothing at first as the young lord approached, but soon, his anger became too much.

  “Brave of you to enter a dragon king’s chambers without knocking,” he growled, setting the letter down. “Especially after you disobeyed my commands. Not once, but twice… in a single night.”

  “You act as if I’ve ever listened to you in the past twenty-one years,” Tristan replied, unbothered. He grabbed a chair, dragging it closer to the desk before dropping onto it.

  “But I am your king now!” Rhett snarled as he slammed a hand down on the desk. “My word is law, Tristan. And if I decree that Amara is not to have visitors or to be named queen, then by all the Gods, that’s how it will be! Why did you and my father go behind my back?”

  “We did it because you’re not thinking straight,” Tristan countered sharply. “While you’ve been brooding in here, we’ve been thinking about her safety and image. Have you forgotten she’s pregnant with twins, Rhett?”

  “Of course, I haven’t forgotten!” The young king shouted.

  “Then why would you command that she be left alone?” Tristan demanded, his voice rising to match Rhett’s as he leaned forward. “What if something had happened last night? She nearly cried herself sick! It’s a miracle she didn’t send herself into early labor!”

  The words struck like a sword in Rhett’s heart, and his anger faded. He dropped his gaze to the desk, clenching his fists as he took deep breaths. The midwife in Onlon had warned them about the risks with twins, saying that an early labor was almost inevitable. But Amara was only seven months along—far too early for the babies to survive without complications.

  “How is she?” He finally inquired, his voice softer, almost hesitant.

  “She’s fine, for now,” Tristan replied harshly, crossing his arms. “My wife and mother had to force her to eat, but at least she’s resting and somewhat calm.”

  “Thank them for me,” Rhett murmured with a nod. He leaned back in his chair, feeling exhausted.

  “You can go up there and thank them yourself,” Tristan stated. “And while you’re at it, you can see your wife.”

  Rhett stiffened before shaking his head.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “And why not?” Tristan pressed with a frown.

  “Because I can’t be near her right now,” Rhett admitted, tightening his fists until his knuckles turned white. “She… she betrayed me by placing this ring on my finger. She’s forced this crown on my head and ruined any future I dreamed of having with her. How can I just move past that?”

  Tristan let out a heavy sigh, relaxing his posture as he leaned forward slightly.

  “You’re hurt, Rhett. I get it. And I’m not asking you to move on or forget about it. But Amara had no choice. You were the only—”

  “Like hell she didn’t have a choice!” Rhett’s roar cut him off, reigniting his anger. He slammed both hands on the desk as he stood abruptly. “She could have given the ring to anyone!”

  “Sure, if she wanted the kingdom to fall into chaos!” Tristan shouted back, rising to meet the king’s gaze.

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  “You don’t know that!” Rhett snapped. “No one knows what would’ve happened if she had given the ring to someone else!”

  “Amara does,” Tristan countered firmly.

  “And how would she know?” Rhett demanded, rolling his eyes in disbelief. “What makes her so sure?”

  “Because a witch was visiting her,” Tristan said bluntly.

  Rhett blinked, and his anger faltered as he became confused instead.

  “A witch? What are you talking about?”

  “Yes,” Tristan confirmed with a nod. “From the beginning, Amara was visited by a witch. She told her things—about the ring, the kingdom, and what would happen if the wrong person took it. And according to her, if Sylvaris was to survive—if it was to prosper—you were the one who needed to be named king. Not anyone else. You.”

  “But why?” Rhett questioned in a quieter voice. He placed a hand on his chest as he repeated himself. “Why me?”

  “I don’t know because you’d be great at it,” Tristan replied as his tone softened. “Look at yourself, Rhett. You’re angry. You’re hurt. But here you are—sitting in this room, reviewing these letters, planning and working to help the people. You don’t have to be doing this, not on the first full day of being king, but you are. It doesn’t matter what’s going on with you, you’re putting others first.”

  “And let’s not forget the work you, Myles, and Joel have already done. You spent months drafting proposals to improve the lives of commoners in the southern cities. And all but one agreed to your suggestions. Now that you’re king, I know you’ll be able to persuade Portyngton’s council to reconsider.”

  Tristan placed his hands on the desk, leaning in closer.

  “You’ve changed so much since Amara came into your life, and every change has been for the better. Whether you admit it or not, you’ve grown into a leader that I’m proud to serve under. I know you don’t want this. Julian told me about your plan—to step down after nine months. But Rhett, if what Amara said about the witch is true, then you becoming king could be the best thing to happen to Sylvaris in centuries.”

  The young lord paused, staring at Rhett, waiting for him to say something—anything. But when the king remained silent, he exhaled before stepping back from the desk.

  “But the choice is yours in the end.”

  Reaching into his jacket, Tristan pulled out a thin box and placed it on the desk. He then slid it across the surface to Rhett. The young king stared at it, immediately recognizing the box—it held the necklace he had commissioned for Amara.

  “Your father asked me to give you this,” Tristan said quietly, stepping back. He hesitated, his mouth opening as if to say more, but he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he turned on his heels and headed for the door.

  Rhett reached out, running his fingers along the edge of the box.

  “Thank you, Tristan,” he murmured. “You’re a good friend.”

  Tristan stopped at the threshold, glancing back with a small smirk.

  “I know,” he said simply before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

  Arrogant man... Silas grumbled in the back of Rhett’s mind.

  “You’ve been silent all morning, yet now you decide to speak,” the young king retorted, shaking his head.

  Rhett leaned forward, sitting in his chair as he pulled the jewelry box closer. He didn’t open it, didn’t even attempt to. Instead, he simply stared at it as his thoughts churned.

  Do you believe what Tristan said about the witch? Silas questioned hesitantly. The dragon had felt Rhett’s reaction to the news, which seemed to dampen the fire within him. However, the hurt and pain still lingered.

  I do... Rhett replied softly.

  I can feel a ‘but’ in there, the dragon muttered in disappointment.

  But… Rhett admitted with a deep breath. Now I don’t know what to do. I was... relieved at the idea of giving up the throne in nine months. I had an endpoint—a moment where I could finally step away, where I could focus on getting things back to the way they were supposed to be before all of this. But now...

  Tristan was right, you know? Silas interjected gently. You are a good leader.

  I think that’s what I hate the most about all of this, Rhett confessed as he flexed his left hand absentmindedly. I care too much…

  When was the last time a king cared for people the way you do? Silas inquired. At least here in Sylvaris?

  Rhett frowned, furrowing his brows.

  Centuries, if I had to guess.

  What if—

  “That’s enough,” Rhett interrupted abruptly. He shoved the box aside with a frustrated sigh, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t want to think about it. Not right now. Please…”

  Alright... Silas murmured, retreating slightly. The dragon didn’t press further, sensing that the young king was being indecisive. While that might have been frustrating for Rhett, it was promising for Silas. It meant he was considering the possibility of staying, of continuing to lead… and forgiving Amara.

  Hours later, the palace was quiet, and the only sound in the King’s study came from the rustling of papers on Rhett’s desk. He had spent the entire day buried in work, finding peace in the endless stack of requests. The tasks were mindless enough to distract him, but as the day wore on, he knew it wouldn’t last. Tomorrow, there would be no avoiding his duties—meetings, councilmen, and court.

  With a heavy sigh, Rhett leaned back in his chair, rolling his neck to ease the stiffness. His eyes drifted to the box that still sat untouched on the corner of his desk. Silas had been silent throughout most of the day, giving him the space he needed to think. Yet, after many hours, Rhett was no closer to a decision.

  His hand reached out, gently touching the edge of the box as his thoughts wandered to Amara. The ache in his chest intensified as he pictured her—the warmth of her in his arms, the roundness of her growing belly. He missed her so much that he could hardly handle the pain of being away from her.

  Rhett glanced toward the window, noticing the pitch-black sky outside. He had no clock in his study, but he guessed it was well past midnight. With a weary exhale, he stood, stretching briefly before moving toward the couch, where a makeshift bed awaited him. Yet, as his fingers touched the blanket, he hesitated. His feet shifted, and before he could second-guess himself, he was heading for the door.

  The young king moved quietly, nodding curtly at the few guards and servants still awake. Their curious glances followed him as he passed, though none dared to speak. Step by step, he made his way to the apartments he shared with Amara.

  When he reached the door, he paused. The two guards stationed there snapped to attention, though they couldn’t hide their wide-eyed expressions. They exchanged a quick glance with one another but remained silent, unsure of what to say.

  “Tell no one I was here,” Rhett ordered in a soft, tired tone.

  The guards nodded, furrowing their brows in confusion. They were wondering why the secrecy when what was beyond that door was the Queen… his wife. Not some mistress that he needed to sneak off to. Still, they did not question their king. Rhett reached out and opened the door, stepping inside quietly.

  The main sitting area was empty, but there was a trace of Amara’s honeyed scent. It made his heart race as he slowly walked toward the right side of the apartments, where her bedchambers were. The door to her room was closed, and it looked dark on the other side. Standing there, mere feet from her room, her smell grew stronger, beckoning for Rhett to enter.

  Oh, soul of my soul… we’re here, Silas stirred in the king’s mind, eager to see Amara once again.

  Rhett placed a hand against the wall, steadying himself. His heart was pounding, and it was a struggle to breathe. Yet, instead of reaching for the handle, he slid down the wall until he sat with his back pressed against the stone beside the door. He buried his face in his hands, trembling as tears began to fall.

  I’m sorry, Silas… Rhett’s voice echoed in his mind. I can’t. Not yet.

  The dragon was silent, though he could not stop his disappointment from radiating out. Rhett wiped at his face, though the tears kept coming.

  I just need a few more days to come to terms with everything. I love Amara. I love her so much… but if I see her now, I’m afraid that the anger will return. I don’t blame her anymore, not really. The sting is mostly gone. But until I accept that we’re staying here for the foreseeable future, I can’t… I don’t want to take it out on her.

  He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes as he tried to keep his breathing quiet.

  Just a few more days…