Caden’s POV
Gold made everything look clean, even the ugly parts.
In the training yard, nothing was clean. Sweat soaked tunics. Blood dotted sand. Breath came out in white ghosts. The boys my age tried to stand like soldiers and ended up wobbling like colts, because fear had a way of stealing balance.
They feared me most.
“Again,” I told them, stepping into the ring with my gloves already tightened. “If you can’t hold your guard, you don’t deserve a sword.”
One of the sons of a duke swallowed hard. “Your Highness, we’ve already—”
“Then you’re already tired,” I cut in. “And tired men die.”
Master Rook’s eyes flicked to the nobles watching from the balcony. He cleared his throat. “Prince Caden, perhaps a brief rest—”
“No,” I said.
The duke’s son raised his blade. His hands shook. I could have ended it in a heartbeat, but I let him swing first. I stepped aside and tapped his wrist. His weapon clattered to the sand.
“Pick it up,” I ordered.
He bent. I kicked the blade away before his fingers touched it. The boys on the sidelines flinched.
“On your knees,” I said calmly.
The yard went silent. Even Rook held his breath.
The boy’s cheeks flushed. “My prince?”
“You dropped your weapon. You crawl for it.” My voice stayed flat, as if I were discussing weather. “Move.”
He lowered himself, humiliated, and crawled. Sand stuck to his palms. When he reached the blade, I planted my boot on it.
“Say it,” I told him.
His eyes shone with rage. “Say what?”
“That you understand.” I leaned down, close enough that only he could hear. “Say you’ll never challenge me again.”
His throat worked. He whispered, “I understand.”
I lifted my boot. He grabbed the sword and stumbled to his feet.
Kaela watched from the balcony, pale and stiff. She hadn’t looked at me since the slap. I hadn’t apologized. Apologies were kneeling, and my mother’s voice still whispered in my head: Never kneel.
Rook forced a laugh that sounded like choking. “Excellent discipline, my prince.”
“It’s not discipline if it’s optional,” I said, then turned to the next boy. “You.”
They fought harder after that, because fear sharpened them. I fought harder too, because I needed something to bite into, something that didn’t slip away like my father did. When I pushed my body to the edge, the emptiness inside me went quieter.
After training, servants tried to speak to me in the washroom. I ignored them. A page offered a towel; I took it without thanks. A steward mentioned a luncheon; I didn’t answer.
I walked through the palace like it belonged to me and like I hated it for that.
At dinner, my father’s chair sat full and empty at once. The cooks still prepared his plate. The servants still laid his silver. The seat still waited like a shrine to absence.
Kaela poked at her food. I ate because hunger was a weakness I could control.
“Your Highness,” a counselor said, leaning in as my mother smiled pleasantly across the table, “the western barons are requesting—”
“Tell them to wait,” I said.
The counselor blinked. “But, my prince—”
“I said wait.” I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to. The room bent anyway.
Arinelle’s lips curved, satisfied. When the counselor retreated, she sipped her wine and studied me like I was a jewel she’d polished.
“You’re learning,” she murmured.
“I’m doing what’s required,” I replied.
“More than required.” Her gaze flicked to Kaela. “Your sister is soft.”
Kaela flinched. “Mother, I’m not—”
“Quiet,” Arinelle said, still smiling. “Softness invites wounds.”
Kaela’s eyes flashed toward me, accusing, pleading. I looked away. Looking away was easier than feeling.
Before I reached my chambers, my mother intercepted me in the gallery of mirrors. Her reflection multiplied her smile until it looked like a court of knives.
“You embarrassed a duke,” she said, tone amused.
“He embarrassed himself,” I replied.
She touched my bandage, gentle as silk. “Good. Let them learn you do not bend.”
“I don’t bend,” I said.
“Not yet,” she corrected. “One day your father will ask you to kneel for peace, to soften for politics, to smile for love. You will feel the urge. You will hate yourself for it.”
I swallowed. “And what do I do?”
“Remember the throne,” she whispered. “You will be king. Never kneel. Not to men, not to gods, and certainly not to women who think tears can rule you.”
Her eyes flicked toward Kaela’s empty place. “Even family must understand.” If they cannot, you teach them until they do.
Later, in my chambers, I tried to read. The letters blurred. My palms still stung from sparring. I flexed my bandaged hand and listened to the palace settle into night.
A knock sounded.
“Enter,” I called.
Rook stepped in, face cautious. “Your Highness, the Duke of Rellan has complained.”
“Let him,” I said.
“He says you humiliated his son.”
“I improved his son,” I corrected.
Rook swallowed. “The nobles are growing nervous.”
“Good,” I said. “Nervous men make fewer mistakes.”
Rook hesitated, then lowered his voice. “You can’t rule by fear alone.”
I looked up slowly. “Watch me.”
He bowed quickly and fled.
When the door shut, the silence returned. It was thick, heavy, and familiar, like a blanket thrown over my head. I sat at the edge of my bed and stared at the fire until it burned down to coals.
Never kneel, my mother had said. You will be king.
But kings were alone.
I rose and paced, restless. The palace had too many rooms and none of them felt like mine. I couldn’t stand the perfume. I couldn’t stand the velvet. I couldn’t stand the constant bowing, the constant waiting, the constant pretending that gold meant safety.
I wanted air that didn’t smell like polish.
On impulse, I crossed to the back wall where an old tapestry hung—a hunting scene, stitched in bright thread. I hated it. I hated how it watched me. I grabbed the edge and yanked.
The tapestry shifted, revealing a thin seam in the stone. I froze.
There was a latch, almost invisible, worn smooth by fingers that had used it often. My pulse kicked up. I pressed it.
The stone panel gave with a soft click.
A narrow opening gaped behind it, darker than the room, breathing cold air into my face.
I stared into it, heart hammering, then glanced over my shoulder as if my mother might appear out of the shadows.
No one was there. The passage waited.
I stepped closer, lifted a candle from the sconce, and held it toward the darkness. The flame shivered, but it didn’t die. Stone steps descended into the belly of the palace.
My mouth went dry with something that felt like excitement and danger.
So this was how secrets moved.
I backed away and replaced the tapestry carefully. Then I crossed to my wardrobe, pulled on plain clothes, and wrapped a cloak around my shoulders. If a passage existed, it led somewhere, and I wanted to see where.
Tonight, I decided I would leave the palace without bowing to anyone. Tonight, I would sneak out.