Caden’s POV
The sound of stone being reset echoed faintly through the castle, a dull rhythm of rebuilding that never quite stopped. Hammers struck, scaffolding creaked, and voices murmured in the distance as workers repaired what Alexander had scarred. I tried to let the noise fade into the background as I stood in the inner garden, sword balanced lightly in my hand, morning light filtering through the high hedges.
“Elena,” I said evenly, “again.”
She stood opposite me, small fingers gripping the wooden practice blade with more determination than grace. At ten years old, she already carried herself like she belonged to the ground she stood on. Her stance was stiff, but her eyes were sharp—calculating, assessing.
“I already did it,” she said, frowning. “And I don’t need to do it again.”
“You missed the angle,” I replied. “And you rushed.”
She huffed, frustration flaring. “I don’t even need to fight. I want to rule, not swing a sword.”
I raised a brow, unable to stop the faintest smile from tugging at my mouth. “Every ruler needs to know how to fight.”
Elena squared her shoulders. “Mother doesn’t fight.”
“She does,” I said calmly. “Just not with steel.”
That made her pause.
I stepped closer, adjusting her grip gently. “Power invites challenge,” I continued. “People test what they fear and what they envy. If you cannot defend yourself—physically or otherwise—you become a target.”
Elena glanced up at me, brows furrowed. “You think someone would try to hurt me?”
I didn’t answer immediately. I didn’t want to lie to her, but I refused to frighten her more than the world already would.
“I think,” I said finally, “that knowing how to stand your ground teaches you something important.”
“What?” she asked quietly.
“When to advance,” I said. “And when not to retreat.”
She nodded slowly, absorbing the words as if weighing them against everything else she believed. Then she swung again—cleaner this time, more controlled. I parried easily, but the improvement was there.
“Better,” I said.
She exhaled, cheeks flushed. “I still don’t get Lise,” she blurted suddenly.
The shift caught me off guard. I lowered my blade slightly. “What about her?”
Elena scowled, pushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “She keeps talking about love. About stories. About princes and castles and forever.” Her voice hardened. “None of that matters.”
I studied her carefully. “It matters to her.”
“That’s the problem,” Elena snapped. “She’s foolish. The world isn’t kind.”
I felt a familiar ache stir in my chest—one I had carried since childhood.
“No,” I said gently. “It isn’t.”
She looked at me then, really looked. “Then why let her believe in it?”
I sheathed my blade and crouched in front of her so we were eye to eye. “Because belief isn’t weakness,” I said. “It’s a choice.”
Elena crossed her arms. “Love won’t stop a war.”
“No,” I agreed. “But neither will bitterness.”
She frowned, clearly unconvinced.
“Your sister sees the world through hope,” I continued. “You see it through duty. Neither is wrong.”
“She should be like me,” Elena insisted. “Prepared.”
“And you,” I said softly, “should let her be who she is.”
Her jaw tightened. “She’ll get hurt.”
“So will you,” I said honestly. “In different ways.”
That silenced her.
“You don’t both need to want the same future,” I went on. “You just need to protect each other in the present.”
Elena looked down at her practice sword, tracing the worn grain of the wood. “I don’t want her to be weak.”
“She isn’t,” I said. “She’s brave in ways you don’t see yet.”
She didn’t respond, but she didn’t argue either. Instead, she lifted her blade again. “One more time,” she said.
I smiled despite myself.
We trained until her arms tired and the sun climbed higher. When she finally stepped back, breathing hard, there was a quiet pride in her eyes that reminded me painfully of myself at her age.
“You did well,” I told her.
She nodded once, then hesitated. “Father?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think… do you think I could really rule one day?”
The question landed heavier than any blade.
“If you want it,” I said carefully, “you will have to earn it. Every day. With choices. With sacrifice.”
She straightened. “I want it.”
I believed her.
Before I could respond, hurried footsteps approached. James appeared at the edge of the garden, expression tight.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “Another protest has erupted in west Verloren. Alexander’s supporters.”
The garden felt suddenly too quiet.
I glanced at Elena, already standing taller, eyes alert. “Go inside,” I told her. “Find your mother.”
She nodded and ran, skirts swishing as she disappeared through the archway.
I turned back to James, jaw setting.
“Prepare a report,” I said. “I’ll address it immediately.”
As I followed him toward the castle, the sounds of rebuilding seemed to grow louder, more urgent.
Peace, I realized, was not something you restored once. It was something you fought to protect—every single day.