Chapter 318: What I Want.

Chapter 318: Chapter 318: What I Want.

This time Rogard catches it before the blow lands.

​"I said : don’t hit me ," he repeats angrily, eyes flashing.

​"Or what?" his father taunts derisively, shaking off Rogard’s touch like it’s as disgusting and meaningless as his defiance. "Don’t make idle threats," he scoffs, striding forwards deep into his space the way he so loves; the way that makes him tower over him like a pillar of creeping, suffocating darkness –the way that has always made Rogard feel so terribly, insignificantly small.

"It makes you sound so... weak , and you know I can’t stand that."

​The words are the same, but today instead of evoking that crippling, ugly, all-consuming sense of shame , what that boils up within him is white, hot anger .

​Because who is he to talk to him like that? Like he’s worthless ?

​Who is he to make him feel like he’s worthless?

​This is his father –the man who was meant to love and cherish and protect him from the evils of the world.

All this time he’s known the kind of fear he could instill in his son, and he had not only done it anyways, but with relish , and enjoyed seeing all the ways he could make him cower.

​(He doesn’t deserve this. He’s never deserved it. Any of it.)

​Today, he doesn’t back away. And when he doesn’t instinctively recoil from him, his father’s expression darkens into one of disappointment and revulsion.

It’s a look that Rogard knows well; one that used to fill him with such crippling despair and self-loathing that once upon a time he would have given and done anything and everything to ensure he’d never look at him that way again.

​(Yet somehow deep down, despite being his son, hadn’t a part of Rogard always known that there was nothing he could do to stop that; that nothing he ever did would be good enough?)

​He understands that now. And somehow that knowledge takes away some of the power that that terrible look on his father’s face has over him.

​I’m not weak .

​I don’t deserve this.

​You’re the disappointment .

​Rogard sucks in a long, low breath to centre himself, and when he lets it out again, his hands are no longer shaking.

​"Are you done?" he inquires evenly, and while his tone is light and politely intrigued, the steel in his eyes is hard with defiance, and resolute, "Because I am."

​And with that, he turns towards the door. Instantly, his father’s hand is on him; fingers gripping hard and biting deep into his arm as he demands to know just what Rogard means by that.

Once upon a time, that would have been enough to lock Rogard in place –to root his feet and freeze his heart and make him fear what might come next –but whatever cruel spell he had over him no longer holds the same sway, and ripping his arm free feels like disentangling himself from a thick, suffocating web.

​" –Just that," Rogard tells him, finding it hard to believe that his father doesn’t see that it’s really that simple.

​He’s done. With this .

​With him .

​" –You don’t decide that, Rogard," his father snaps angrily; eyes bulging as Rogard drops his shoulder into him as he storms for the door and makes him stagger.

​Funny. He didn’t even push him very hard.

​" Watch me ."

​His father’s rage has always been a tangible thing; a cruel beast that had a knack for sniffing out his hopes and desires and then sinking its fangs into whatever he thinks will hurt the worst, but this time the ice in his voice just glances right off.

​" Don’t you walk away from me ."

​"Or what?" Rogard demands coolly, and look he sends back over his shoulder is mocking and just as cold, because suddenly he knows what his father has known all along; what he had tried so desperately to keep from him.

​That Rogard’s stronger than him, and always has been.

​"Don’t make idle threats, father. It makes you look weak."

​After that, Rogard stops listening. There’s nothing his father could say to him now that would change anything, and he’s not in the mood to hear for the thousandth time how a real son would never turn his back on his father; how if he walks away now he’ll never be able to forgive him, and how he is nothing without him.

Because a real father would have never given him a reason to turn away, and never made him think that there was anything to forgive.

Even an apology at this point would be meaningless because something so human as remorse is something his father has just never been capable of.

​So Rogard keeps walking and doesn’t look back. It feels so good to turn his back on him.

Hand on the door, he pauses.

And then sighs. It probably doesn’t matter now, but Rogard wanted to tell him, didn’t he; wanted him to know so that he could see for himself, once and for all, if there was any way that his father could find it in his heart to be happy for him.

It was a silly thought, he knows that, but the petty part of Rogard wants to tell his father anyways, so that he knows that he’s done pretending for him; that he’s going to live the life that he wants.

​Exhaling softly, Rogard reaches into his coat and pulls out the letter, where he’s kept it hidden since the moment it was given to him.

​I want to be with you , Rogard .

That’s what Drogger had said to him, when he kissed him in those shitty barracks on that dirty bed, and still made Rogard feel like the luckiest person in the world.

​And anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with the king.

​"...You should know that I’m seeing someone," he says softly. It’s the first time he’s said it out loud. And with it a weight falls from his chest; the way only speaking a secret aloud can do.

​"...And you’ve kept this from me?" He doesn’t care to look but he knows instinctively that his father’s expression will be like thunder.

If thunder could ever feel so cold. "Why would you do something of the sort?"

​A bark of mirthless laughter escapes Rogard’s lips.

​Why indeed.

​"Because you wouldn’t approve," he replies dryly, lips pressed into a thin line as he reverently places the envelope on table beside the door.

A parting gift; because while the words were Rogard’s to keep forever, the letter itself was never intended for him. It was always for his father.

And while the seal is broken, there’s absolutely no mistaking the royal crest, and Rogard knows that his father will recognise it, and know what it means.

"All this time I wanted to believe that one day you might. But you wouldn’t. You never will."

​"Who is it?" his father demands, and an odd sense of calm settles over Rogard as his tone turns impatient, " Dammit, Rogard. Who is it ."

​He wants to marry me .

​"Drogger Noog."

​It’s rare that his father is struck dumb, and in Rogard’s memory nothing he’s ever said has ever left him quite so speechless.

​It makes him feel quite powerful.

​But as Rogard pushes the door open, he finds his voice again, and the words he says next are bitter and so, so full of hatred.

​" –That common rat . So this is all his doing."

​"No father," he sighs simply, not bothering to hide a scoff of contempt as he steps out into the corridor, "It’s yours."

He immediately comes face to face with the blue sea of his father’s guards. And they do not look pleased to see him. The feeling is quite mutual.

"Good afternoon," he greets airily, giving them all a wide smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes, and they don’t smile back.

There’s never been any love lost between him and his father’s men, after all. "I was just leaving."

​"We’re not done here, Rogard," his father insists coldly, and from the way his guards tighten their formation; hands twitching towards their weapons, he has no intention of letting him leave quite so easily.

He should have figured as much. His father’s always had a tendency to overreact when slighted, and he tantrums when things don’t go his way.

He’s petty like that. It’s probably where Rogard gets it from.

​"...You sure you want to do this?" he asks, sweeping a reproachful look over the guards gathered, and has his answer when at a word from his father, the foremost guard draws his sword.

There’s five of them and only one of him and they’re armed, so if Rogard had to gauge his odds, it’s just about an even fight.

All his life these men have been looking down on him.

It’s about time they got what was coming to them.

​" I guess so ~"