Chapter 10: Reality

Asher’s mind went blank for a full second.

The two guards held him firmly from behind, their grip iron-tight around his arms. He twisted once, still not understanding why he was the one being restrained when the physician stood free and unchallenged.

"What are you doing?" Asher demanded, voice rising. "He’s the one you should be—"

The physician straightened his sleeves with deliberate calm, the silver ring glinting under the morning light. A cold, satisfied smile touched the corner of his mouth.

"You will address me with proper respect," he said. "I am Prince Reginald, elder brother to His Majesty the King."

The words landed like a physical blow.

Asher stared. The older brother. Of course. That was why the guards had moved against him instead of the physician. That was why no one had questioned the man’s authority. Blood and rank outweighed a fortune teller’s frantic accusations every time.

Alarm flooded through him.

"You’re—" He cut himself off, then tried again, louder. "I need to speak with the King! Let me go! He’s poisoning the prince—"

Prince Reginald’s expression did not change. "Remove him."

"No—listen to me!" Asher struggled harder as the guards began dragging him toward the doors. "I saw it! He’s the one harming Aaron! King Eric—I need the King!"

His voice cracked as they hauled him into the corridor. Servants scattered, other physicians watched in silence, none of them intervening. Asher planted his feet, tried to twist free, and shouted until his throat burned.

"I demand to see the King! You can’t just lock me away—Aaron is going to die if you don’t listen!"

The guards did not answer. They half-carried, half-dragged him down a flight of stairs, through a narrower passage, and into a small, windowless room that smelled of damp stone. The door slammed shut, followed by a heavy bar that slid into place on the other side.

Asher stumbled forward, catching himself against the far wall. His heart hammered. He pounded once on the door with his fist, then again.

"Hey! Someone, anyone! I need to speak with King Eric!"

Silence answered him. ℯ

He paced the tiny cell, running both hands through his hair. The vision replayed behind his eyes without mercy: the ring, the glass, Aaron’s still face. He had been so close. He had seen the truth, and now he was locked away while the man responsible remained at the prince’s bedside.

Time stretched, Asher didn’t know if it was minutes, or hours. He counted his breaths, and every now and then tried breaking down the door. After failing for the hundreth time, he sat on the cold bench and screamed out his lungs. Every minute felt like an hour, and his mind kept getting tortured by the fact that Aaron was going to die.

Roughly an hour later, though it felt far longer, the bar scraped back.

The same two guards stood in the doorway.

"His Majesty requires your presence," one of them said flatly.

Asher did not wait for them to grab him. He strode out of the cell at once, heart leaping with desperate hope. If the King was willing to see him, there was still a chance. He could explain. He could make Eric listen before it was too late.

They led him upward through the palace, past staring servants and tight-lipped officials, until they reached a private solar lit by tall windows. King Eric stood near the hearth, still in the same clothes from earlier, face drawn with exhaustion and anger.

The moment the doors closed behind Asher, the King turned on him.

"You assaulted a member of the royal family," Eric said, voice low and dangerous. "My own brother. In the presence of witnesses, and in my son’s sickroom."

Asher opened his mouth.

"I can explain—"

"There is nothing to explain." The King’s hand cut through the air. "You laid hands on Prince Reginald, you ordered guards to arrest him, and you created chaos while my heir lies dying. I brought you here because you claimed you could help, instead you have made everything worse."

"He was going to poison him!" Asher stepped forward, words tumbling out in a rush. "I saw it—there was a vision. The ring on his hand, the glass of water, Aaron dead. The same ring is on your brother’s finger right now. Please, you have to listen—"

"Visions," the King repeated, the word heavy with contempt. "Dreams. Fortune-teller nonsense. I have physicians, real ones, who have served this court for decades. I will not have my brother’s name dragged through the mud because a soothsayer from the lower districts had a nightmare."

"It wasn’t a nightmare—"

"Enough."

Asher’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He could feel the situation slipping further away with every second. Aaron was still in that room, the older prince was still free, and the King refused to hear a word of it.

"Your son is being murdered," Asher said, quieter now, almost pleading. "Something is feeding on him. I’ve seen it. If you don’t act—"

A sharp knock interrupted him.

Both men turned. The doors opened without waiting for permission. A guard stood there, face pale, breathing hard as though he had run the entire length of the palace.

"Your Majesty," the man said, voice shaking. "The Crown Prince—"

He did not finish.

King Eric was already moving. Asher followed without being told, heart slamming against his ribs so hard it hurt. They raced through corridors that suddenly felt endless. Servants flattened themselves against the walls, and the sound of their boots echoed too loudly in the suddenly quiet halls.

Please, Asher thought. Please still be breathing. Please let me be wrong about the timing.

They reached the chambers.

The doors stood wide open. Physicians crowded around the bed. One of them was bent over Aaron’s chest, hands pressed rhythmically, counting under his breath. Another was preparing a mixture of herbs and something Asher couldn’t describe.

King Eric pushed through them.

"Aaron—"

Asher stopped just inside the threshold.

Aaron lay exactly as he had in the vision: still, and colorless. The dark veins were gone, but so was every sign of life. No rise of the chest. No flutter of eyelids. The hand that had gripped Asher’s sleeve the night before rested limp against the sheets.

One of the physicians looked up, face gray.

"Your Majesty... he has stopped breathing. We cannot find a pulse."

The words seemed to drain the last of the light from the room.

King Eric made a sound that was not quite a word. He sank onto the edge of the bed and took his son’s hand, calling Aaron’s name once, then again, louder, as though volume alone could force the boy back into the world.

Asher stood frozen, his body boiling with rage at both the king and everybody around him. He had tried to warn them, had yelled for them to arrest the culprit, but they hadn’t listened. Now there was nothing to be done, and reality had dawned upon them all.

The Crown Prince was dead.