Chapter 194 - 193: The Call Of War, Inside and Out

He lifted his head slightly, studying her. "What do you mean?"

"You’re the crown prince," she said again, slower this time. "Heir to the throne. But an heir’s word is easily overruled by council, by precedent, by a king who outranks you in every meaningful sense. A king’s word, however..." She let the sentence trail, watching him carefully to see if the implication landed.

Alastor sat up fully now, something shifting behind his exhausted expression. "You’re talking about the crown itself."

"I’m talking about what you could actually do, if you held it," Isadora said simply. "As king, you wouldn’t need to ask permission to change an old law. You can do whatever you want and no one will stop you, not even the council. That is the power of a king."

Alastor gets out of her lap on hearing that. "Father isn’t stepping down anytime soon." He says.

"That’s right," Isadora agreed. Her eyes met his. "But he isn’t well either, Alastor, and we both know it, even if no one says it plainly at court. The throne will be yours eventually, whether you’ve prepared yourself to actually use it or not." She tilted her head, studying him. "The question is whether you intend to simply inherit it quietly one day, the way you’ve always planned, or whether you’re finally ready to actually want it. Because there’s a considerable difference between the two, and only one of them would have let you walk into that cell tonight and simply order her release."

Alastor sat with that for a long, heavy silence, his mother’s words settling over him like something newly awakened. He had never wanted the throne, had spent his whole life content to let the weight of ambition rest on cousins and council members far hungrier for it than he’d ever been, happy simply to fulfill his duties without reaching for more than what was required of him.

But sitting here now, replaying the image of Lauriel’s tear-streaked face disappearing behind that cell door, utterly helpless despite his title, despite his supposed authority, something in him had shifted, quiet and undeniable.

"I could do anything," he murmured, almost to himself, testing the shape of the thought. "If I actually held it. Really held it."

"You could," Isadora said, watching him with quiet, careful satisfaction. "No council to overrule you. No precedent you couldn’t rewrite, if you found it unjust. No law standing between you and the people you actually wanted to protect."

Alastor’s jaw tightened, something new and unfamiliar hardening behind his eyes. not the easy, dutiful patience he’d always carried, but something sharper, more purposeful. For the first time in his life, the throne stopped feeling like an inevitability he’d simply have to accept one day, and started feeling like something he actively, desperately wanted.

"I need it," he said quietly. "Not eventually. I need it soon."

Isadora’s hands clasped with each other, something unreadable flickering behind her composed expression, satisfaction, perhaps, or the quiet, careful beginnings of a plan she’d been waiting a long time to set into motion.

—

The wind in the capital of Seraphine had changed since this morning with a notice from His majesty, none had expected to arrive so soon. It was lingering around but this soon was unexpected. It had shaken the entire capital, including all, nobles and common people.

Eleanore and Stella sit in the small table set in the gardens of the Sinclair mansion, as the teas are poured for them but none touch it.

"They’re saying it could take months," Stella said finally, breaking the silence. "His Majesty, issued the notice this morning. Seraphine’s borders are being pushed back on two fronts now, and they need every able commander they can spare."

"I heard," Eleanore said quietly. "Caelestis says, there is no way to avoid this. That we can’t escape this and that he and brother will have to go in the front lines to fight for Seraphine."

"Hael’s the same. He says that Seraphien is going to stand beside Princess Penelope. The king has been suppressing Zhipher for far too long and now it was time to set them free." Stella wrapped both hands around her own cup, seeking warmth she clearly wasn’t finding in it. "I don’t want him to go. I know that’s selfish, given everything at stake, but I don’t."

"It’s not selfish," Eleanore said firmly. "Wanting the people you love to stay safe isn’t selfish. It’s the most human thing there is."

"Doesn’t change that they’ll go anyway."

"No," Eleanore agreed, something heavy settling in her chest. "It doesn’t."

They sat with that for a long moment, the ordinary clatter of the café continuing around them, oblivious to the quiet dread sitting at their table. Eleanore thought of Caelestis’s promise from weeks ago, a life with you, all of it and felt something cold twist through the warmth of that memory now, the future they’d only just begun imagining together suddenly uncertain in a way neither of them had planned for.

"Do you think there’s any chance they don’t call him up specifically?" Stella asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

"He’s one of the most capable commanders they have," Eleanore said quietly. "They’ll call him. I already know they will."

Stella nodded slowly, blinking back the sudden brightness in her eyes, one hand moving unconsciously to rest against her still-flat stomach. "I just found out I’m carrying his child, Eleanore. I don’t know how to send him off to a war front knowing that."

"You send him off anyway," Eleanore said, reaching across the table to take her hand, her own voice unsteady now. "Because that’s what loving someone means sometimes, letting them go do the thing they have to do, even when every part of you is screaming not to. And you hold onto the promise that they’re coming back, because the alternative is unbearable to sit with."

"That’s not very comforting."

"No," Eleanore admitted, a small, watery smile breaking through her lips. "It’s not. But it’s honest, and I think we both need honesty more than comfort right now. Moreover, they are the two pillars of Seraphine, they should be the first to be present on the front lines."

They lingered a while longer over tea; neither of them finished, talking in smaller, quieter fragments about nothing in particular. They sit a little longer than usual before departing to their own mansions.