Page 48 of Essence of the Throne

“Step aside, Caspian.”

“No.” The word tastes foreign on my tongue. I’ve never outwardly defied him before. But as I stand here, finding strength inAriella’s presence behind me, I know I’ve made my choice. The glimmer of disappointment in his eyes confirms he knows it, too.

I won’t watch him take anyone else.

I sense Ariella shift behind me, her breath ghosting across my neck. “Move, Caspian.”

“No.” I keep my eyes locked on my father, refusing to back down. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

“You foolish, noble prince.” Her words carry an edge of frustration. “This isn’t your fight.”

“It became my fight the moment I laid eyes on you.” The confession slips out before I can stop it, echoing through the throne room. I hear her sharp intake of breath, feel the way she struggles to even her breathing.

My father’s face contorts with rage. “You dare choose this murderer over your own blood? Over your duty to the crown?”

“I choose what’s right.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “Something you seem to have forgotten how to do, father.”

The guards hesitate, clearly torn between their king’s orders and my intervention. I can discern the uncertainty in their eyes—they’ve watched me grow up, trained with me, shared meals and jokes. Now I’m asking them to pick a side.

“This is treason,” my father snarls, descending the dais steps. “You would throw away everything? Your birthright, your future—forher?” I'm offended he knows nothing of me.

Ariella’s fingers brush against my back in a silent warning. Or perhaps a comfort. The touch sends warmth through my chest, solidifying my resolve.

“I would throw away far more.” The words taste like truth on my tongue. “But this isn’t about her right now. This is about what you’ve done. To her father, to Isaiah, to countless others. The people outside aren’t calling for your death because of one wraith—they’re calling for it because you’ve forgotten what it means to be a true king. What have you done, father?”

My words hang in the air as memories flood through me. The pieces I’d ignored for so long finally clicking into place. Reports of missing children from the outer districts. The way certain noble families disappeared, only to have their estates seized by the crown. The increasing number of public executions, each one justified with vaguer charges of treason. The paperwork regarding the outer housing population—

“You’ve been taking them.” My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. I thought it an unlikely assumption, but the look in his eyes confirms my reasoning. “The children from the lower districts.”

Behind me, Ariella tenses. The kind of stillness that precedes violence.

“You know nothing,” my father spits, but there’s something in his eyes—a flicker of…pride? The sight makes me sick.

“I know enough. The reports crossing my desk, the ones you insisted I handle personally…they weren’t just routine paperwork, were they? You wanted me to see them. To understand what ruling really means.” The words taste like ash in my mouth. “Those families weren’t being relocated to other cities. The children weren’t being sent tospecial schools.”

A cruel smile twists his lips. “Finally showing some wisdom, my son? Yes. Sacrifices must be made to maintain order. Their essence—their power—it strengthens the crown. Strengthens the kingdom.” He rolls his shoulders, stretching his palms. “How do you think we’ve maintained our rule for so long? The Blackwood line has always understood what others refuse to see—power requires sacrifice.”

I think of all those missing children that have gone unnoticed. Of families torn apart. Of Ariella’s father, who likely discovered the truth and paid for it with his life. Of Isaiah, who simply got too close to someone the king couldn’t control.

“You’re a monster.” The words slip out, though I do not care enough to regret them.

His face hardens. “I am aking. And you are still my son, despite your…current confusion.” His eyes flick to Ariella. “Though perhaps it’s time I reminded you of what that truly means.”

The silence that follows is deafening. My heartbeat pounds in my chest, and the weight of every eye in the room presses down on me. The king's face is blank, but his eyes burn with an intensity that would have made me flinch just days ago.

He nods, clasping his hands before speaking once more. “If you do not make the correct choice, then you are no son of mine.” He turns to the guards, his voice cold as ice. “Leave them. You have a week, Caspian. A week to make the decision on your own before her head decorates the front gates.” He nods toward Ariella, not looking at her but grimacing all the same.

I draw my sword, the sound of steel against leather echoing off the stone walls. Behind me, there's the familiar whisper of Ariella’s lethal chuckle. “Do it, Your Majesty.”

He shifts his attention to her as he snarls his next words, “You have no idea the pain I could put you through, wraith.”

I clench my jaw as Ariella steps around me, her predatory grace making even my father’s guards shift uncomfortably.

“Oh, but I do know pain,Your Majesty.” Her voice drips with mockery. She takes another step forward, and I fight the urge to grab her arm. “Tell me, Thalion, did you enjoy watching the life drain from his eyes? My father? Did it make you feel powerful to execute an innocent man?”

My father’s face contorts with rage. “Erendor was a traitor who deserved far worse than what he got.”

“He discovered your secrets, did he not?” Ariella’s laugh is sharp and cruel. “Found out what you were doing…That’s why you had to silence him.”

---