Page 12 of Essence of the Throne

That haunting discovery is a war I’ve been fighting since the moment I first saw her; the Silver Wraith, or loyalty to my kingdom? Somewhere deep inside, I have known the answer from that day in the training room, but it’s something I still refuse to acknowledge. It's far more difficult to accept the truth than it is to shove it to the back of my mind.

My eyes close for a moment as I picture the confident assassin that challenged the prince of Eldoria without a second thought. Fuck, she was beyond anything I could find words for.

As we near the healer’s wing, my thoughts drift to the tunnels, to the creature we encountered. What other horrors has my father unleashed? The wrongness I felt oozing from that thing…a deep shiver seizes my body. I’ve always known my father to be a harsh ruler, but this? This is something else entirely.

I clench my fist, wincing as the movement pulls at my wound. How long has this been going on?

I’ve been blind. Ignorant of the darkness festering at the heart of my kingdom. How many other atrocities has my fathercommitted in the name of power? How many more of those things are hidden away in the tunnels beneath our feet? What in the Aether is he even doing to them?

I’ve always known politics was a dangerous game, especially for our family. But this goes beyond political maneuvering or whatever the fuck my father is doing with his essence.

This is a perversion of nature itself.

And yet, a small part of me whispers that perhaps there’s a reason. Maybe my father believes he’s doing what’s necessary to protect the kingdom. To keep us strong in the face of external threats…

But even as I form the thought, I know it’s a lie. There is no justification for what we saw in the library. No greater good that could come from twisting a human being into such an atrocity. We need answers, and this has put a whole new strain of urgency on my shoulders.

Getting my father to let me in his inner circle will be difficult, though I’m certain I’ve made progress already.

I’ve made a conscious effort to engage more with the ruling side of politics. Attending council meetings, offering opinions on trade agreements, showing interest in the day-to-day operations of the kingdom. It’s tedious work, but I can see my father’s approval growing with each passing day.

Varrick has appeared suspicious of my sudden interest, but the man has never been anything but a snake and I’ll not allow him to sabotage my efforts.

The king has even started inviting me to private dinners, just the two of us. We discuss matters of state, and sometimes, when the wine flows freely, he hints at greater plans for Eldoria’s future. But he’s still guarded, still keeping his deepest secrets hidden inside his sick fucking head.

It’s a far cry from my childhood, when I was content to spend my days training with the royal guard or exploring the castle grounds. Back then, the weight of the crown felt distant, abstract. Now it looms over me, a constant reminder of the responsibilities that await.

We reach the healer’s wing, and I lead Ariella to Elowen’s workspace, knocking lightly on the door. The healer greets us with a warm smile that quickly turns to concern when she spots the blood on my sleeve.

“Caspian! What happened?” She rushes over, her sage green eyes almost too wide.

I wave off her concern with my good hand. “It’s nothing serious, El. Just a minor mishap during training.”

Ariella snorts softly beside me, and I catch her eye. She raises an eyebrow, questioning my lie. I give an imperceptible shrug. No need to worry Elowen with the truth—most of it, anyway.

“Well, let’s take a look, shall we?” Elowen says, already guiding me to a nearby cot. “Shirt off, please.”

I comply, wincing as I pull the fabric over my head. It sticks to my wound, the blood already drying, and I watch as the threads lift the already scarring skin off with a painful ease.

Tossing the shirt aside, I study the familiar space.

The room is lit by flickering candles, casting shadows on the numerous shelves filled with jars and bottles of various herbs and ingredients. A small table in the center holds a mortar and pestle, where Elowen spends much time mixing and grinding her medicines.

Having grown up together, I often found myself in this wing while she trained for the day she would claim the position as the royal healer. I’d question why in the Aether the healers would need to know anything about preparing healing concoctions when they could just weave their vital strand.

And each time she would tell me:all essence has limits.

I’ll never question it again—not even as a joke—after she saved Ariella’s life when she was poisoned with hallow. Without the saida, my conniving little assassin would have died.

Essence may have its limits, but I do not. My debt to Elowen will never be paid for what she did that night.

Clearing my throat, I lean back on my good arm and continue perusing. On the wall across from me hangs a tapestry depicting a lush forest, likely a way to comfort the injured that find themselves in this room.

Or perhaps it is just something nice to look at—not everything has a hidden meaning.

“Okay,” Elowen sighs, drying her hands with a clean towel before walking over to me. “This is going to—”

“Be cold, I know,” I deadpan, feigning outrage at her subtle jab in my ribs. She narrows her eyes before focusing on my arm once more.

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