Page 24 of A Kingdom's Heart
Raven tilted her head. “Not yet?”
I nodded slowly. “If we ever become friends… if I can trust him, then I’ll tell him. But not now. Not when I barely know him.”
Raven shook her head, half amused, half exasperated. “You really are hopeless.”
“Thank you,” I muttered.
She laughed under her breath. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ll see how bad an idea this is soon enough.”
I rolled my eyes and turned toward the door. “Speaking of bad ideas, Father is probably waiting by the table.”
Raven’s smile faded. “Right. Good luck with that.”
I gave a small nod. “I’ll need it.”
She reached out, brushing a bit of dust from my sleeve. The
gesture was small but grounding. “Try not to make him angrier than he already is.”
“I’ll try,” I said, though we both knew it was easier said than done.
I smoothed my sleeve where Raven had brushed it and stepped into the corridor. The air changed the moment I left the healer’s rooms. It smelled of roasted meat and wax and stone that had seen centuries. Torches flickered along the walls, their light soft against the stone floors. My footsteps echoed faintly as I walked toward the great hall.
The closer I came, the louder it grew. Servants moved quickly with trays and pitchers. Guards stood still beside the doors, spears at their sides. The murmur of men’s voices carried from inside, steady and low.
The hall opened wide before me. Long banners hung from the rafters. The great table stretched down the center, silver and glass gleaming under candlelight. My father sat at the raised end, his crown catching the light. King Henrik. His eyes were colder than the stone beneath his throne.
I moved to my seat quietly. A servant filled my goblet without a word.
My father looked up. “I hope you have learned from your mistakes, Iris,” he said. His voice was calm, but it cut deep. “You will not leave these walls again when I have forbidden it.”
“Yes, Father,” I said.
He watched me for a long moment, his jaw tight. “You will stay
with the healer. You will clean, tend wounds, and serve until I say otherwise.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
He leaned back, his fingers tapping the arm of his chair. “Good. Because if you ever sneak out again, it will not only be my hand that meets your face.”
The words hung heavy in the air. For a moment, no one spoke. The hall itself seemed to hold its breath. A few servants paused mid-step, pretending not to listen, though their eyes flickered toward us all the same.
Shame burned through me, sharp and familiar.
I bowed my head. “Yes, Father.”
He looked away, already done with me. The talk in the hall rose again with soldiers speaking of borders, harvests, and threats from the north. I ate little. The food tasted like ash.
When I finished, my father dismissed me with a simple wave of his hand.
I rose from the table, bowed low, and turned toward the doors. The guards stepped aside without a word. The sound of my slippers against the stone floor echoed faintly as I left the hall behind.
I always felt nervous after meals with him. The air in that room
was thick with his temper, even when he said little. Every movement, every glance, felt like a test I could fail.
He was strict and unyielding in every way. The king before he was ever my father. I sometimes wondered if he even knew how to be both. His world revolved around the throne, the crown, the endless need to keep power from slipping away. There was never space for softness in that world.
