Chapter 12 CHAINS OF THE HEART
One morning after a meeting ended, Adrian left the council chamber, but he felt someone following him and turned.
Athalia stood at the top of the steps; her expression was unreadable. Her long gown trailed behind her, shimmering faintly in the morning light.
“You look troubled,” she said, descending gracefully.
"Father was hurt and everyone is suspicious,” Adrian replied. “Of course I’m troubled.”
“I heard,” she said softly. “The Kingdom is full of whispers.”
Adrian studied her face.
“You’re not surprised,” he said.
“I’ve lived in courts before, Adrian. Secrets and hurt go hand in hand. I only worry for you.”
He looked away. “Lena said someone wanted Eric dead for me. Does that make sense to you?”
Athalia tilted her head slightly. “You finally speak. But to think of it, everything makes sense when you remember one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That you're heir if Eric or father is out of your way,” she said
Adrian stiffened.
“Athalia,” he said quietly, “do you know anything about this?”
Her eyes met his steadily. “If I did, I would tell you.”
Adrian held her gaze for several seconds. He didn’t know if he believed her.
Later, Adrian went to see his father.
The King lay on the healer’s bed, pale and motionless, like a statue carved from fading stone. His chest rose and fell slowly.
The healer bowed. “He is stable but hasn’t woken.”
Adrian approached the bedside. The sight twisted something inside him.
“I need you to wake up,” he whispered. “Everything is not the same.”
The healer gently placed a hand on Adrian’s arm. “The King will need time, his wound was deep.”
Adrian nodded and stepped back. He turned to leave but paused when he saw Queen Elizabeth standing in the doorway.
“You didn’t tell me Lena came to you,” she said quietly. “She was like family. She grew up with me and now someone killed her.”
Adrian didn’t know what to say.
The Queen wiped her eyes, looking suddenly older. “If someone wanted Eric gone, then this danger isn’t only about the throne. It’s about our family.”
Adrian felt something twist inside him at her words.
“Who would want to do this to us?” he asked.
Later that afternoon, the adviser summoned Adrian to his office.
“We removed the arrow used on the maid. “he said.
“Did it reveal anything?”
The adviser handed him the arrow. The shaft was smooth and polished and wasn't meant for ordinary guards. The fletching was made of white hawk feathers.
Adrian frowned. “This isn’t from the palace.”
“No,” the adviser said. “It belongs to the elite archers of the Silver Guard.”
Adrian’s eyes widened. “The Silver Guard? Aren't they the ones that serve the royal family directly.”
The adviser nodded grimly. “Only six people in the entire kingdom use these arrows. And all of them were on duty last night.”
“Then who fired it?” Adrian asked.
“That,” the adviser replied, “is what terrifies me for I cannot say.”
Before Adrian could respond, a guard burst in.
“My lord! Someone breached the west tower during the night. We found a rope hanging on the wall.”
The adviser slammed his fist on the table. “We’re being hunted from inside the palace.”
Adrian felt his pulse quicken.
The adviser leaned close, lowering his voice. “Prince Adrian… Are you certain of what she said?”
“Yes,” Adrian replied.
The adviser exhaled slowly.
“Then we must consider the possibility,” he said, “that the conspirator is a man or woman.”
Adrian stiffened.
“And possibly,” the adviser added, “someone with a title.”
A silence settled between them which was heavy and dangerous.
Adrian thought of the cloaked figure on the balcony, of Lena’s trembling voice, Athalia’s calm smile and the queen’s warning about smiling knives.
“Find out every man or woman who had access to the west tower last night,” Adrian ordered. “And every man or woman with authority over the Silver Guard.”
“As you wish, my prince.” the chorused
Adrian stepped out of the office, his thoughts sharp and dark.
He was halfway down the corridor when a soft voice called behind him.
“Prince Adrian.”
He turned to see Athalia standing in the shadows.
“You seem troubled,” she said. “Is something wrong?”
Adrian studied her carefully.
“Many things are wrong,” he replied. “But I’m beginning to understand them.”
Athalia smiled softly. “Then you’re learning.”
He didn’t answer.
She stepped closer, her eyes glinting in the dim light. “Be careful, Adrian. You're beginning to attract attention.”
“Whose attention?” he asked.
Athalia’s smile widened just slightly.
“The kind that watches from balconies.”
A chill went down his spine.
Before he could respond, she turned and walked away, her gown sweeping behind her like a curtain closing on a dangerous play.
Adrian stood frozen in the corridor, Lena’s dying whispers echoing in his mind.
And now Athalia’s final words “the kind that watches from balconies”.
Adrian’s breath caught.
“Could Athalia have planned this?" he thought.
Meanwhile, Princess Emelia had barely slept.
Her eyes were swollen and red, and her fingers trembled as she clutched the edge of her cloak. The hallways of the palace felt colder than usual and was filled with whispers that traveled faster than truth. Everywhere she walked, she heard the same murmurs.
“Prince Eric killed the king.”
“He tried to take the throne.”
“He stabbed his own father.”
Each rumor was a blade in her chest.
She pushed open the doors leading to Prince Eric's Chamber. Guards straightened as she walked past, but they looked away with pity. She hated the way their eyes softened when they saw her, like she was a widow.
When she reached the door, the guard bowed. “Your Highness… only a few minutes. The council does not want...”
“Open the door,” she said quietly.
The guard hesitated, then signaled the second guard to slide the iron bolts on the door free.
The door groaned as it opened, revealing a narrow bed at the centre of the room. Then at the far end of the bed, sat Prince Eric.
His wrists were not chained, but the confinement alone was insult enough. He sat on his bed, elbows on his knees, head down and stared at the floor. His usually neat hair fell over his face and hid his expression.
“Eric…” Emelia whispered.
He looked up slowly. His eyes were hollow, not angry or bitter but just empty. As though something inside him had been stolen.
“Emelia,” he murmured. His voice was rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in hours.
She stepped closer. A part of her wanted to reach through and hold him, but she didn’t want to make him feel weaker.
“You can’t imagine what they’re saying about you,” she said, her voice breaking. “They’re accusing you of trying to kill your father. And now Lena is dead, and they believe everything points to you.”
Eric exhaled shakily. “What? Lena is Dead?.”