Chapter 22 THE AWAKENED RULER
The palace had grown strangely quiet in the days after the attack. The palace had survived many storms across the reigns of past kings, but none had ever left silence in their wake like the one that followed the king’s attack.
For days, the corridors felt hollow, as though every voice had retreated into stone. Soldiers walked with stiff backs and their eyes shadowed with worry.
Only the soft shuffle of healers, the rustling of curtains, and the occasional murmur of guards interrupted the stillness. Every servant felt it and the kingdom was still holding its breath.
No one walked quickly anymore. They moved with caution, with fear and with questions.
Word that the king had been stabbed or attacked by his son had spread beyond the palace gates.
The nobles waited uneasily for updates from the royal healers. The servants whispered in kitchens and laundry halls and the guards, once relaxed in familiar routines, now stood tense at every corner.
The kingdom felt suspended and unsure of whether it was preparing for recovery or collapse.
Inside the king’s chamber, time passed quietly. The king lay motionless except for the faint rise and fall of his chest. The healers worked in hushed movements, checking the salves on his wound, changing the cool cloth on his forehead, murmuring to one another about the state of his pulse, his breathing and the small signs of either hope or defeat.
Several times, members of the royal family visited the chamber. Prince Adrain stood at his father’s bedside often, speaking softly in case the king could hear something or anything.
Queen Athalia came too, though never for long. She stood at the doorway, observing with careful eyes with her expression mixed with a blend of worry and calculation.
On one cold morning since the attack and after the interrogation had been adjourned, the air changed.
A faint, sharp gasp rose from the bedside. It was the kind of sound that made the nearest healer freeze.
“His Majesty… he moved.”
Every healer in the room turned at once. The oldest among them, a man with silver hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck, leaned over the king and gently touched his shoulder.
“Your Majesty?” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the king’s fingers twitched and his eyelids fluttered.
And slowly but heavily, he opened his eyes.
The healer’s breath escaped in a relieved sigh.
“Fetch the Queen. Summon the prince and let the council know the king is awake.”
“His Majesty is awake!”
Within minutes, footsteps thundered against the stone floors from different directions. The palace came alive with a rush of emotions long held at bay.
Servants hurried through the corridors spreading the news. Guards exchanged relieved looks. Noble advisors gathered, adjusting their robes with urgency.
Ministers, nobles, guards, and healers rushed toward the royal chamber with hope and fear twisting together in their faces.
The royal family gathered quickly, their relief heavy with exhaustion. Adrain hurried in with a mix of genuine relief and something harder to read beneath it. Queen Athalia entered moments later, careful, composed, and visibly astonished.
Everyone came.
Except Prince Eric… and Princess Emelia.
They remained locked away, their absence unnoticed by the king, who was only now returning to the world.
The king lay propped against pillows, pale but conscious. His eyes wandered, unfocused at first, then gradually sharpening with confusion.
He touched the bandaged wound at his side, wincing.
The king blinked against the light. His throat felt dry, his voice trapped somewhere between waking and memory.
“Easy, Your Majesty,” the chief healer murmured. “You are safe.”
“Safe?” the king whispered, though his voice carried more bewilderment than belief. “What happened? Who…?”
He trailed off, unable to piece together the fragments of the attack.
Adrain stepped forward quickly. “Father, you’re safe. You were attacked, but the healers have taken good care of you.”
The king winced, instinctively lifting a weak hand toward his side where the wound lay bandaged.
“Slowly, Your Majesty,” a healer murmured.
“You’ve been unconscious for several days.”
“Do not move too much,” the chief healer murmured. “Your body is still recovering.”
Queen Athalia arrived moments later. She moved to the king’s bedside with measured steps, her face composed and her hands clasped lightly before her.
“It is good to see you awake,” she said. Her tone was calm and nearly serene.
The king studied her face with faint confusion, then looked again at Adrain, his focus clearing slowly.
The king searched the faces around him. His gaze lingered on Athalia, then on Adrain, then drifted past them as though expecting someone else.
“The king’s eyes darkened with the effort to remember. “The attack… yes… someone…”
He closed his eyes, trying to search through the fog of memory.
Athalia’s fingers curled ever so slightly against her palm. “You must not strain yourself now,” she said. “Let the healers continue their work.”
“Eric…?” he asked faintly.
Adrain froze. Athalia’s expression barely changed, but something tightened around her eyes.
The healer answered gently before either could react.
“Prince Eric has not been informed of your awakening yet, Your Majesty.”
The king frowned at this as confusion settled into the lines of his face.
It was only a matter of time before the absence would be explained or twisted.
For now, they kept the moment peaceful. The king’s strength was fragile because too many truths at once would serve no one.
The king’s recovery over the next day was slow, but noticeable.
His voice grew clearer, his eyes regained focus and he remembered more though fragmented, scattered memories of the night of the attack seemed to cause him discomfort.
The Chief Adviser, Lord Maeron, watched every sign carefully. A thoughtful man with a calm posture and sharp judgment who had taken charge of palace affairs during the king’s unconsciousness. He respected order above all else and believed that only truth was complete and an undeniable truth could stabilize the kingdom.
But with that belief came urgency.
The attack on the king was not merely a crime, it was a threat to the stability of the throne. And with rumors circulating, Maeron feared that waiting too long to address the matter would allow dangerous narratives to grow.
When the king regained enough strength to speak without losing his breath, the Chief Advisor, Lord Maeron, stepped forward. His expression was stern, but beneath it was a deep concern for the kingdom’s stability.
“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing, “for the sake of truth and justice, we must know who harmed you. The kingdom cannot move forward while uncertainty remains.”
He paused, then added, “And we need your testimony.”