Chapter 28 THE PALACE ADJUSTS
Over the next few days, the palace adapted slowly but noticeably to the absence of Prince Eric.
It began with the staff.
Footmen who once hurried respectfully to greet Eric on his visits to the stables no longer glanced toward the courtyard expecting him.
Guards who once saluted both princes now straightened more firmly when Adrain passed.
Servants who feared speaking too casually around Eric now grew bold in their chatter.
At first, Adrain tried to ignore it.
But then he overheard a group of nobles whispering in the granite courtyard.
“Prince Eric’s departure settles the succession. The kingdom can breathe again.”
“The council acted wisely.” Another said.
“Prince Adrain has always been the sensible one.”
Adrain stopped mid-step.
Sensible, reliable or stable. All things he strived to be.
But now these words felt like a shadow cast over the memory of his brother. A quiet rewriting of everything the kingdom once believed about the two princes.
He walked away without confronting them. Yet the whispers only grew.
The people in the city were no different.
Eric had always been seen as bold, adventurous and charming in an unruly sort of way. Crowds cheered the loudest for him during parades. Children adored him.
Merchants whispered that he would one day be the kind of king who led armies in person.
But after the news of his alleged crime spread and after the king confirmed that Eric held the blade, the tone changed.
Mothers pulled children closer when speaking his name. Artisans frowned as they adjusted their stalls. Bakers lowered their voices, speaking of betrayal.
One evening, Adrain slipped into the city disguised. He blended into the common crowd easily, cloak pulled over his head.
Outside a tavern, two men argued loudly.
“He tried to kill the king,” one said. “He deserves worse than exile.”
“You weren’t there,” the other argued. “None of us were.”
“But I trust His Majesty’s word,” the first man shot back. “He loved Prince Eric, so If the king says Eric held the knife, that’s enough. It must have been difficult for him too ”
Adrain stepped back, troubled and not wanting to be seen.
Inside the tavern, the conversations were the same with suspicion, disapproval and resignation.
And then, in the corner, someone said:
“Prince Adrain will make a fine king.”
Heads nodded.
“He’s calm, clever and loyal.”
“A good choice.” Another said.
“A better choice. He will surely not raise a hand against anyone.”
Adrain swallowed hard and left the tavern quickly. He felt sick.
When he got back to the palace, Athalia found him pacing his chamber.
“You went into the city, didn’t you?,” she said, closing the door behind her.
He didn’t deny it.
She approached with slow, measured steps and reached for his hands.
“What did you hear?”
Adrain hesitated. “People believe the council made the right choice. They think I’ll be a better king.”
Athalia squeezed his hands gently. “They’re recognizing your strength.”
“No,” he said quietly. “They’re rewriting Eric’s memory.”
She tilted her head. “Time always reshapes truth and sometimes painfully.”
He pulled his hands away, walking toward the fireplace.
“Athalia… was there truly no other explanation? Could someone have framed or influenced him? What if the scent had been placed deliberately? What if Emelia had been framed?”
Her pulse quickened. But her expression remained calm, almost sorrowful. She wondered why someone she was sacrificing much for couldn’t see the light in everything that had happened.
“Adrain,” she said softly, “you must not torture yourself with impossible theories.”
He turned toward her, searching her eyes.
“Impossible?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “This will be the last time I’ll repeat this. The council found the evidence in her room. Your father saw Eric with the knife. To doubt all of it is to doubt your family, your kingdom, and the entire court.”
He fell silent, staring at the flames.
Athalia stepped closer again.
“You did nothing wrong,” she whispered. “You are not responsible for their choices.”
Her voice wrapped around him like warm silk.
“You’re doing what a prince must do. Accepting the burden fate has given but you have to let go of a guilt not your’s and focus on the kingdom. The Kingdom needs a leader and you will stand as one.”
He closed his eyes.
“And Eric?” he murmured. “What is his fate?”
Athalia touched his shoulder.
“Whatever he makes of exile,” she replied softly. “He chose his path but I hope they live well.”
It was not the truth, but the truth she needed him to believe.
And slowly, with the exhaustion of grief weighing him down, he wasn't sure he believed her.
The next days formed a pattern:
Meetings.
Council sessions.
Political discussions.
Subtle changes in the palace’s hierarchy.
The king, though recovering, remained confined to his chambers, leaving daily affairs increasingly in Adrain’s hands.
Ministers began bringing matters to him first. Military captains requested his counsel. Nobles sought his favor at dinners.
One afternoon, a visiting duchess bowed before Adrain in the throne room.
“Your Highness,” she said, “it is a comfort to see leadership steady in these troubled days.”
Adrain faltered. “My father still reigns.”
“Yes,” she said, “but you guide us in his stead.”
When she withdrew, Adrain felt Athalia step beside him.
“You see?” she said softly. “The kingdom is turning to you.”
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“No leader ever does,” she replied. “But the role chooses the one most fit.”
He didn’t respond.
She touched his arm lightly.
“And you are fit, Adrain.”
He stared at her and saw the confidence in her eyes, the certainty in her voice and felt the weight pressing on his shoulders ease slightly.
Maybe she was right. Maybe he needed to accept his place. Maybe this was what the kingdom needed even if he didn’t feel ready.
Another evening came.
Athalia returned to her chambers after a long council meeting where Adrain had spoken with unusual authority. She closed the door behind her again, exhaling slowly.
She walked to the window where the moon spilled in like a silver ribbon.
Softly, she whispered:
“Good.”
The kingdom was shifting and power was slowly realigning itself toward Adrain, toward her influence and toward the future she had envisioned long before the chaos began.
She sat at her writing desk and dipped her quill into ink.
She began drafting a letter. It was one coded with subtle language only her hidden ally would understand.
The path is clearing. The obstacle is gone. Continue as planned.
She sealed it with careful precision.
Then she sat back, folding her hands in her lap.
“Soon,” she whispered to the silent room. “All will be as it should.”
A soft knock came at the door.
She straightened instantly.
“Who's there?”