Chapter 30 ADRAIN AND ATHALIA
In the weeks that followed, Adrain’s confidence began to settle into him like a long-delayed inheritance.
When soldiers disagreed over strategies, he mediated with clarity. People began calling him approachable, something they had often said about Eric, and Adrain found himself unconsciously attempting to emulate that trait.
Athalia saw the change and adapted as well.
Where Emelia had been beloved for her tenderness, Athalia tried to embody a softer and more thoughtful presence. She spoke kindly to servants, visited the infirmary with small baskets of herbs she had pretended to pack herself. She made sure the people saw her standing beside Adrain when he addressed them in the gardens.
Together, without planning it, they began mimicking the qualities that once made Eric and Emelia beloved.
But where their predecessors had acted out of sincerity, Adrain and Athalia acted partly out of intention, partly out of expectation. Yet it worked.
Slowly, the kingdom began to warm to them.
Two months later, the council brought news of trouble in the eastern farmlands. It was of bandits preying upon wandering laborers and stealing stored crops.
Again, Adrian rode out, this time with twice as many soldiers.
The battle was swifter than the one near the marshlands. The bandits were uncoordinated and panic-driven. Their resistance fell apart once Adrian's battalion pushed forward with discipline.
When Adrian captured their leader, a man with wild eyes and a scar running down his jaw, he said firmly, “You harm the people who work hardest for this kingdom. You will answer for that.”
The man spat near his boot. “You princes are all the same.”
Adrian's jaw tightened but not in anger, but restraint. “If I were the same, I would not have come.”
They marched the bandits back toward Arrandelle. Their wagons overflowed with retrieved crops and stolen goods reclaimed from the raiders’ storerooms.
When they entered the city gates, the reaction was even larger than before. People shouted praise, clapped, and threw ribbons folded from bright cloth.
Adrain waved once, modest and quiet, but that modesty only enhanced the admiration.
Within the palace, ministers now spoke to him in tones of respect rather than duty.
“Your Highness, your decisions have brought stability to two struggling regions.”
“You have strengthened morale among the soldiers.”
“The people are hopeful again.”
Adrian tried not to let pride twist his judgment, but inwardly he felt something unfamiliar. It was a steady and growing assurance that perhaps he truly could serve his kingdom well.
Athaliah observed every change with attention.
When the people began leaving small gifts at the palace gates of bread, little wooden carvings of soldiers and woven bracelets she collected herself, she arranged them in Adrain’s chamber.
“These are for you,” she would say.
“They’re for the kingdom,” he corrected softly.
“Then you carry them on behalf of the kingdom.”
He appreciated her, relied on her and trusted her more deeply than he realized.
And Athalia nurtured that trust like a gardener tending her most delicate flower.
Months passed, and winter loosened its grip. With spring came new duties and festivals to oversee, border agreements to renegotiate and village disputes to resolve. Adrian handled each with the growing maturity of one who was becoming central to the kingdom’s stability.
People often murmured, “He’s so different from before.”
“He has become steady and reliable.”
Adrian heard such whispers occasionally. They humbled him, and troubled him in equal measure.
One evening he admitted to Athalia, “Sometimes I think the kingdom wants me to be someone I am still learning to become.”
She took his hands; her fingers warm over his. “Growth is never instant, Adrain. But you are stepping into your role with sincerity. That is what matters.”
Her reassurance soothed him.
But some part of him, quiet and rarely acknowledged it as he wondered if he was growing into himself or growing into the space Eric left behind.
No matter how respected Adrian became, no matter how warmly the people embraced him, one truth never fully dissolved.
Eric and Emelia still existed in the kingdom’s collective memory.
Their fall had been dramatic, heir exile had been heavy and their disappearance left questions half-answered and wounds half-healed.
But with each passing month, fewer people whispered their names.
More and more, they whispered Adrian's.
The year following Prince Eric and Princess Emelia’s exile unfolded with a surprising calmness that was smooth, unbroken, and prosperous enough that the kingdom eventually stopped whispering about the scandal that had shaken the royal family. Time, as it often did, worked in favor of those who remained in power. And Prince Adrian, under the steady influence of Queen Athaliah, soon found himself rising from the shadows of his brother’s former brilliance.
The court, once divided, had accepted him as the rightful heir who had stepped forward during a tumultuous moment. His shoulders straightened, his voice grew firmer and his confidence which was previously a fragile thing resembled true authority.
And through it all, Athaliah stood quietly behind him, guiding with a soft hand and a sharper mind.
The king’s health had never fully recovered. Though he regained consciousness after the attack and lived long enough to see his younger son grow into the role he had always feared he might never fill, his strength declined little by little.
Some days he sat on the balcony, watching the kingdom from above with half-focused eyes. Other days he remained in bed, receiving brief reports from advisors. But he spoke less, slept more, and often murmured quietly to himself, as if trying to cling to memories slipping through his fingers.
Adrain visited him often, each time leaving with a heaviness in his chest.
One evening, as winter approached and the palace torches flickered in the cold air, Adrian sat at the edge of the king’s bed. The king looked thinner than he had even a month before. His voice trembled when he spoke.
“Adrian,” he whispered, “you have done well.”
Adrian swallowed. “Father, I only do what is expected.”
“Expected…” The word drifted weakly from the king’s lips. “But you have done more and the kingdom listens to you now. You will be a fine King.”
Adrian hesitated, then asked, “Do you still… do you still believe Eric wanted to harm you?”
It was the question that had lingered in his mind for a year, a question he could not ask earlier without fear of reopening wounds the kingdom had tried so desperately to close.
The king’s gaze drifted toward him, unfocused.
“Eric…” he whispered.
Adrian's heart sank. He had hoped for clarity, but instead, he felt only the solidification of doubt.
“Rest, Father,” he murmured, taking the king’s cold hand. “You’ve done enough.”
The king said nothing more. His breathing slowed, steady but fragile.
Athaliah stepped inside moments later, silent as a shadow.