Dark Moon Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 545. The Plan IV

Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 545. The Plan IV

Roric stared at him. For some reason, those words did not sound particularly reassuring coming from a man who had conquered several kingdoms and looked perfectly comfortable discussing the possibility of overthrowing another.

In fact, the King of Euphorion seemed almost amused by the entire situation.

"But you know," Angel continued, his smile fading into something more thoughtful, "you'll need to choose sooner or later."

Roric lowered his gaze. "I know."

Angel straightened from the table. "You have time to think about it. Not unlimited time, of course. Your stepmother isn't the kind of woman who sits quietly while someone dismantles her plans." He approached Roric, studying the prince's expression. "Whatever you decide, make sure it's your decision. Not hers. Not your father's. Not even mine."

Roric looked up. For a moment, he expected another warning. Perhaps some unpleasant advice about eliminating enemies before they had the opportunity to retaliate. Instead, Angel simply placed a hand on his shoulder. Then he turned toward the door.

Roric blinked. That was it? No ominous declaration about blood being the price of power? Apparently, the infamous King of Euphorion had decided that a shoulder pats were sufficient guidance for a potential royal succession crisis.

Angel paused at the doorway and glanced toward Jane. "I'll give you two some privacy."

Jane nodded. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Angel's gaze softened slightly. "Don't stay too long." Then he left.

The door closed quietly behind him.

For several moments, neither sibling spoke. The room suddenly felt larger without Angel's presence. The oppressive atmosphere that seemed to accompany the young king had disappeared, leaving only candlelight, the faint sweetness of pastries, and two people who had spent years believing they were enemies.

Roric slowly sat down. His body was exhausted. His mind, unfortunately, had never been more awake. He leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees, and rubbed both hands over his face.

Jane watched him. "Brother? What are you going to do?"

Roric lowered his hands. "I don't know."

Jane sat beside him.

He stared at the floor, where the candlelight painted long golden shapes across the carpet. He knew what he should do. He understood the danger. He understood Seraphine's intentions. He understood that allowing her to remain in power meant placing Jane, himself, and possibly the entire kingdom at risk. Removing her was necessary. But Seraphine was not the only problem. His father would have to choose. And Roric feared he already knew what that choice might be.

"I don't want Father to die," he finally whispered.

Jane went quiet.

Roric swallowed. "I can accept that Seraphine needs to be removed. I can accept that she deserves punishment for what she did. But Father..." His fingers curled together. "He's still our father."

Jane lowered her eyes. "I don't want him to die either." The admission came softly. Almost painfully. "I want us to go back to how we used to be."

Roric turned toward her.

Jane gave a small, miserable smile. "Remember when Father used to take us riding outside the capital? Before he became so busy with everything?"

Roric remembered. A sunny afternoon. Jane sitting in front of Darius on a white horse because she was too small to ride alone. Their father laughing when she insisted she could control the reins herself. Roric riding beside them, proudly showing off the mace he had received for his birthday. Darius had looked happy then.

The memory hurt.

Jane clasped her hands together. "I want that back." Her smile faded. "But is there any chance?"

Roric remained silent for a long time. "I'm not sure." He leaned back against the chair. "Father changed."

Jane looked at him. "Because of Seraphine?"

"Maybe. But I don't think she caused everything."

That realization had been growing inside him even before the antidote.

His father had always possessed a certain insecurity, although Roric had not recognized it when he was younger. Back then, Darius's constant demands had seemed like ordinary royal expectations. Train harder. Study longer. Win more battles. Become someone worthy of the crown. Roric had obeyed because he believed his father wanted him to succeed. But somewhere along the way, success had become a problem.

"Father started changing before he married her," Roric said. "He became more concerned about what people thought of him. More suspicious whenever someone received praise."