The carriage came to a stop.
I felt it before I heard it, the subtle slowing, the way the floor beneath me steadied. The voices outside were different now. Controlled. Polite. Careful.
When the door opened, light spilled in, brighter than before.
Two men stood waiting.
They were young, but not in the way people usually meant it. Their clothes were elegant, marked with symbols I had already begun to recognize as royal. One carried himself with practiced composure, his expression calm and dignified. The other smiled openly, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw my father.
- Patrick.-
They stepped forward without hesitation, hands clasping my father's arms, laughter breaking through what little formality remained. It wasn't forced. It wasn't shallow. They had missed him.
I watched quietly from my mother's arms.
This… this was real.
They greeted my mother next, respectfully and warmly. No judgment. No distance. And then, inevitably, their attention turned to me.
- So this is Richard,- one of them said.
Their gazes were gentle, curious, but I still felt it. That familiar awareness of being seen.
We were led inside.
The palace swallowed sound.
Every step echoed softly against polished stone floors. The ceilings were impossibly high, the corridors wide enough to make me feel smaller with every passing second. Servants moved with practiced silence, attendants appearing and disappearing as if summoned by thought alone.
Our rooms were close.
Too close to be a coincidence.
And yet, when we arrived, I was separated from my parents.
- For now,- my mother said softly, brushing her fingers against my cheek. - We'll see you soon.-
I watched her leave.
The room I was given didn't feel like a room.
It felt like a residence.
Large enough for a family. Soft carpets. Tall windows. Furniture carved with care rather than excess. Royal attendants stood by quietly, and my nanny never left my side.
I should have been impressed.
Instead, I felt out of place.
After some rest, we walked through the palace.
That was when the voices began.
- Oh, how adorable…-
- Is that Duke Patrick's son?-
- He'll grow strong like his father, won't he?-
- Or perhaps an archmage like his mother?-
They smiled when they spoke. Their voices were light. Compliments are dressed as kindness.
But I saw their eyes.
That look.
Measuring. Guessing. Choosing.
I had seen it before, in another life. I knew it too well.
Futures spoken aloud, laid at my feet before I could even stand.
Then my mother's voice cut through the noise.
- He'll become whatever he wishes for himself,- she said calmly. - I don't think it's wise to make assumptions about someone who hasn't even started to walk yet.-
The air shifted.
Awkward laughter followed. Nods. Agreement. The nobles moved on.
Something warm loosened in my chest.
For the first time since entering the palace, I relaxed.
Later, the corridors grew quieter.
Servants lined the walls again. My father's posture straightened, his steps measured. I felt a pressure in the air, different from magic, heavier than sound.
We entered the inner hall.
At its center sat the king.
He looked older than I expected. Silver threaded his hair, and time had carved lines into his face, but there was nothing weak about him. He didn't wear a crown. He didn't need one.
My father bowed.
- Your Majesty-
- That will do,- the king said.
I watched my father pause.
- …Father.-
The king nodded slightly. - Even if adopted, you're still my son. Royalty or not, everybody knows it.-
Something eased in the room.
Then his gaze moved to me.
Not sharp. Not cold.
Curious.
- Come here,- he said.
Before I could react, my mother stepped forward and placed me into his arms.
I froze.
His hands were large, steady, warm. He held me carefully, without hesitation. There was no pressure. No probing. Just… certainty.
- Well,- he murmured, studying me. - So this is you.-
I didn't know why, but my chest tightened.
- You refused my proposal to bind our families once,- he said, glancing at my father. - But this time, you won't escape.-
My father sighed.
- Richard will be engaged,- the king continued calmly, - to Astrid. The first prince's daughter. She's twelve now.-
I didn't understand everything.
But I understood enough.
That same feeling returned.
The weight of a future spoken for me.
The king looked down at me again, softer this time.
- For now,- he said, - you're just my grandson.-
Grandson.
The word stayed with me long after he handed me back.
That night, the palace filled with voices and light.
A banquet. Long tables. Warm food. Music drifted through the hall. Stories were shared, heroic feats, battles survived, moments of sorrow that still lingered beneath the laughter.
My father listened more than he spoke. My mother smiled, adding her own memories when she chose to. The king watched it all quietly, occasionally glancing my way.
I listened.
I didn't understand every word.
But I understood the bonds. The history. The love built through time and choice.
They cared.
They truly did.
And yet, as sleep pulled at my eyes beneath the golden glow of the hall, one thought lingered stubbornly in my mind:
They love me.
But they are already choosing my future.
Held between warmth and unease, I drifted into sleep unaware of how tightly this world had already begun to shape me.