Zerath walked in the courtyard aimlessly. The night had deepened, and the stars had begun to gleam above him, but their brightness felt scorching to his eyes. Everything ached. Whether it was the cut on his temple, the stars scintillating in the dark sky or the simple brush of the pleasant wind against his face - everything and everywhere pressed onto him like needles.
He approached the flower bed, staring at the petals swaying lightly with the wind.
"My lord."
Lucian's quiet voice came from behind him, but Zerath remained unmoved.
After a long time, his lips parted. "Her Majesty liked tending to the garden."
Lucian glanced at the blooming flowers. "Yes."
"In the past…I used to make excuses to come here when she'd be here. I thought if I helped her tend to the flowers, she'd start to like me. If I do the things she likes to do, I'll eventually make my place in her heart. But Lucian..."
His lips moved again, yet the words failed him.
"The one she loves the most is her…unborn son."
Lucian said nothing.
"I am not that son. He and I will always be two different people. He's the one she lost. I'm the one who took his place. She cherishes her son the most. She loves her son the most. But then…I cannot be him. So, I…was fighting a losing battle all this time."
Zerath's hand rose to clasp his neck which grew feverish with every breath he took. His chest ached with a dull pain as if poison rushed through every vein of his body. He stumbled on his own footing - but Lucian caught his arm.
He peered into Zerath's reddened eyes - which held one of the rare moments of weakness and defeat. It was only before him and Silas that Zerath allowed himself to fall vulnerable.
"My lord."
Lucian tried to steer Zerath towards a bench, but he didn't budge. He continued to stare at the flowers, as though praying they would create a miracle.
"My lord, could you not stop wishing for her validation?"
Zerath finally tore his gaze away from the flowers and met his no-nonsense eyes.
"You have His Majesty's love. Is that not enough? I know gaining Her Majesty's love would be the ideal life you're hoping for, but is that truly so necessary?"
Zerath's lips traced a wry smile. "So even you think it's pointless."
"Yes, it is."
He trembled. "Why, Lucian? Why is it pointless? Why is it so hard to accept me? I'm doing everything I can to become a good son. I'm not looking to replace him. I don't want to. I'm neither that arrogant nor selfish. But is it so hard to look at me? I'm not asking her to forget him, but can I not ask to acknowledge my existence either?"
Lucian lowered his gaze, watching his quivering fingers clutch onto his robe.
"You don't understand, my lord. This isn't about Her Majesty not acknowledging you. Some people choose to live in the past."
He gently released Zerath's hold over his robe and bent to pick up a long twig from the ground. He held it horizontally above a flower, blocking a butterfly's path to it. Feeling an obstacle, the butterfly quickly fluttered away.
"This is the threshold, my lord. Beyond this threshold is your beautiful future. The butterfly could see it. It had wings to fly towards it too. It could've simply taken a turn to cross past it. But it didn't do that."
Lucian lowered his arm and allowed the twig to fall to the ground.
"That's how some people are, my lord. They can see the light ahead. They have every means to cross the threshold where the light is. But they choose to stay where they are - even if it's pitch black. Because everyone takes grief like death differently."
He held Zerath's gaze. "His Majesty mourned, and he moved on. He found his child in you. Her Majesty couldn't. She lost her child. She lost the ability to have another child. If crossing the threshold was simple for everyone, then the world wouldn't have needed people like Sire Izrus to bring peace to the broken hearts."
Zerath stared at the branch laying between him and Lucian for a long, hard moment.
"...So I should give up."
Lucian's stringent gaze eased, and he allowed a hint of softness to seep in.
"You don't have to prove you're a good son. His Majesty knows. The Order knows. Rudaheim knows. That's all you need. Chasing after a love that will never be yours will only become your weakness for exploitation, my lord. As the Crown Prince, you cannot allow that to happen. You have a realm to lead."
Zerath slowly lifted his gaze.
"Then what about my love for Princess Clairette?"
Lucian didn't blink.
"I love Princess Clairette, Lucian."
For the first time tonight, a small crack formed in Lucian's expression. One he couldn't hold back.
"Princess Clairette is a human, my lord."
"I know. And I love her."
Lucian couldn't form an appropriate response for a long time. He waited to see if Zerath would withdraw from his declaration, but his silence proved more deafening than anything else in the world.
"I cannot give up on Clairette. I won't give up on Clairette. I've vowed I'll make her my bride, and I will make her my bride, Lucian."
Any vulnerability Zerath held in his golden irises had vanished. What now remained was a steely determination of a future he had promised to achieve.
Lucian said, "I'd prefer you rather chase after Her Majesty, my lord. You'll be hurt and torn, but at the very least, you'll be alive. But Princess Clairette…is your death sentence."
A soft gust of wind brushed across them.
"I'm willing to walk into that fire."
"The question is whether your people are ready to walk into that same blazing fire too?" Lucian's voice sharpened. "My lord, I ask you. Do you want to repeat history? Do you want you and Princess Clairette to meet the same fate as Sir Valas and his wife had?"
"Change has to happen, Lucian. I won't yield to the fear of death."
"But your people will have to, my lord. When it won't be you but young lord Astaroth sitting on the King's throne - the subjects who you adore and cherish so dearly will have to yield before a power that didn't hesitate before strangling a defenseless child and burning a harmless woman even once."
Zerath said nothing.
"Loving Princess Clairette will only carve the young lord's path to succession. Sir Balam and Madam Xeraphine would eat you alive. Even His Majesty - no matter how much he loves you - wouldn't be able to support you. You're the son he has pinned his hopes on to become the next King. He stood tall against his wife's pressure and adopted you into his family. He raised you as his own son despite the resistance he faced every single day. He's bearing that grunt of Her Majesty's ire even to this day."
He took one deliberate step towards Zerath, his eyes never leaving his.
"My lord. Do you want to throw all that away and risk your and the Princess's life for a love that is never bound to realize?"
"Are you making me choose between my duty and love?"
"The world is making you choose, my lord, not me," he stared. "It's always the world that forces us to make harsh choices."
"Then the world has to change, Lucian. Everything cannot be an either-or," his voice had turned a notch icier. "And I will bring that change."
Lucian's steely gaze relented by a trace.
"I urge my lord to think wisely. You might…love Princess Clairette, but you're the Crown Prince that Rudaheim needs. His Majesty needs you. Our realms cannot be thrown into an uproar because of a forbidden love yet again."
He then bowed. "I know I've spoken out of line more than once tonight. My lord is free to take my head for this disrespect."
"Raise your head, Lucian," he quietly said.
Lucian peered into his torn gaze. Yet amidst the gloom clouding his golden eyes, Zerath's lips held a smile.
"I wouldn't dare to take my dear friend's head."
A hint of uneasiness drifted past his countenance. "I'm simply your aide, my lord."
"No, Lucian," he closed his eyes. "You were never just an aide for me. Like how I hold Silas dear to me, I hold you dear to me too."
"May I now take you to Sir Doloros? You refused to tend to your wound and came straight out here."
"As always, you avoid talking about heartfelt subjects," he chuckled lightly.
"So please talk about the subjects I can talk about."
"Is that a command?"
"It's just a humble request, my lord."
Zerath smiled properly this time, a little more free, a little more relaxed. "Shall we take a walk in the garden for a while? It's a pleasant night. I'll tell you all about my adventures today."
"Your wound-"
"I'm not dying, Lucian."
He paused and pursed his lips, dissatisfied, watching the wound on his temple darken. "As you command, my lord."
"I'm asking as a friend. It's not a command. Let's go. I need to teach you to loosen up a bit," Zerath clasped his hands behind his back and started walking.
"I'm perfectly fine the way I am, my lord."
Lucian protested without expression - but followed him into the night anyway.