The grand throne room gleamed with opulence, its marble floors reflecting the soft golden glow of chandeliers.
Artizea's fingers traced the intricate carvings on the arm of the throne—her father's throne.
She could still hear his warm, commanding voice: "One day, this will be your seat."
The memory tightened her chest, a bittersweet ache swelling within her.
The weight of her coronation pressed heavily on her shoulders, but this was her destiny, one she had prepared for her entire life.
Yet, as she paced, the enormity of it all made her feel small.
The sound of light footsteps pulled her from her thoughts.
She turned to see Rhys entering, his angelic presence as radiant as ever.
His black wings shimmered softly, and his kind smile chased away some of her unease.
In his arms was their son, Calisto, clutching a small bouquet of white flowers. The boy's wide eyes sparkled with excitement.
"We came to wish Mummy a happy first day," Rhysand said gently, his voice a soothing balm to her nerves. He approached and placed a hand on her cheek. "How are you doing ?"
Artizea exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
She leaned into his touch, her gaze shifting from him to Calisto, whose giggles brightened the solemn room. "I'm… managing," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "It feels strange, standing here, knowing this was once his place. It's overwhelming, Rhys."
Rhys nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. "It's okay to feel that way. He would be so proud of you, Artizea. You've prepared for this moment, and you're ready."
Callisto reached out with the flowers, his small hands trembling under their weight.
"For you, Mama," he said with a wide grin.
Artizea smiled, kneeling to accept the flowers. She kissed her son's forehead and drew him into a warm embrace. "Thank you, my sweet boy." Looking up at Rhys, she added, " You think I can do this."
Rhys pulled her into his arms, careful not to crush the flowers or the boy between them.
"You can. And we'll be here every step of the way."
The doors to the throne room began to open, signaling the start of the ceremony. Artizea straightened, brushing a hand down her ceremonial robes.
With one last glance at her husband and son, she turned to face her destiny.
"Let's make him proud," she whispered.
the weight of the crown balanced by the fire in her spine.
The council chamber brimmed with silent awe.
Her voice, calm yet resolute, cut through every report and demand like a blade through mist.
The Queen was ready.
But outside the palace, the chaos of the next generation had already begun.
The Pendragon children had vanished.
Somewhere near the riverbanks, where cascading waterfalls carved through sun-drenched cliffs, little boots stomped through the shallows and laughter echoed off the stone.
The weekly "Father's Time-Out Walk" had begun—an unspoken tradition started years ago when Rhysand and Arthur had decided raising pendragon children required fresh air, deep breaths, and very strong tea.
This time, Eugene joined them.
He walked with his hands in his pockets, eyes darting back and forth nervously as the children sprinted past—Callisto leading the charge, followed by Seraphina, Lizzie, and Noah, who, despite being human, kept pace with effortless excitement.
Lizzie giggled, running back to take Luka's hand. "You're my new favorite cousin!"
Seraphina halted mid-run, turning with a scandalized glare. "He's not actually our cousin .."
Callisto nearly tripped from laughing too hard. "Not yet ."
Meanwhile, under the shade of a twisted tree near the riverside, Arthur poured the tea. Rhysand leaned back against a boulder, sipping his cup like a war general in peacetime. Eugene sat cross-legged, a journal open beside him.
Arthur gestured toward the children.
"Don't let him fool you," he said, pointing vaguely at Luka. "They don't sleep. If you hear snoring, it's fake. They're lying in wait."
Eugene blinked. "Seriously?"
Rhysand nodded gravely. "Learned that the hard way. Calisto pretended to nap for three hours just to launch a glitter bomb under my pillow. I sparkled for a week."
Eugene quickly scribbled notes. "Okay—note: fake naps, sabotage tactics—"
Rhysand lowered his tea with a sigh. "Are you seriously writing this down?"
Arthur leaned over, peeking. "He made a list," he wheezed.
Rhysand threw a hand dramatically in the air. "New rule: there is no equation to parenting. It's chaos. It's madness. And now… we survive this."
Eugene looked mildly panicked. "But I have books!"
Arthur deadpanned, "Burn them."
Rhysand nodded. "Burn them and light a candle to the gods while you're at it."
The sound of splashing and shrieking interrupted them—Lizzie had pushed Calisto into the shallows, and Luka was now being knighted with a stick by Seraphina, who called herself "Queen of the Pebble Throne."
Eugene exhaled, watching them with a faint smile. "He fits… doesn't he?"
Arthur rested a hand on Eugene's shoulder. "He fits perfectly."
Rhysand added, softer now, "He chose you. That's the kind of magic you don't teach… just treasure."
The laughter was gone now—replaced by crackling wood and unspoken thoughts.
Eugene stared into the fire.
"I miss him," he said softly.
Arthur and Rhysand both looked up.
Eugene continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never got to ask his parenting advice. Not once. Because I wasn't even sure I'd… be one."
He paused. Swallowed."And then—he left. And so did Elaine."
Arthur shifted, his jaw tight. "She'll come back when she's ready."
"Will she?" He asked.
Rhysand leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice was quiet, but sure.
"What Gil did… it wasn't just for Elaine's life."
Eugene blinked, surprised. Rhys rarely spoke about that night.
"You shouldn't blame yourself," Rhysand continued, staring into the flames. "He did it because he loved us. All of us. And he knew us—better than anyone. He saw what we couldn't. That something had to give."
His voice faltered for a moment, then steadied again.
"He chose to be the one who gave… because he loved us too much to let us fall apart."
The fire popped softly. No one spoke for a while.
Eugene nodded slowly, his drifting back over Noah. "He was a great grandpa," he said, smiling faintly through the ache.
Arthur's voice was quiet. "He was a great father."
Rhysand added, barely audible, "And he'd be proud of you, Eugene. He already was."
Eugene nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Thank you. Both of you."
Arthur clinked his teacup to Eugene's. "To surviving parenthood."
Rhysand clinked his next. "And chaos." A loud splash followed by an even louder Arthur saw the disaster about to happen and stood.
His expression grim. "And one more thing you should know about being a father…"
Eugene blinked. "What?"
"It means being a coward."
"Wait—what does that mean—"
" It means we—RUN." Rhysand shouted, standing abruptly.
"We are cowards, Eugene. Survivors." Arthur said breathlessly .
And with that, the three fathers sprinted up the trail—
Teacups abandoned.
Dignity long gone.
Laughter chasing after them like an army of tiny, sugar-fueled gremlins.
As the group made their way back toward the castle.
The once-lively energy of the children had faded into a gentle lull.
Noah was curled in Eugene's arms, his small face nestled against Eugene's shoulder, mouth slightly open as he breathed in quiet, rhythmic puffs.
His little fingers were tangled in Eugene's tunic, like he knew exactly where he belonged.
Rhysand glanced over, Calisto perched on his shoulders, little hands gripping his dark hair like reins. "Well," Rhys said with a soft laugh, "maybe this one does sleep."
Eugene looked down at the boy in his arms and smiled—tired, but full of something deeper.
Arthur walked alongside them, holding a few wildflowers in one hand.
Ahead, Seraphina and Lizzie skipped side by side, laughter and chatter trailing behind them like petals in the breeze.
"Dad" Lizzie turned, holding up her prize—small violet blossoms with frayed edges. "I picked these for mommy!"
Arthur crouched, accepting the delicate gift with both hands, as if they were royal jewels. "Good choice," he said warmly, tucking one behind her ear. "She'll love those."
Lizzie beamed and skipped back up to Seraphina, both girls now plotting how to sneak past the kitchen guards for sugar cubes.
As the castle loomed into view, its familiar spires catching the fading sunlight, Eugene adjusted Luka gently in his arms.
The boy didn't stir. His breathing remained steady, trust radiating from his small frame like a warmth Eugene hadn't known he'd been missing.
Rhysand looked over again. "You're doing good, you know."
Eugene huffed softly, his voice low. "It's only been a week."
"Exactly," Arthur added from behind them. "You survived a week. That's basically a lifetime in parenting terms."
They laughed.