A few days had passed since the royal wedding, yet the palace still carried the heavy scent of wilting lilies and the ghosts of forced celebration.
Caspian was seated in a frozen position for hours, watching the gentle rise and fall of his father's breathing, afraid to break contact for a moment lest he stopped breathing.
He'd been here since last night, not even out of his ceremonial robes.
King Louis lay propped against a mountain of embroidered silk pillows in the vast royal bedchamber.
He observed the room he'd been in a thousand times but never looked around--the room itself was a statement of power towering ceilings with gold leaf, walls draped in rich tapestries depicting ancient victories, and heavy velvet curtains embroidered with the royal crest.
There were no violet flowers or roses or scented candles like his mother liked. The huge portrait of hers had gone too.
