Chapter 201: Paintings

That night, Rael couldn’t sleep.

His nanny found Caelen in the throne room, reviewing petitions that had been submitted for tomorrow’s court session. “Your Majesty, forgive the intrusion. But the young prince is restless. I’ve tried everything, but he keeps asking for…”

She trailed off. Uncomfortable.

Caelen knew what she couldn’t say. Keeps asking for his mother.

He set down the petition. “I’ll see to him.”

Rael’s chambers were in the eastern wing, decorated with all the things a five-year-old prince should have. Toys carved from fine wood. Books with illustrated pages. A bed large enough for three children, draped in silk the color of flames.

The boy sat in the middle of that enormous bed, knees drawn to his chest, snow white curls falling into golden eyes that were far too much like Eris’s for Caelen’s comfort.

“Can’t sleep?” Caelen asked, settling onto the bed’s edge.

Rael shook his head.

“Want to play for a bit?”

That earned a nod.

They played quietly. Building blocks shaped like castles. Toy soldiers arranged in careful formations. Simple games that required no words, just presence.

Eventually, Caelen tried steering toward sleep. “It’s late, little prince. Time for bed.”

“Don’t want to sleep.”

“Why not?”

Silence stretched. Then, quietly: “Where’s Mama?”

The question pierced straight through Caelen’s chest.

He’d known it was coming. Rael asked almost every night now. Asked why his mother wasn’t anywhere in the halls. Why she’d left without saying goodbye.

“She’s gone on a journey,” Caelen said, using the same lie he’d been using for weeks.

“When will she come back?”

The words stuck in Caelen’s throat.

He couldn’t answer. Couldn’t tell his son that his mother wasn’t coming back. That she’d left Solmire, left them, chosen a different kingdom and a different man. That the reason she was gone was because Caelen had made her life unbearable.

Because he’d been selfish. Cruel. Too blind to see what he had until it was gone. To proud to admit what his heart craved for.

The silence stretched too long. Rael noticed.

“Is Mama angry?” His small voice carried confusion. “Did I do something bad?”

“No.” Caelen pulled his son close, kissed his curls. “You didn’t do anything bad. Mama isn’t angry with you.”

“Then why did she leave?”

Caelen’s heart squeezed. “She left because I was bad.”

Rael pulled back, eyes wide. “You can’t be bad! You’re a hero!”

The innocence in those words nearly broke him.

Caelen took his son’s small hand, kissed it gently. “You’re right. But sometimes heroes do bad things.”

Silence fell between them. Heavy. Weighted with truths a five-year-old shouldn’t have to carry.

Then Rael spoke again, his voice carrying the kind of simple wisdom only children possessed. “If Mama’s angry with you, you should say sorry.”

Say sorry.

Such simple words.

Caelen’s chest constricted. Because in all the years of their marriage, through all the fighting and resentment and bitter words, he’d never once apologized. Never said sorry for forcing her into marriage. For treating her like an obligation. For making her feel unwanted in her own home.

But he’d never apologized.

“I don’t think Mama would forgive me,” Caelen said softly. “But… it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Rael’s face brightened immediately. “Does that mean Mama will come home soon?”

The hope in his son’s voice hurt worse than any blade.

Caelen forced a smile. “Would you like to visit her instead?”

“Yes!” Rael bounced slightly. “Can we? When? Tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow.” Caelen lifted his son, settling him properly under the covers. “But soon. I promise.”

“Do you promise-promise?”

“I promise-promise.”

Rael’s questions kept coming, each one more curious than the last. The boy had inherited his mother’s quick mind, her relentless need to understand everything. He asked about Nevareth, about ice kingdoms, about whether Mama was warm enough in all that cold.

Each question a knife.

Caelen answered what he could, deflected what he couldn’t, and eventually managed to lull his son to sleep with a story about brave knights and distant kingdoms.

When Rael’s breathing finally evened out, Caelen pressed one last kiss to his forehead and left.

But he didn’t return to his own chambers.

His feet carried him elsewhere. To a door he hadn’t opened in months. To a room that had been sealed since the day Eris left.

Her chambers.

The guards stationed outside looked uncomfortable when he appeared. “Your Majesty, should we—”

“Leave me.”

They fled gratefully.

Caelen opened the door.

Everything was exactly as she’d left it. Servants had been ordered not to disturb anything, to leave it untouched in case… in case what? In case she came back? In case he needed proof she’d existed?

The room still smelled faintly of her. That particular scent he could never quite name. Something floral but sharp. Feminine but dangerous.

He moved through the space slowly. Touching nothing. Just observing. The gown still draped over a chair. The books stacked beside her bed, pages marked with strips of fabric. The jewelry box on her vanity, closed but emanating value.

And then he saw them.

The paintings.

Hidden behind a folding screen in the corner, stacked carefully against the wall. Dozens of them. Some finished. Some barely sketched. All created by a hand he’d never known possessed such skill.

Because Eris had never told him.

Had never shared this part of herself.

Why would she? He’d never asked. Never cared to know what she did with her time when she wasn’t ruling or attending court or enduring his presence.

He pulled the paintings out one by one.

His face stared back from every canvas.

Different angles. Different expressions. Some caught him laughing. Some showed him serious, focused on some task. Others captured him in profile, gazing at something beyond the frame.

She’d painted him obsessively.

Over and over and over.

Like she’d been trying to understand him. Or maybe trying to preserve something. Or perhaps simply unable to stop.

The final painting made his knees weak.

Unfinished. Barely more than sketches with some color blocked in. But clear enough to recognize.

Three figures. Him. Her. Rael between them.

A family.

She’d been painting them as a family.

Something in Caelen’s chest shattered completely. He sank to the floor, painting clutched in trembling hands, and finally let himself feel everything he’d been holding back.

The loss. The regret. The aching, impossible knowledge that he’d had something precious and destroyed it through his own stupidity.

She’d loved him.

Despite everything. Despite the forced marriage and bitter words and years of resentment. She’d loved him enough to paint him. To try capturing him on canvas. To imagine them as a family.

And he’d hurt her for it.

Should he go to Nevareth?

The question consumed him.

Just to see her. Just to know if she was really married. If she’d really chosen Soren. If there was any possibility, any chance, any sliver of hope that—

That what?

That she’d forgive him? Come back? Choose him over the man who’d apparently given her everything Caelen never could?

The temptation gnawed at him like hunger.

Even knowing it would hurt. Even knowing he’d arrive too late. Even knowing she’d probably look at him with those burning eyes and feel nothing but contempt.

He wanted to see her.

Needed to see her.

The painting slipped from his hands, landing with a soft thud against carpet.

Outside the door, unnoticed, Ophelia stood frozen.

She’d been looking for Caelen. Had been told by passing servants that he’d gone to the family wing, then hadn’t returned. She’d followed, concerned, and found the guards outside Eris’s sealed chambers looking uncomfortable.

Found the door slightly ajar.

Found her husband on the floor, surrounded by paintings, holding an unfinished portrait of a family that would never exist.

Found him crying.

For her.

For Eris.

Ophelia’s hand moved to her belly instinctively. Protective. Possessive.

She had his child growing inside her. She had his ring on her finger. She had his name and his crown and his kingdom.

But she didn’t have what mattered the most to her…

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