Chapter 294: The King’s Urgent Road

[Eight days ago]

When the letter arrived, cream parchment sealed with ice-blue wax bearing Nevareth’s crest. Formal. Elegant. A blade wrapped in silk.

Emperor Soren Nivarre and Lady Eris Igniva cordially invite…

The words blurred together after that. Wedding. Three days. Ceremony. Attendance requested.

That morning, Caelen continued to at the invitation until the ink seemed to swim, until his hands shook holding it, until the paper crumpled slightly under his grip.

Three days.

The wedding would happen in three days from when this letter arrived, and Nevareth was two weeks away by standard travel. Two weeks of royal processions and diplomatic stops and ceremonial nonsense that kings were expected to perform.

He couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t arrive in time to…

To what?

Object? Beg? Drag her back to Solmire like some lovesick fool?

The thought should have shamed him. Should have reminded him of Ophelia down the hall, of the child growing in her womb, of his duty as king and husband and father.

Instead, all he could think was: I have to see her.

The need clawed at him like hunger, like thirst, like drowning and the desperate gasp for air. He had to see Eris. Had to let Rael see his mother. Had to…

Gods, he didn’t even know. He just knew that staying in Solmire while she married another man, while she bound herself to someone else forever, was impossible. Unthinkable. A death he couldn’t accept.

So he would go.

Even knowing he’d arrive too late. Even knowing it was madness.

He would go.

~~~

“You’re going to Nevareth.” Ophelia’s voice came flat when he told her, her hands folded delicately over the small swell of her belly.

They stood in the royal chambers, afternoon light streaming through windows that overlooked the gardens Eris had once tended. Had once burned.

“Yes.” Caelen kept his voice steady, reasonable. “Emperor Soren extended an invitation. It would be diplomatic to attend. To strengthen ties between our kingdoms, discuss trade agreements, establish… ”

“Caelen.” She cut him off gently. “You don’t need to lie to me.”

He stopped. Met her eyes. Saw everything she wasn’t saying reflected there.

You’re going because of her. Because you can’t help yourself. Because you’re still in love with her even though she left you, even though I’m carrying your child, even though she’s marrying someone else.

“It’s a diplomatic visit,” he insisted, but the words tasted like ash.

Ophelia nodded slowly. Said nothing. Just looked at him with that terrible, patient understanding that somehow hurt worse than anger would have.

“I’m coming with you.”

“What? No. Ophelia, you’re…” He gestured helplessly at her stomach. “The journey would be dangerous. The roads are rough. Your health…”

“I’m coming.” Her voice carried the kind of quiet finality that allowed no argument. “If my husband is traveling to another kingdom to see his former wife, I will be there.”

The words landed like stones. Not accusatory. Just… true.

“Ophelia…”

“I’m coming, Caelen.” She smiled, small and sad. “Don’t ask me to stay behind and wonder.”

He wanted to argue. Wanted to insist it was too risky, too uncomfortable, too much for a pregnant woman to endure.

But he saw the determination in her eyes and knew: she would come whether he permitted it or not.

“Alright,” he said finally. “We’ll arrange for healers. Comfortable carriages. We’ll take it slowly… ”

~~~

The morning they departed, Caelen found Rael in the nursery, playing with wooden horses that galloped across an imaginary battlefield.

“Rael.” Caelen knelt before him, bringing himself to the child’s level. “We’re going on a journey. Would you like that?”

“Where?” Rael’s face lit up with immediate excitement.

“To Nevareth. The frozen kingdom in the north.” Caelen paused, his throat tight. “We’re going to see your mother.”

The wooden horses clattered to the floor, forgotten.

“Mother?” Rael’s voice went small and wondering.

“Yes. Eris.”

“Will she remember me?” The question came so earnest, so full of childish hope, that Caelen felt something crack in his chest.

“Of course she will. How could she forget you?”

Because he made sure she couldn’t see Rael. Because he poisoned Rael against her. Because he let Rael grow up thinking she didn’t want Rael when the truth was he kept them apart.

Rael climbed into his father’s lap, small hands gripping Caelen’s shirt. “Will you say sorry to her?”

The question stopped his heart cold.

“Y-yes…” Caelen’s voice broke. “Your father will say sorry to your Mother. But you don’t have to worry because she loves you very, very much.”

Rael beamed, already spinning fantasies about his mother in his head, and Caelen held him close, drowning in guilt.

Because they would have been inseparable. Eris and Rael. Mother and son. She would have doted on him, taught him, loved him with the fierce protectiveness she showed to so few.

But Caelen had pulled them apart. Had let his own fears, his own tangled feelings about Eris, destroy that bond.

And now his son barely remembered her face.

My fault. All my fault.

They left at dawn under the banner of royal urgency.

No ceremonial stops. No diplomatic pleasantries. No slow procession through every town and village to wave at the peasants and receive petitions.

Just speed. Desperate, relentless speed.

Fresh horses waited at relay stations along the crown road, pre-arranged by riders sent ahead. Carriages were swapped for lighter, faster models. The advance escort cleared the route, ensuring nothing would slow them including the increasingly active fire beasts.

What should have taken two weeks would now become a brutal seven-day sprint.

Ophelia traveled in a cushioned carriage, healers attending her constantly, checking on the baby, monitoring her condition. She said little, just watched the landscape blur past and thought thoughts she kept locked behind her careful smile.

Thoughts about what would happen when they arrived. About whether Eris would look at Caelen and remember love. About whether Ophelia herself would become… expendable.

She didn’t like those thoughts. Pushed them away. But they returned with every mile closer to Nevareth.

Rael alternated between his stepmother’s carriage and riding with his father, his excitement never dimming. He asked endless questions about his mother, about Nevareth, about uncle Soren and ice magic and frozen palaces.

And Caelen answered as best he could while his heart tried to claw its way out of his chest.

Because every mile brought him closer to her.

Every hour meant less time until he saw her face again.

And gods help him, he needed it. Needed to see her the way a man dying of thirst needs water. The way drowning men need air.

It had been too long. Too long since that night in the corridor. Since he’d kissed her like a man possessed and then watched her walk away forever.

He dreamed of her constantly. Her face. Her voice. The way firelight caught in her hair. The way she used to look at him… before he’d broken everything between them, before he’d made himself her enemy out of cowardice and fear.

He missed her.

Gods, he missed her.

Missed her with an ache that had settled into his bones and refused to leave. Missed her laugh. Missed her cruelty. Missed the way she challenged him, pushed him, made him feel alive in ways Ophelia’s gentle sweetness never could.

It wasn’t fair to Ophelia. He knew that. She was good and kind and carrying his child, and she deserved better than a husband who spent his nights dreaming of another woman.

But knowing didn’t change anything.

The heart wants what it wants. And his wanted Eris.

Had always wanted Eris. Would probably always want Eris until the day he died.

They crossed the border days later.

The shift was immediate, visceral. Solmire’s warmth gave way to biting cold, the air turning sharp enough to cut. Even the landscape changed… rolling green hills flattening into endless white plains that stretched to the horizon like frozen eternity.

Nevareth.

They reached the Silver Shores in Nevareth soon enough.

Provincial officials met them at the border crossing with deep bows and elaborate courtesy. King Caelen Caldrith of Solmire, they called him, and treated him with all the diplomatic respect his title commanded. They briefed him on road conditions, weather patterns, the quickest route to the capital.

Professional. Efficient. Cold as the kingdom itself.

Coastal province, scenic and beautiful, with the ocean stretching blue and endless to their left. Under other circumstances, Caelen might have stopped to appreciate it. Might have taken Rael down to the beach to play in the sand.

But there was no time. No time for anything except forward movement.

At a relay station where they changed horses, Caelen overheard merchants talking.

“… the future Empress… ”

“… fire magic in the Frozen Court, bold choice…”

“… handled that demon incident well, I heard. Saved the outer districts…”

“… Solmire’s former queen though. Wonder if she’s as terrible as the stories say…”

Caelen stood very still, pretending to check his horse’s bridle while he listened.

They didn’t hate her. The common people of Nevareth. Didn’t fear her the way Solmire’s citizens had. They were… curious. Cautiously optimistic. Willing to give her a chance.

Relief and confusion warred in his chest. Relief that she wasn’t universally despised. Confusion because… wasn’t she the evil woman? The Fire Witch? The monster he’d spent years painting her as?

Maybe she’d changed. Maybe Nevareth had changed her.

Or maybe he’d never really known her at all.

~~~

That night, alone in his room at a roadside inn, Caelen couldn’t sleep.

The bed was comfortable. The room warm. But his mind wouldn’t quiet.

He missed her.

The thought circled endlessly, a mantra, a prayer, a curse.

I miss you. I miss you. Gods, Eris, I miss you.

He dreamed of her constantly. Had dreamed of her every night since she’d left. Dreams where she smiled at him the way she used to… before everything broke. Dreams where she touched him without forcing him. Dreams where they weren’t enemies, where he hadn’t destroyed the only real thing he’d ever had.

Down the hall, Ophelia slept with healers watching over her and their unborn child.

And here he lay, aching for a woman he’d already lost.

What am I doing?

But he knew. He’d always known.

He was chasing her. Across kingdoms. Across the ruins of everything they’d been. Because the alternative… letting her go completely, watching her marry someone else without even trying to see her one more time… was unthinkable.

So he would go. Would arrive too late to stop the wedding, but in time to see her. To let Rael see her. To tell her…

What?

That he was sorry? That he’d been wrong? That he loved her and had always loved her and would probably love her until his dying breath?

None of it would change anything. The wedding would’ve happened. She would become Empress of Nevareth. And he would return to Solmire with Ophelia and raise their child and try to forget.

But at least he would see her.

At least he would know she was real. That the dreams weren’t all he had left.

A few more days.

Just a few more days until Nevareth. Until her. Until he could breathe again.

Caelen closed his eyes and let the ache consume him, because fighting it had never worked anyway.

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