enjoyebooks CHAPTER 138
CHAPTER 138
POV: Sebastian
I decide to cancel the council session five minutes before it begins.
The advisors stare at me like I’ve announced the sun won’t rise.
“Tomorrow,” I say, already standing. “If it’s urgent, it will survive one day.”
No one argues. They never do. But I see it—the confusion, the recalculation. Power unused unsettles people more than power abused.
I leave them there and walk the opposite direction.
Toward my sons.
I find them in the armory—not training, not sparring. Mark is perched on a bench, dismantling a practice blade with reckless curiosity. Adrian stands beside him, reading the markings on the hilt like it’s scripture.
“You’re going to break it,” Adrian says.
“It’s already broken,” Mark replies. “That’s why I’m fixing it.”
“You don’t know how.”
“That’s never stopped me.”
I clear my throat.
Both of them straighten instantly.
Too instantly.
“Relax,” I say. “I’m not here for that.”
Mark squints. “For what, then?”
“For you,” I answer.
They exchange a look—uncertain, cautious.
“Put it down,” I say, nodding at the blade.
Mark hesitates, then sets it aside. Adrian closes the book, fingers lingering on the page like he’s reluctant to let go of the rules.
I gesture to the bench. “Sit.”
They do.
I don’t stand over them. I sit too.
That alone changes the air.
“I’m not good at this,” I begin.
Mark raises an eyebrow. “We noticed.”
Adrian shoots him a warning look. “Mark.”
“No,” I say, holding up a hand. “He’s right.”
They both blink.
“I was taught leadership through distance,” I continue. “Authority through fear. Obedience through pressure.”
I pause. “I thought that was strength.”
Mark crosses his arms. “And now?”
“And now I know it was survival,” I say. “Not living.”
Adrian’s voice is quiet. “Why didn’t you tell us before?”
I swallow. “Because admitting it felt like failure.”
Mark scoffs. “You’re the king.”
“Yes,” I agree. “And that made it harder.”
Silence settles—not tense, but waiting.
“I don’t want you to become me,” I say. “I want you to become yourselves.”
Adrian’s brow furrows. “You always said duty comes first.”
“It does,” I reply. “But duty without love becomes cruelty.”
Mark leans back. “You’re saying a lot of things you never used to.”
“I’m learning,” I say simply.
He studies my face. “Does that mean fewer lectures?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Less yelling?” he presses.
“Yes.”
Adrian hesitates. “More… listening?”
I nod. “That’s the hardest part.”
Mark snorts. “You’ll hate it.”
“I already do,” I say dryly. “But I’ll do it anyway.”
A reluctant smile tugs at his mouth.
***
That afternoon, I walk the city with them.
No guards ahead. No procession. Just three of us moving through streets that smell like bread and iron and sun-warmed stone.
“This is highly irregular,” Adrian mutters.
“Yes,” I agree. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Mark grins. “You’re going to get recognized.”
“Let them,” I say. “I’m a father today.”
We stop at a vendor selling carved whistles. Mark picks one up, testing the sound. It squeaks horribly.
Adrian winces. “That’s dreadful.”
“It’s perfect,” Mark declares.
“Buy it,” I say.
Both of them stare.
“You never let us buy useless things,” Adrian says.
“Then consider this an apology,” I reply.
Mark beams. “I accept.”
We sit on the steps near the fountain, watching children chase pigeons. Mark joins in for a moment—too old to belong, too young to care. Adrian watches, smiling despite himself.
“You could’ve stopped him,” Adrian says.
“I could have,” I agree.
“But you didn’t.”
“No,” I say. “Because joy doesn’t need correction.”
Adrian nods slowly, as if storing the thought somewhere important.
Back in the palace, Evangeline meets my eyes across the hall.
“You skipped council,” she says.
“I did,” I reply.
“And lived?” she teases.
“Barely,” I say.
She smiles. “They look lighter.”
“They are,” I answer. “So am I.”
She touches my arm. “You’re doing well.”
“I’m trying,” I say. “I don’t want to be remembered as the man they survived.”
She squeezes my hand. “Then keep choosing differently.”
Few hours later, I sit with Adrian over his lessons.
Not directing. Not correcting.
Just listening.
“You don’t have to finish tonight,” I say when he hesitates.
“I want to,” he replies.
“Why?”
“Because I like learning,” he says. “Not because I’m afraid of failing.”
The words hit harder than any accusation.
Mark drags me into a ridiculous card game afterward. I lose spectacularly.
“You’re terrible at this,” he laughs.
“I rule a kingdom,” I reply. “I can’t do everything.”
“That’s the most comforting thing you’ve ever said,” he grins.
When night falls and the palace quiets, I sit alone in my study.
The portrait of my father watches from the wall.
“I’m not continuing you,” I say softly. “I’m ending you.”
The painted eyes remain cold.
But somewhere down the hall, my sons laugh.
I know exactly what kind of legacy matters.