Royals of Ruemri Book I: Betrothal

Chapter 14 - Part 3

THE DOOR to the High King's chamber opened and they entered, Soren walking silently behind Raffe. It was quite hard to make out features at this distance in the deliberately darkened room, but no one could mistake the frail and sick pallor of the man on a wide bed, draped in dark gold and white sheets. The High King was sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the wary son who approached the bed with quiet and almost reluctant steps. The healers in pure white robes stood silent, their heads bowed as they waited for their prince to say a word.

That was the image in Soren's head. That was what he expected. He hoped to his goddess that it was not going to be the scene that would greet them once they reached Ruemreon.

Well, certainly, his goddess answered him.

Just not in the way he expected.

Instead of finding an ill king, the High King stood in front of his floor-to-ceiling window, hands clasped behind his back, calm, radiant, and very obviously healthy.

"What the fuck—"

"Welcome home," greeted the High King, cutting off his son's brutal tirade. His penetrating grey eyes regarded Soren and Raffe—who stood frozen in the doorway of the king's study.

"I see you're looking quite well, Majesty. That is good to know," contrary to Raffe's words, the warmth was replaced with stone cold voice, his tone dripping with tiny shards of ice, and his confusion was echoed in Soren's thoughts. Intense, cold, gray eyes unblinking for a couple of seconds. Then more flatly, heavily, as if fighting the urge to say the words through gritted teeth, he added, "What the fuck is going on?"

Raffe, the stubborn, ill-tempered, temperamental, blunt prince was livid. Soren took an involuntary step back, content to remain silent and let father and son settle this abysmal situation.

"Isara sent a message to Zuan telling me you're ill, Majesty," Raffe said again, his voice a steady rhythm but with the tremor of his barely suppressed anger, he may as well have been screaming. "Did you miraculously recover during our journey back here? If so, I'm genuinely thankful. Or is there something happening that has eluded my awareness?" His voice shifted to a much colder tone. "Believe me, I don't want to find out."

Soren winced by the acidity of his words.

Hing King Alizade sighed and gestured to the guards behind Soren, a loud exhale of suppressed breath and tension. The door to the High King's study closed with a thud and the stiffness grew bitter and heavy in the air Soren could almost taste it in the back of his tongue.

At length, the High King looked out the window.

"It was the only way to bring you back home."

"Bring me–! By lying to me?" Raffe looked grim. "With your health?"

"It was a horrible idea, I know. I apologize," the High King conceded, looking straight at his son, unfearing.

"It was a dirty tactic, Father. I cannot believe you actually—" Raffe made a disgruntled noise. Shaking his head, he strode across the room and sat heavily on the empty couch near an unlit fireplace.

Soren had no idea what to do. He had never been in an audience of quarreling family members before, well, except his own. He was left standing in front of the closed door, eyes darting from father to son, expecting the worst as he forced himself to relax.

When King Alizade turned around and saw him, he flashed a smile and gestured for him to take a seat. Left with nothing to do, Soren obeyed and took the seat across from Raffe.

"You made me abandon my army," Raffe pointed out bitterly. "They're left there fighting while I'm here and—" He clenched his jaw tight, clearly he was not done being mad.