The banquet’s noise had long faded, replaced by the softer hum of ether lines running through the walls of his private wing. Privacy had been forced on him at first, not understanding that it was his parents’ way of giving him space once his temper began to draw too much attention. Over ti, Arik had made it his own and was glad that he could have his own entire wing.
He sat now on the floor of his quarters, back propped against the low fra of a couch, golden eyes half-lidded in concentration. Warm black hair fell untad across his brow as he turned the silver ward over in his hand, the one thing in the palace he’d never shown to anyone.
A year ago, curiosity had gotten the better of him. He had opened it.
The rush of mories had been like a flood: battlefields painted in fire, commands spoken in a voice that was his and not his, and an empire bending under the na Goliath. The past had not vanished, only sealed. And now it lived beside him like a shadow he could not put away.
He had sorted through much of it by now, enough to know what was his and what was the man he had been before. Enough to recognize the instincts that bled through into his present, the command in his voice, the weight in his gaze, the certainty that rooms bent around him before he even spoke. Enough to know that the pain was gone now.
But he hadn’t told them.
Not Damian with his golden fire, not Gabriel with his cool steel, not Cecil with his sharp silence, not even Noah, who sniffed at secrets the way Max did.
There was no need.
Arik flexed his fingers against the ward, watching the faint etchings glow in rhythm with his pulse. He didn’t want to make his family suffer for him , not for sothing that had been and was no longer. They already carried enough weight on their shoulders. He was Arik, their son, their brother. That was enough.
And yet, when he closed his eyes, the na still echoed inside him.
Goliath.
It lived there, waiting.
He exhaled slowly, tucking the ward back into the small drawer hidden beneath the couch. He would carry it alone, for now. Until the day ca when silence was no longer an option.
The drawer clicked shut under Arik’s hand, the faint glow of the ward dying as if smothered. He leaned back against the couch, golden eyes half-lidded, when the wards stirred again.
Damian entered first, short black hair neat, golden gaze bright with amusent. Behind him ca Gabriel, elegant as ever, cool black hair framing pale skin, his fra lean but carrying authority sharper than any blade. His brown eyes swept the room once and lingered on Arik, reading far more than Arik wanted him to.
They didn’t look surprised.
Damian folded his arms, smirking. "Tell , am I speaking to Arik... or to Goliath?"
Arik’s jaw flexed. "Does it matter?"
"It matters only if you’re arrogant enough to think you could manipulate fate into landing here," Damian said, golden eyes gleaming. "Because if you are, Gabriel would beat your ass."
Arik barked out a laugh despite himself. "So you knew."
Gabriel leaned against the doorfra, wine-dark amusent softening the edge of his mouth. "We always knew. We are your parents." His tone turned dry. "Edward also couldn’t keep his mouth shut about your little interest in Wrohan. You weren’t subtle."
Arik rubbed a hand down his face, laughing under his breath. "And you said nothing?"
"What was there to say?" Damian replied, settling against the couch arm. "You’re our son. That’s all that matters."
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, sharp and fond all at once. "You’re my son, Arik. Goliath or not, you belong to ." He let that hang for a beat before his voice slid cool and rciless. "But since you are Goliath, you can start taking the reports I don’t want to touch. If you rember war so well, you can draft the supply chains and border patrol rotations. Boring, ticulous, endless. Consider it penance."
Arik groaned, tipping his head back against the couch. "That’s cruel."
"It’s rciful," Gabriel corrected smoothly. "Be grateful I’m not assigning you to court luncheons with Crista."
Damian laughed low in his chest, golden eyes glinting as he clapped a hand against Arik’s shoulder. "Better than death. Take it."
Arik muttered sothing under his breath, but his smirk betrayed him. "Fine. Crown Prince by day, Gabriel’s scribe by night. Truly a glorious fate."
"Exactly," Gabriel said, elegant brow arching. "Now you’re learning the real weight of a crown."
Damian leaned closer, grin dangerous but proud. "And you’ll carry it. Because Goliath was a terror. But my son?" His gaze softened, fierce and certain. "My son is better."
Arik slouched further against the couch, golden eyes narrowing. "You’re serious. You’d actually dump reports on ."
Gabriel’s lips curved, elegant and rciless. "Not just any reports. The ones that make want to set the palace on fire rather than read them. Agricultural outputs. Shipping ledgers. Even the Ministry of Culture’s endless drafts on appropriate court attire. Congratulations, Crown Prince, you’ll be well inford."
Arik groaned loudly, dragging a hand through his black hair. "That’s not training. That’s torture."
Damian chuckled low in his chest, leaning against the armrest like a man settling in to watch a play. "Welco to rule. It’s less blood and more paperwork than you think."
Gabriel tilted his head, brown eyes glinting. "And if you’re clever, you’ll learn how to make Max do half of it for you."
Arik blinked, incredulous. "Uncle Max? He’d set it on fire before he signed it."
"Exactly," Gabriel said smoothly. "So you’ll learn to manage disasters. Another valuable skill."
Damian grinned, golden gaze warm with pride. "Better you than . I’d still choose war councils over textile procurent lists."
"War councils sound preferable," Arik muttered, sulking in a way that made him look more twenty than conqueror. "At least swords don’t require signatures in triplicate."
Gabriel pushed off the doorfra, his steps asured, his fra a portrait of calm dominance. "Consider this your first true campaign. The battlefield is paper, and your enemy is boredom. Survive that, and you’ll be ready for anything."
Arik tipped his head back with a dramatic sigh, though a reluctant grin tugged at his mouth. "Gods help the empire."
"Not the empire," Damian said, amusent rumbling in his voice. "You. Because Gabriel’s never letting you go now."
Gabriel’s smirk was faint but victorious. "Finally, soone to delegate to. I should have realized this sooner."
Arik sat up, scandalized. "What?"
Damian laughed, the sound sharp and rich, while Gabriel only smoothed his sleeve with deliberate calm.
"Relax," Gabriel said, brown eyes gleaming. "I ant you’re perfect for the job." He paused just long enough to savor the look on his son’s face before adding, "I wouldn’t trust Cecil to stay awake through it."
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