Chapter 45
Tom led Daphne down the corridor. Torches illuminated the way and illuminating the two large portraits, so she saw them clearly before they reached the end of the corridor.
“Are these… his parents?”
“King Dean and Luna Sabina.”
She smiled up at the portraits. She had no way of ever knowing what her parents looked like, but she’d grown up with stories of them through her grandmother. She was glad that Arthur had some connection to his parents even if it was just their portraits.
“He looks just like his father,” Daphne said, wringing her hands. Luna Sabina had been a beautiful woman. Arthur’s brilliant blue eyes looked down at her from within her face. She wondered if Sabina would have liked her. “So… what did you actually want to talk about?”
Tom gave her a little smile, “You’re… quite perceptive.”
“It’s about Arthur, isn’t it?”
Tom nodded, “Do you think you could convince Arthur to accept the throne?”
Daphne scowled at him, “He’s not a child. He can make his own decisions.”
“With all due respect, luna, part of his reason for refusing the throne is because of you."
Daphne didn’t argue with him. Arthur had promised to live with her in Sharp Armor. He wasn’t the type to change his mind to be king. She knew that now.
“That doesn’t change the fact that he can make his own decisions.”
Tom met her gaze, “The werewolf kingdom needs a king. Owen is dead, but there are still dangers we may face in the future. He returned to the kingdom and defeated our enemies after not knowing his true identity.”
He turned to look at the portraits, “What great proof could there be that the moon goddess has sent him back to us to lead us as his parents had before?”
Daphne was warmed by how honest and convinced Tom seemed. It was good that someone else believed in Arthur the way she did, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it was for the right reasons.
“And me?” Daphne asked. “Arthur is in control now, but… he’s not going to accept being king to leave me behind.”
“I know,” Tom said, looking at her. “That’s why I’m talking to you now.”
“To leave him?” Daphne asked, defensively.
“To lead him to the throne and rule at his side.”
Daphne gasped and turned away, “This… isn’t a decision I can make on my own. I have to talk to Arthur.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” he bowed respectfully. “Forgive me for taking up so much of your time.”
Daphne turned and headed back down the corridor to where Arthur was waiting for her at the entrance of the hall. He stood straight.
“Daphne—”
“We need to talk.”
He froze before shooting a dark look down the corridor. She took his hand and led him out towards the outer doors.
Arthur followed, delighted by the feeling of her hand in his. It was a bit disappointing that they weren’t headed upstairs, but any time he could spend with Daphne was welcome.
They walked out into the garden overlooking the forest and ravine below. The wind blew warm, carrying the scent of salt and water up from the shimmering river.
It was a beautiful view, but it did nothing for his mood as they came to a stop.
“The old man asked you to convince me, didn't he?”
Daphne swatted his shoulder, “You shouldn’t call him that!”
Arthur looked at her, waiting for her to go on. Daphne sighed and her shoulders slumped.
“We should talk about what we should do next.”
Arthur huffed, “We can go back to bed.”
“Arthur!”
“Then, we’ll go back to Sharp Armor,” Arthur said decisively. “… Or we can also go live in a human village if you want.”
Daphne frowned, “What about you?”
Arthur squeezed her hand, “I said we.”
Daphne sighed, “Arthur, you’re too powerful to go to a human village! Everyone in Sharp Armor will know that you are of royal blood.”
“So?”
“They aren’t going to treat you like before just because you refused the throne.” Daphne shook her head. “People have expectations of you because of your power and lineage…It’s not fair, but it’s true.”
“They have nothing to do with us,” Arthur said. “I already said I don’t want it.”
Daphne eyed him, “Are you making that decision for yourself or because of me?”
Arthur frowned, “Why does that matter?”
“Because you should be making decisions for yourself!” Daphne cried. “I know I’m just human. I know you want to take care of me, but that can’t be the only way you make decisions.”
Arthur frowned, looking at her, and she realized that he didn’t understand what she meant. Whether it was because of how he grew up, their bond, or something intrinsic to Arthur, she didn’t know, but she pulled him to sit with her and held his hand.
“If you don’t want it because you don’t want the responsibility, that’s fine, but I want you to think about whether or not that’s true or if you’re just making the decision because you think you can’t be with me if you choose to take it on.”
Arthur’s eyes widened.
“I love you, Arthur,” Daphne said. “No matter what you choose, I’m on your side.”
Arthur stared at her. His chest felt tight as he stared at her and turned her words over in his mind. Once upon a time, he relied on his strength for survival. Wining to fight another day was the only thing he had. When he’d met Daphne, he changed to protect her at all costs, yet when he considered it, some time since living in Sharp Armor, he’d changed.
“Daphne,” he said slowly, taking her hands. “You’re right.”
He grimaced at the thought.
“Before joining the patrol, other people's lives didn’t matter to me. I only cared about you and me. But… Blade, Rex, Mamie, the members of the patrol have become important to me. I understand they want a leader, but…” He shook his head with a shudder. Remembering the rush of power he’d felt when he’d given Blade and the rest of the patrol the order to follow him. “The Royal bloodline’s power is… intoxicating. It’s overwhelming. I know Owen felt it when he ordered the rogues. I don’t want to be taken over by that feeling.”
Daphne smiled. She wondered when others would be able to see past Arthur’s façade of rudeness and anger. She wondered if he ever saw how good his heart was beneath his usual temperament.
One day, he’d realize. She’d get him there somehow.
“I don’t think I could lead well.”
“It’s better to be afraid than to be arrogant,” Daphne squeezed his hands as he lifted his head and met her gaze. “Just think on it.”
Arthur nodded shakily.
Daphne left him with his thoughts to spend time with Mamie and the other people from Sharp Armor who had come for the festivities.
It had been about three days since his conversation with Daphne when he found himself opening the door to a room he had never been, guided there by some other instinct though he didn’t understand it. The room was lined with books. A large, sturdy-looking desk sat in the middle of the room. He entered cautiously.
There was a bit of dust on the table, but the room felt uncanny, like a place from a dream.
A woman walked by and gasped.
“Your Majesty! We didn’t know you wanted to use this office… We’ll get it cleaned—”
“No,” Arthur said, “I was just… looking around.”
Arthur eyed her. She was one of the older maids, the same that had been with Daphne when they went to the feast. Her eyes followed him with a sort of knowledge that he didn’t know how to feel about.
“What is it?” Arthur asked.
She averted her gaze, “Nothing, Your Majesty… I just… You look so much like your father.”
He swallowed, “Did you… know him?”
She nodded, “He and Luna Sabina would have been… so very proud to see you here.”
Arthur turned his head, “I know nothing about them.”
She frowned, “You… You don’t remember them at all?”
Arthur eyed her, “Should I?”
She seemed troubled, frowning, “You weren’t so young that you shouldn’t remember…”
She glanced around, “If I may?”
He nodded and watched her cross the room. She rounded the desk and opened the drawer, pulling a box out and setting it on the table. It was emblazoned with the Royal crest. She opened another drawer and pulled out a key.
“Do you remember this box?” She asked.
Arthur shook his head. She smiled, “Your father had it made for you.”
He spent a lot of time in his father’s office and had decided he needed a place to put his important things in the way his father had a lockbox for important documents. Arthur wondered what a child could own that was so important to need a special box for it.
The woman opened the box and gasped. The scent inside was stale with time but familiar. Sitting on top was a gold ring and rolled-up piece of paper. The pages below it seemed to be clumsy attempts at writing and random river stones that gleamed in the light.
He picked up the ring and pulled the letter out of it.
“Dear Son…”
