Chapter 4 The Weight of a Crown

The encounter with Kael left Aelric feeling like he’d been scoured clean by fire. The prince’s intensity was a force of nature, his protective vow both a comfort and a new chain tethering him to this world. He couldn’t just be Riven, the ghost in the machine, anymore. Kael’s gaze demanded that he be Aelric.

Lyra found him a few minutes later, still standing frozen on the gravel path. She didn’t ask what happened, but her eyes were full of unspoken questions.

“He’s… intense,” Aelric managed, the understatement feeling vast.

“That’s Kael,” Lyra said with a shrug that was too casual to be genuine. “He doesn’t waste words. Or emotions. Come on. Father wanted to see you in his study before he and Mother depart. Best not to keep him waiting.”

The Duke’s study was a stark contrast to the sun-drenched gardens. It was a room of deep woods and quiet shadows, smelling of old parchment, ink, and a faint, clean herbal scent. Tapestries depicting healing rituals and maps of the Dominion covered the walls. Duke Vaelthorn stood before a large, leaded glass window, his back to them, his posture rigid with unspoken worry.

He turned as they entered, and the paternal softness from the sickroom was gone, replaced by the demeanor of a ruler.

“Lyra, you may go. I need to speak with your brother alone.”

Lyra bowed her head and left, closing the heavy oak door with a soft thud that echoed in the sudden silence.

The Duke’s gaze, the same shade of blue as Aelric’s new eyes, was heavy. “Sit, son.”

Aelric sat in a high-backed leather chair, feeling like a student summoned before the headmaster. The Duke did not sit. He paced slowly in front of the cold fireplace.

“The physician’s report was… inconclusive,” he began, his voice measured. “Your body is healed. There is no physical damage to explain the lapse in your memory.” He stopped pacing and fixed Aelric with a piercing look. “Solian informed me you were disoriented. That you did not recognize him. Is this true?”

There was no point in lying. “Yes.”

“And what do you remember?”

This was the moment. The precipice. He could try to fake it, to stumble through a performance of a life he knew nothing about. Or he could plant a seed of the truth.

He took a slow breath, channeling the confusion and fear that were all too real. “I remember… light. A terrible, blinding light. And then… darkness. And then I woke up here.” He looked down at his hands, clenched in his lap. “I know my name is Aelric. I know you and Mother are my parents. I know Lyra is my sister. But the rest… it’s like trying to grasp smoke.”

The Duke’s stern expression softened by a fraction. He came to stand before Aelric, placing a hand on his shoulder. The same warm, healing magic he’d felt before flowed into him, a gentle probe. “There is a… disruption in your spiritual pathways. A dissonance I have never felt. It is not an injury. It is as if your very soul has been… rearranged.”

Aelric’s heart hammered against his ribs. He can feel it. He can feel that I don’t belong here.

But the Duke simply sighed, withdrawing his hand. “The mind is a deeper mystery than any magic, Aelric. Perhaps the trauma of the fall has caused this. Perhaps it is a side effect of your unique nature finally settling.” He walked back to his desk, leaning on it heavily. “But we do not have the luxury of time for you to convalesce indefinitely. The Grand Conclave approaches. All four Dominions will be present. Your… condition… cannot be seen as a weakness.”

“The Grand Conclave?” Aelric asked, the term meaning nothing to him.

“A gathering of the ruling houses. To reaffirm alliances, settle disputes, and display our strength.” The Duke’s gaze was unwavering. “You will be expected to attend. You will be expected to comport yourself as a Prince of the Vaelthorn line. Our house’s standing, our very security, depends on the perception of our strength. Your magic has always made us a target for whispers. This… amnesia… would be fuel for our enemies.”

The weight of the crown, invisible but immense, settled on Aelric’s brow. This wasn’t just about his own survival. An entire family, a whole nation, was depending on a performance he didn’t know how to give.

“I understand,” Aelric said, his voice low.

“Do you?” The Duke’s question was not cruel, but deeply concerned. “The political landscape is a razor’s edge. The Radiant Dominion is our closest ally, hence your friendship with Solian. But do not mistake his charm for naivete. The Mareth Empire is prosperous and neutral, but Lyren’s calm waters run deep. And the Frostveil Principality…” He paused, a shadow crossing his face. “They are proud and isolated. Eryndor is a wild card. Trust must be earned, and even then, it is a currency spent carefully.”

He pushed off the desk. “Your mother and I must leave within the hour. Lyra will remain with you. She knows the court, the players, the protocols. Lean on her. And… Kael has offered his counsel. He is young, but his instincts are sound. His loyalty to you is unquestionable. It is a rare and powerful asset. Do not squander it.”

The dismissal was clear. Aelric stood, his legs unsteady. He had been given a mandate: Heal your mind, learn your role, and project strength. The survival of his new family depended on it.

As he reached the door, his father’s voice stopped him.

“Aelric.”

He turned.

The Duke’s face was etched with a father’s worry once more. “The dark magic… has it manifested? Since you awoke?”

Aelric thought of the strange, cold hum under his skin, a sensation he’d been trying to ignore. It felt like a sleeping serpent coiled in his gut. He shook his head. “No, Father. Nothing.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. It hadn’t manifested. But it was there. Waiting.

The Duke nodded, seeming both relieved and disappointed. “Very well. We will speak on it when I return. Now go. And remember who you are.”

Back in the corridor, the words echoed in Aelric’s mind. Remember who you are. But which ‘who’ was he supposed to remember? The prince? Or the brother from a dead world?

He found Lyra waiting for him, her arms crossed. “Well? Did he give you the ‘weight of the crown’ speech?”

Aelric almost smiled. “Something like that.”

“I figured. Come on.” She linked her arm with his, a gesture so sisterly it made his heart ache. “We have work to do. You have a world to re-learn, and I’m your tutor. First lesson: The Royal Academy. You start back in three days.”

“Three days?” Aelric stopped short, panic flaring.

“Don’t look so horrified,” Lyra said, pulling him along. “It’s where all the princes are. It’s the best place for you to be seen recovering, to quell the rumors. Besides,” she added with a sly grin, “it’s where you’ll have the most fun. The library is immense, the sparring grounds are excellent, and the dining hall serves honey cakes that are practically divine.”

Her words painted a picture of a normal life, a school life. But Aelric knew better. The Royal Academy wouldn’t be a place of simple learning. It would be a battlefield of a different kind. A gilded cage where every glance would be a assessment, every word a potential trap.

He was going back to school, surrounded by the four most powerful and enigmatic young men on the continent, with a head full of another world’s memories and a power thrumming inside him that marked him as an outsider.

As Lyra chattered on about professors and classmates, Aelric looked out a corridor window at the sprawling, magical city below. The game had truly begun. And he had just been forced to press ‘Start’.