The study was quiet except for the crackling of the fire. Outside, the sky had darkened, a deep blue hue settling over Vareldis. The day had stretched long, filled with council meetings, lessons on governance, and Randall's relentless refusal to take anything seriously.
Elinore stood by the window, one hand resting lightly on the stone frame, her gaze fixed on the courtyard below. The torches flickered along the paths, illuminating the guards making their evening rounds.
"You never answered my question."
She kept her voice calm. "You asked me many questions today, Your Highness. You'll have to be more specific."
Randall crossed the room, his steps slow, measured. "How did he die?"
Her fingers tensed slightly against the stone.
Of course. That question.
She exhaled softly before turning to face him. Randall stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, his golden eyes unreadable in the firelight. The usual arrogance was gone. For once, he wasn't smirking, wasn't trying to provoke her. He was simply waiting.
"Peacefully," she said, studying him carefully. "In his sleep."
Randall scoffed, shaking his head. "That doesn't sound like my father."
"And how would you know?" Her brow arched slightly.
His jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. They both knew the truth, he had not been here. He had spent a century away, running from the throne, from his father, from everything that tied him to this kingdom.
Elinore turned back to the window. "He had been unwell for some time. It wasn't sudden."
Randall was quiet for a long moment. "No one told me."
A strange feeling settled in her chest. She did not pity him. She knew better than to pity a man like Randall Astor. But there was something in his voice, something frustratingly hollow, and it made her wonder if, despite everything, some part of him had still thought his father would always be here.
She clasped her hands behind her back, keeping her expression composed.
"I suspect he did not want you to know. Or rather, he did not think you would care."
Randall let out a sharp breath, low and humorless. "Of course he didn't."
"Did you?" Elinore turned, watching him carefully.
His gaze snapped to hers, something dangerous flashing behind those golden eyes.
"Care?" His voice was low, rough. He let the word settle between them, his stance tense, his shoulders rigid.
She said nothing. She didn't need to.
Randall scoffed, looking away. "He was the greatest king this realm had ever seen. That's what they say, isn't it?"
Elinore studied him. "He was a ruler. A fair one. That does not mean he was a perfect father."
Randall let out a short, bitter laugh. "That's one way to put it."
She tilted her head slightly. "And what would you call him?"
He didn't answer right away. His fingers flexed at his sides, his breathing slow and steady. Finally, he let out a quiet exhale.
"A king first. Always."
Elinore didn't disagree.
She had spent her entire life at King Royd's side. She had seen his wisdom, his calculated decisions, his vision for a kingdom where humans and werewolves could exist without slaughtering each other.
But she had never known him as a father.
The king had spoken of Randall so rarely that it had always felt like discussing a ghost. A son who had abandoned his throne. A prince who had once been the heir of Vareldis, until he had chosen to leave it behind.
Randall had been nothing more than a name in the castle, a legacy of absence.
And now, here he was. Standing before her, looking at her like she had any of the answers he wanted.
She let the silence stretch before speaking. "He trusted you."
Randall's head tilted slightly, a flicker of amusement breaking through the tension.
"Is that what he told you?"
Elinore met his gaze without flinching. "That is what I saw."
Randall held her stare for a long moment, searching for something in her expression. Whatever he found, it made his smirk fade.
She waited for him to argue, to mock the idea, to dismiss it entirely. But instead, he simply exhaled and muttered, "Then he was a fool."
Elinore didn't correct him. She only watched as he turned, stepping toward the door.
He paused before leaving, his voice quieter this time. "Did he suffer?"
She hesitated, just for a moment.
"No."
Randall nodded once before disappearing down the hall.
Elinore stood there for a long while, staring at the door long after it had closed.
And for the first time since Randall Astor had returned to Vareldis, she wondered if he had ever truly left at all.
Elinore remained where she stood, unmoving, listening as Randall's footsteps faded down the corridor.
For a long while, she simply stared at the closed door, her mind too quiet, too sharp.
Randall Astor was supposed to be an afterthought. A runaway prince. A name in the records. A lesson in what happens when a man refuses his duty.
Now, he was real. Not just real, but present.
And worse, he cared more than he wanted to admit.
She turned away, moving toward her desk, but found herself hesitating before taking her seat. The study still felt different, the air still charged with the weight of their conversation.
Randall was unpredictable, reckless, and entirely too much like a storm on the horizon. But there had been something in his eyes tonight. Something that had made her pause.
Not anger. Not resentment.
Loss.
She exhaled, pressing her fingers lightly against the edge of the desk.
The late king had never spoken of his son with warmth. He had mentioned him sparingly, always in calculated words, measured tones.
The last heir of Vareldis. A disappointment. A mistake. A wasted legacy.
Elinore had never thought much of it. The prince had abandoned his throne. What need was there to speak of a man who had already chosen exile?
But now…
Now, she wondered if King Royd had spoken of his son so rarely because it had been easier to pretend he never existed.
A soft knock pulled her from her thoughts.
She straightened. "Enter."
Alec Harland stepped inside, his expression careful, eyes flicking briefly toward the door before settling on her.
"I saw the prince leaving."
She exhaled, moving to pour herself a glass of wine. "He had questions about the king."
Alec remained near the doorway. "And did he find the answers he wanted?"
Elinore took a slow sip before setting the glass down. "No."
"And did you?" The older man studied her carefully.
She hesitated.
That was the problem, wasn't it?
Randall Astor was supposed to be easy to predict. A selfish, reckless man who wanted nothing to do with his birthright. A thorn in her side.
But tonight, she had seen something different. Something she wasn't sure she could ignore.
Elinore turned toward the window, her voice quiet but firm.
"He's not what I expected."
Alec did not reply.
Because he knew her well enough to understand what she truly meant.
Not that Randall was weak. Not that he was incompetent.
But that despite everything, he still had the makings of a king.