It was the fourth day of the tournament when Kelen went to see Princess Belara.

  According to the schedule she’d set, today was reserved for a private talk between them.

  This meeting wasn’t an official trial of the tournament, but every prince had expected it. They weren’t only fighting for Tal Namaréa—they were fighting for her heart, which meant dancing to the princess’s tune for a while.

  He reached her chambers, heart quickening as he lifted his hand and knocked.

  “Come in,” came her voice.

  The prince stepped inside. Belara was just coming in from the balcony. She gestured for him to sit and took the chair across from him.

  Compared to her tense meeting with Prince Malgorn, Belara seemed far calmer now. Malgorn had unsettled her; she’d feared what she might learn from him.

  Kelen, by contrast, had so far been a perfectly ordinary young man, only a few months older than she was.At least he doesn’t look like he harbors any dark appetites,she thought.

  They sat in silence, watching each other. The princess’s lips curved in a faint smile.

  “What’s your worst nightmare, Prince Kelen?”

  Kelen didn’t answer. He seemed to weigh whether to speak at all. Seconds stretched into a long hush. Belara waited, patient and still, sensing he needed time to gather his thoughts—and his courage. She knew that once he began, the words would come.

  Three quiet minutes passed before Kelen cleared his throat, wiped a trace of sweat from his brow, and lowered his gaze.

  “I’m not sure I have a single worst nightmare. I sleep soundly, rarely dream. But there’s a fear that never leaves me. Should I talk about that instead?”

  “You can,” she said gently. “If something haunts you, tell me. We don’t have to speak only of dreams.”

  “It’s about my father, Tolvar the First—king of Terres. You’ve heard, I’m sure, that his mind is… not what it once was. He used to be a great king. Wise, just. He loved his people—and I loved him, the way a son loves a father. Then something broke. His orders stopped making sense. His judgments turned cruel, erratic. That wasn’t my father anymore. His face stayed the same, but inside… he was someone else. And a king’s word is law.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Kelen exhaled, pausing.

  “After a while, he’d return to himself. For a time he’d be that brilliant king again. But the madness always came back—at first only briefly, then longer each time. Now it’s reversed: the madness is his normal state. The moments of clarity, the flashes of the man he once was, are rare and fleeting.”

  “That’s the court of Terres today,” he said quietly. “The last few years have been… hard.”

  He hesitated, then added, “My nightmare is that the same sickness will take root in me. I am my father’s son.”

  “I fear the day the first fit comes,” he continued, voice low. “That I’ll turn unpredictable, hurt those around me—my people, my family. The thought of not even knowing my own children…” His voice caught. Belara saw how close he was to tears.

  She reached for his hand and held it. His fingers trembled against hers, pain and yearning mixing in the small, wordless space between them. The tremor spread to her, until she couldn’t tell where pity ended and something deeper began.

  “Kelen,” she said softly, waiting until he looked into her eyes, “that fear is not your fate.”

  He met her gaze, trying for a smile that came out fragile but real.

  “Sometimes a chill runs through me for no reason. In those moments I’m terrified—like it’s already reaching for me. I’m still so young. I don’t want to lose my mind so soon.”

  “Then stay strong. Keep your power inside you. You are not your father.”

  “What if the fits come early?”

  “They won’t reach you. You are Prince Kelen, third of your name, heir to a proud line. When you are king, they will speak of the King of Reason, not a king of madness.”

  “Thank you,” he murmured.

  Belara still held his hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of it. Almost without realizing, he let his lips drift higher, to the soft skin above her wrist. A spark raced through him, his heart pounding. He longed to go further, but didn’t dare.

  The air thickened. Time slowed. Her scent, her nearness, the rush in his temples—everything narrowed to the point of their touch.

  Belara noticed. The corner of her mouth tilted in a teasing smile.

  “You’re growing bold, Prince. A moment ago you were the picture of restraint. Now you’re reaching higher.”

  Kelen flushed but didn’t let go. “I hope I haven’t offended you. I didn’t mean to cross a line.”

  “You didn’t,” she said with a soft smile. “You only surprised me.”

  “Pleasantly?” he asked, after a brief pause.

  This time she held his gaze. After a beat she nodded. “Yes. Pleasantly.” A glint of mischief lit her eyes. “Should I expect you to keep climbing?”

  Now it was his turn to shiver. He searched for words and finally said, “I’d like to. You’re like a mountain whose summit I long to touch.”

  Belara’s fingers toyed nervously with the fabric of her dress, her eyes bright with curiosity.

  She glanced around to be sure they were truly alone, then whispered, “Would you like to show me just how high you intend to climb, Prince Kelen?”

  He leaned closer, took her by the elbows, and brushed her lips with his.

  It wasn’t quite a kiss, more a fleeting touch, and then they parted.

  They stared at each other in silence until Kelen smiled wryly.

  “I think I’ve answered your question, Princess.”

  Belara held his gaze, her voice calm but warm.

  “Yes, Prince. This meeting has been… delightful. I’ve learned more about you than I expected—and some of it was a very pleasant surprise.”

  She paused, her lips curving in the faintest smile, and added in a near-whisper, as if sharing a secret:

  “And I look forward to seeing you again… when you try to climb a little higher on that mountain of yours.”