Chapter 56: Chapter 56: Believe or not
Carlton marches through the gilded palace halls with the determination of a general leading troops to battle, except his army consists of seven royal offspring plus one honorary member—Kilian, his pint-sized fanboy who might someday legally join the family tree. His stride remains regal despite the lingering soreness in places that would make lesser men wince with each step.
The sound of eight pairs of tiny footsteps creates a chaotic percussion behind him as they struggle to keep pace with his furious march. Every servant they pass flattens against the wall, wide-eyed at the sight of this impromptu royal procession led by a clearly incensed Empress.
As they round the corner leading to the council chambers, Carlton spots two familiar figures ahead—one tall and broad-shouldered, the other slighter but equally recognizable even from behind. What perfect timing! The very subjects of their earlier conversation, apparently done with their extended bedroom Olympics and finally rejoining the land of the vertical.
"Rowan... Kastiel... you guys have apparently finished your... ’disease healing’ activities..."
Carlton calls out, his voice dripping with such exquisite sarcasm that it practically leaves frost patterns on the marble floor. The children exchange confused glances, completely missing the adult subtext floating over their heads.
Both men freeze mid-step as if struck by lightning. When they turn, the contrast between them is comical—Rowan looks like he’s been through a war, dark circles under his eyes and a certain haggard exhaustion to his movements, while Kastiel practically radiates a post-coital glow that could illuminate the castle during a power outage.
Their expressions morph from surprise to horror as they realize Carlton isn’t alone but accompanied by a small army of impressionable young ears.
"Your Majesty the Empress," Rowan manages, his voice cracking slightly as he pointedly avoids acknowledging Carlton’s comment. "Do you want to go to the meeting room... with the royal kids...?"
His desperate attempt to change the subject is transparent, his brain clearly still traumatized from three days ago when his innocent son Kilian had casually spouted vocabulary that would make a seasoned sailor blush—all regarding his parents’ bedroom activities. The memory alone makes Rowan’s left eye twitch noticeably.
Kastiel’s body language broadcasts internal conflict like a town crier with a megaphone—shoulders hunched defensively, weight shifting from foot to foot as if the marble floor has suddenly become a bed of hot coals. His mind was a battlefield. On one side, fear of Carlton’s wrath for past misunderstandings raged like a wildfire. On the other, reality: Carlton was the Empress, and running away wasn’t exactly an option.
But there was something different about Carlton lately — a palpable annoyance radiating from him that seemed more exasperated than outright hostile (because everything involving Rowan and Kastiel somehow veered into uncomfortably explicit territory).
"That’s right, Your Majesty..." Kastiel begins, his voice pitched slightly higher than normal. "We just finished the, ah, healing session an hour ago..." He clears his throat delicately, a flush creeping up his neck. "And now we’re heading to the meeting room to wait for His Majesty the Emperor because Rowan still has some matters to discuss with—"
Suddenly, as if struck by invisible lightning, Kastiel’s eyes widen in horror at his own words. His arms windmill in frantic denial, head whipping back and forth with such force that a nearby servant worries for his cervical health.
"Of course it’s NOT because I still harbor feelings for His Majesty the Emperor!!!" he practically shrieks, lunging sideways to latch onto Rowan’s arm with such desperate force that Rowan nearly topples sideways. "I’m merely accompanying Rowan as his devoted spouse!!!"
The children observe this meltdown with fascination, heads swiveling between the adults like spectators at a particularly entertaining tennis match. Nikolai’s jaw hangs open, while Helena whispers something to Austin that makes him snort and quickly cover it with a cough.
"Ah, and of course what I’m doing is not a fraudulent drama to hide my true feelings!" Kastiel adds unprompted, his voice rising to a pitch that makes the palace dogs start howling in distant courtyards.
As if the universe itself is determined to maximize his humiliation, the small ornate pouch tucked in Kastiel’s pocket chooses this precise moment to slip free and tumble to the floor. He dives for it with the desperate intensity of someone lunging for a live grenade, nearly knocking heads with a startled Cristina in the process.
"I didn’t pick this up because I wanted to hide my feelings for His Majesty the Emperor!" Kastiel blurts out, clutching the pouch to his chest while his face achieves a shade of paleness previously unknown to human biology.
"I—" Carlton attempts to interject, his expression shifting from annoyance to bewildered concern as he watches Kastiel’s spectacular self-sabotage unfold like a slow-motion carriage wreck.
Kastiel’s panic had evolved from a small snowball into a full-blown avalanche, burying everyone in its path with increasingly bizarre protestations. His eyes darted wildly like a cornered animal’s while sweat beaded at his temples, each word digging his grave deeper with the precision of a master excavator.
"Rowan also didn’t take a step forward because he wanted to help hide my feelings!!!"
Rowan, who had indeed just shifted his weight forward in a desperate attempt to intervene before his husband spontaneously combusted from stress, froze mid-motion. His face transformed into a masterpiece of confusion—eyes widening to saucer proportions, mouth hanging slightly open, brows furrowed so deeply they nearly touched. The silence that followed was so profound that everyone could hear the distant sound of a fly buzzing in another wing of the palace.
"............?"
The question marks were practically visible above Rowan’s head.
Kilian, adorable and inquisitive as ever, released his grip on Malcolm’s hand and waddled forward, his tiny features scrunched in earnest confusion. "Daddy, what are you doing?" His voice carried that perfect blend of childhood innocence and accusatory judgment that only a six-year-old could master.
"Kilian didn’t speak and walk over to help me change the subject!" Kastiel blurted, somehow managing to drag his completely uninvolved child into his web of nonsensical denials.
The little boy halted mid-step as if he’d hit an invisible wall, his mouth forming a perfect ’O’ of confusion. The cognitive dissonance of being told he wasn’t doing exactly what he was doing caused his small brain to temporarily short-circuit. After a moment of contemplation that involved several dramatic blinks and a head tilt, Kilian pivoted on his heel with military precision and retreated to Rowan’s side.
Seeking safety from the storm of his other father’s meltdown, he wrapped his arms around Rowan’s leg like a koala clinging to its favorite eucalyptus tree. "Father," he stage-whispered loud enough for everyone in a three-kilometer radius to hear, "has Daddy ever hidden anything from His Majesty the Empress?"
Rowan lifted his son with the careful movements of someone handling nitroglycerin, nodding silently before Kilian could launch into another round of interrogation about daddy’s secret old crush for everyone within earshot. The weight of Kilian in his arms seemed to be the only thing anchoring him to reality as Kastiel’s breakdown reached new, unprecedented heights.
But just as he thought things couldn’t get any weirder...
"That maid sneezed not because I told her to because I still have feelings for His Majesty!"
Every head swiveled in unison toward the unfortunate maid positioned down the corridor. The poor woman froze mid-dusting motion, dust cloth suspended in air, as she found herself unwittingly cast in this royal psychodrama. Her chest stopped moving altogether as she apparently decided that breathing itself was too risky an action – for fear it would be misinterpreted as another sign of Kastiel’s supposed affections. Her wide eyes darted between the nobles with the terrified expression of someone mentally calculating how quickly she could pack her belongings and flee the kingdom before sundown.
"And that royal guard! He—"
Kastiel’s accusatory finger swings wildly through the air like a compass needle gone haywire, landing on a completely uninvolved royal guard standing stoically at his post. The guard’s eyes widen to saucer proportions as he’s suddenly thrust into whatever unhinged romantic confession-denial was unfolding before him. Despite having done absolutely nothing except exist in his assigned corridor, he finds himself an unwilling supporting character in this royal melodrama.
The guard’s chest freezes mid-inhale, his face turning an alarming shade of purple as he commits fully to becoming furniture. His expression screams internal existential crisis—somewhere between "this wasn’t in my job description" and "I hope my family remembers me fondly after I expire from oxygen deprivation."
The royal children watch in fascination as another adult mysteriously stops breathing. Malcolm nudges Helena and whispers, "Is Uncle Kastiel practicing to be the villain in next month’s palace theatrical?"
Between the petrified maid and the guard cosplaying as a statue, the palace corridor has become a tableau of frozen terror. If medieval China’s hopping vampires had suddenly appeared, they would have passed right by, completely fooled by this masterclass in collective breath-holding.
Carlton pinches the bridge of his nose so hard he nearly leaves an indentation. The migraine brewing behind his temples pulses with each of Kastiel’s increasingly deranged protestations. With the weary resignation of a parent ending a child’s public tantrum, he raises his hand in a universal "stop" gesture that cuts through the absurdity like a hot knife through butter.
"Alright, Kastiel," he sighs, the sound carrying the weight of a thousand royal frustrations. "I totally understand that you don’t like Alaric at all... you now only love Rowan, which is obviously why you two are attempting to populate a small village with your offspring... I understand completely, so you don’t have to say anything else..."
The corridor falls into blessed silence. The maid and guard cautiously resume breathing, their synchronized inhales sounding like twin bellows being pumped.
Kastiel’s mouth hangs open, his expression morphing into one of utter bewilderment—as if Carlton believing him is somehow more shocking than all his frantic denials. His eyes dart between Rowan and the children, seeking guidance now that his panic spiral has been interrupted by actual acceptance.
A vein pulses visibly at Carlton’s temple as he observes Kastiel’s reaction.
Do you really want me to believe you or not?!!! First you perform this entire one-man theater production insisting you don’t harbor feelings for my husband, and now you look DISAPPOINTED that I agree??!! Make up your mind!!!
