Chapter 126: Fatherly Scolding
Trovald’s office within the palace walls was a room designed for serious conversation. Heavy bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes, parchment, scrolls, and rolled maps. A large oak desk sat in the center, its surface filled with stacks of papers and a writing quill.
It was silent except for the low crackle from the fireplace and the steady ticking of the clock mounted above the shelves.
Trovald stood behind his desk, his large hands planted firmly on the wood. He was not a man who yelled often, but the look on his face was worse than any shout. It was a look of deep, personal disappointment.
His eyes moved slowly from Theron to Lucien to Galen, taking in the damage they had done to each other. They stood in a line in front of Trovald’s desk.
Theron was to the right. He had a split lip and was occasionally dabbing at the bruise on his cheek with one hand. Lucien stood to the left, his arms folded, his posture straight and expression blank. He tried to hold his weight, hiding the sharp pull in his ribs each time he inhaled. Dried blood marked the corner of his mouth. He hadn’t bothered to wipe it clean enough. Galen stood in the middle, slightly apart from the other two. He held himself stiffly, his jaw tight. A vivid patch of red bloomed in the white of his right eye from a burst of blood vessels. The skin beneath it had darkened to a deep purple.
None of them spoke.
"Do you have any idea what this looks like?" Trovald said finally, his voice low. "Grown men behaving like reckless boys."
No one answered. Galen stared at a point on the far wall. Theron looked at the floor. Lucien met Trovald’s gaze for a moment, then looked away.
"I am not just disappointed in the fighting. I am disappointed in the complete lack of sense. Notable men of this kingdom are trading punches in the courtyard like some common soldiers."
Theron’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent. Galen’s fists clenched at his sides. Lucien stared straight ahead.
Trovald exhaled sharply. "Do you have any idea what this looks like? Servants whispering. Guards speculating. If word spreads beyond these walls, do you understand the message it sends?"
Still nothing.
"It tells our enemies we are divided. There are threats out there, real ones that would love nothing more than to see you three divided. It tells them you cannot even stand beside one another without drawing blood. What you men need is stability. You need a united front, not this chaos. The Heiress already has enough to deal with."
Theron swallowed but did not look away. Galen’s breathing grew heavier. Lucien finally shifted slightly, and the movement pulled at his ribs. Pain shot through his side, but his expression did not change.
"None of you can afford to be at each other’s throats over some petty slight."
"We weren’t trying to be petty." Lucien countered.
Trovald’s eyes settled on Lucien. "Well?"
Lucien lifted his chin slightly. "I had no intention of fighting either of them."
Trovald arched a brow.
"I was leaving. That’s all. I don’t understand why this is being turned into something bigger than it is."
"Stop acting like you’re a big shot. You started this whole thing." Theron said.
"Says the one who threw the first punch." Lucien scoffed.
"After you called me a—"
"Enough!" Galen silenced them. "I don’t care who started it. But thanks to you both, I almost went blind today."
Lucien’s voice remained steady. "I do not want conflict. I made that clear. If my presence creates tension, then removing myself should solve the problem."
Trovald fixed his gaze on Lucien for a long, silent moment. The only sound was the pop and hiss of the fire. He studied the young man’s face, the controlled expression that hid his pain, and the tone of his voice.
"You want to leave?" Trovald asked at last.
Lucien met his gaze directly. "Yes."
The hard edge of Trovald’s voice was replaced by something softer and more formal. "You can leave, Lucien, if that’s truly what you want. No one will chain you to the palace walls."
Galen looked sharply at his father. He took a step forward. "Father—"
Trovald’s head snapped towards his son, his eyes flashing with an alarming glare that silenced Galen immediately. Galen stopped in his tracks, his mouth closing into a flat line. Theron’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.
"Listen to me, no one is going to trap you here with duties and obligations. If your mind is made up, it’s made up. But I want you to think about something. Walking away from a problem is one way to handle it. It’s quick and clean, and it gets you out of the immediate fire. I’ve done it myself a time or two when I was younger. But there are other ways. Harder ways but often better in the long run."
Lucien held his gaze. "You’ve got it all wrong. I’m not running. I have a life outside these walls." He countered.
Trovald nodded. "If you say so. But know this, you do not have to like one another. You do not even have to agree. But someday, you will learn to stand beside each other without violence. Because the moment you turn on one another, you weaken everything you claim to protect."
Trovald continued. "There are better ways to handle frustration. Better ways to express doubt. Walking away without speaking breeds suspicion. Silence breeds resentment."
Lucien’s voice dropped slightly. "And what would you have me do?"
"Speak," Trovald answered immediately. "Explain yourself. Clarify your intentions. If you need space, say so. If you feel overwhelmed, say so. But do not vanish and expect the rest to interpret your silence kindly."
Lucien looked away briefly, then back.
"You think leaving solves the problem? It does not. It makes others question your loyalty. It forces them to fill in the blanks."
Before Trovald could say more, the heavy oak door burst open. Aveloria rushed in, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide. She was breathing hard, showing she had run all the way.
All four men turned to look at her. She took in Galen’s swollen eye first. Then the tear in Theron’s lip. Then Lucien’s rigid posture, the pain he tried to hide.
Her jaw dropped. "What the hell happened to all of you?" she demanded.
No one answered immediately.
Trovald straightened up. He gave her a calm, reassuring look. "Your Grace, it’s alright. I’ve handled the situation. It won’t happen again."
Aveloria looked from Trovald to the three battered men, her expression a mixture of confusion, worry, and a flash of something harder to read. She didn’t look convinced.
"Handled? They look like they walked out of a battlefield."
"It will not happen again," Trovald said.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You were fighting?"
Theron’s voice was quiet. "It was nothing."
She looked at him sharply. "Nothing does leave bruises like that." She pointed at Galen’s bloodshot eyes.
"I’ve had worse," Galen muttered.
"Your Grace, you need not worry about anything. It’s settled." Trovald said. "Right?"
The three men all nodded in unison. Aveloria had a thousand questions, but for the moment, she held them back. She walked closer to the men, grabbed Galen’s hand, and dragged him out of the room.
"You’re hurt," she said quietly.
"I am not," he replied.
She held his eyes for a long moment, clearly not believing him.
"I heard what happened. You should be more careful when trying to be a peacemaker."
Galen laughed. Aveloria stopped on track and looked at him squarely.
"Is it funny? Am I a Joker? Look at your eye! And you say it’s nothing."
Galen sighed and stepped closer. "I’m fine. I just did what had to be done." He pulled her in for a warm embrace. He continued. "The physician said I was lucky and would heal up in a week."
Aveloria pulled away. "Alright. I’m just worried."
"I’m good." Galen locked their hands, and they resumed walking.
