Chapter 470 Mere excuses
Despite all that had happened recently, the grand castle stood as a formidable symbol of power and history. Its stone walls echoed with tales of love, betrayal, and duty, and within those ancient walls, a family's legacy unraveled amidst a tumultuous struggle for the throne.
Prince Harold's heart weighed heavy with the burden of his father's choices as he cautiously approached the King's chamber. The air inside was thick with the scent of aged wood and flickering candles, casting a warm and somber glow. It wasn't as if the room had once been filled with laughter and counsel, but it felt even stranger now, unlike the previous times he had been here. It seemed to carry an air of melancholy.
As Harold stepped inside, his eyes fell upon the sight of his father lying on the opulent bed, his once-mighty frame now frail and vulnerable. The King's face bore the marks of time, etched with lines of experience, but it was evident that illness had taken its toll.
"Father," Harold's voice trembled with emotion, "open your eyes."
His voice came out as an order.
The King stirred from his slumber, his eyes fluttering open to meet his son's gaze. "Harold," he said weakly, a hint of regret in his weary voice.
Harold looked down at his father with disappointment etched on his face. "Is this what you truly wanted, Father?" he asked, trying to hold back the rising tide of frustration. "To see chaos and suffering consume the palace and our people?"
The King's long stare remained on his face before he dragged himself to sit up on the bed to look at his son's disappointed face.
King Eli's response was tinged with an air of indifference, as if he had long relinquished his hold on the kingdom's fate. As expected of him.
"You could have left when I asked you to," he murmured.
Harold's heart ached at his father's nonchalance. "Your indifference costs lives!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with sorrow. "Lives that could have been spared if you had taken your duty seriously. If you had just continued to be a King and not chosen to give up now!"
But then, in a moment of vulnerability, the King confessed a secret that had weighed heavily on his soul. "I loved your mother deeply, Harold," he whispered, his eyes clouded with sorrow. "You should understand how I feel—"
"THAT HAS NOTHING—"
"When she passed, a part of me died with her." Eli interrupted his snap. "I've been holding on, but now... now I long to rest."
Harold's anger momentarily wavered, replaced by a flood of empathy for the man who had been his father. He had never understood the depth of his father's pain and heartache until recently. Until he had someone he loved dearly and did not want to imagine life without her.
But even with that, many lives were at stake. And all this would have long been avoided, especially since he could swear his father knew most of what had happened even in secret.
So Harold could not let him off the hook that easily. "Those are mere excuses," he retorted, his voice resolute. "You must take care of the kingdom. And you should say goodbye to your lady wife before she leaves."
The King's eyes seemed to harden as he looked back at his son.
"I have my own matters to attend to, Father. And I won't hold onto the throne for you any longer."
A sad smile graced the King's lips as he seemed to drift back into his memories. "Can you see it now, Harold?" he mused.
See what?
"The emptiness, the loneliness, the weariness that comes with the throne?"
Harold's heart was twisted with conflict. This whole thing was difficult for him. Especially since he could not pretend like he wasn't aware.
He simply turned away from his father, silently acknowledging the painful truth that lay between them.
Without another word, Harold left the chamber, the heavy door closing softly behind him. As he walked away, his mind was a whirlwind of emotions, grappling with the weight of his father's mistakes and the responsibility that now rested on his shoulders.
After a long period of seclusion, the King finally stepped out of his chamber, much to the surprise of everyone. With so many people currently leaving the palace, more people bumped into him and bowed, but there was no denying that the respect and adoration they had for him had dwindled significantly.
The king didn't mind. He looked even more sickly than before, but it was evident that his affliction was not merely physical; it was a deep and haunting torment of the soul.
His steps led him to the repentance room, where Queen Arya, his estranged wife, knelt in prayer, preparing herself for the painful journey of exile. As she heard the soft creaking of the door, she turned, and her eyes met the once-familiar gaze of her husband.
The sight of him, so changed from the strong and commanding man she had once known, struck Arya to the core. Her heart ached with regret and longing as she fell to her knees before him, tears streaming down her face. "Please, My Lord," she pleaded, her voice breaking, "forgive me. Do not believe the lies they spread about me. I never meant to betray you."
But instead of offering forgiveness, the King looked down at her with a mixture of sorrow and coldness. "Did you truly believe that you would remain on your high horse forever, Arya?" he questioned, his voice distant and filled with disappointment.
Her heart sank at his words, and she clung to the hope that her husband would see the truth in her eyes. "I loved you, My King," she said, her voice quivering with emotion. "And my father... he helped your reign run smoothly. My family has always been there for this kingdom. I am sorry. Do not let the son of a slave do this to us. The Moon Kingdom will be mocked forever!
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