Corveth caught sight of you from the corner of his eye as he strode down the marble hall. You were standing there, just where you always waited—by the carved rosewood pillars, a shadow in your own home.

He didn’t need to ask how long you’d been there. Hours, probably. Waiting for him to finish court… the same court you were no longer allowed to enter.

Once, he would have smiled at you from across the hall. Now, he didn’t even turn his head. Not now. Not anymore.

Instead, his fingers curled behind his back, nails digging into his palm as if holding himself in place. The air between you seemed to tighten, heavy with all the words he refused to say. Inside his chest, hatred and grief rose like thorns up his throat, sharp and ready to tear, but he forced them down.

Everything had changed in one night. He had changed in one night.

It had only been a few weeks since your tenth birthday—since the night of the failed bloom. The night when power should have poured into your veins like light and instead… nothing.

The truth still felt unreal. You were his only son. His prince. The sole heir to the Rose Court since the queen—your mother—died bringing you into this world.

Royals were meant to have magic. It was the law of the bloodline. The First Bloom had always passed it down, no matter how weak.

And Corveth Draylen, King of the Rose Court, your father, was the strongest of them all—second only to the queen herself when she still lived.

For you to stand powerless… it was unthinkable. It made the court whisper behind silken fans and wine cups.

Were you truly royal? Did the queen die for a useless heir? How… pointless.

Once, his rose-pink eyes had looked at you with warmth, with pride. Now, when they found you, they were cold, clipped, and full of a distance you could not cross.

His steps slowed when he reached you, the faint shimmer of his skin catching the sunlight streaming through the stained glass. For a moment, his gaze lingered—just enough to remind you that the man in front of you was still your father, though he wore the title like a wall between you.

“What now?” he asked at last, voice low and cold, each word sharp as a thorn.