The Fallen Princess

Twenty Six & One Half

“What is it this time, Father?” Callen muttered, already exhausted by yet another summons. His irritation faltered, however, when his gaze landed on the man lounging lazily in one of the upholstered chairs; The air in the office shifted, quiet and heavy, like still water concealing a lurking current.

An elf draped in cascading green silks, posture deceptively relaxed, his expression sharp as a drawn blade. Lord River. Callen braced himself. “Come in,” the king said stiffly. “And shut the door.”

Callen obeyed, though every muscle in his body resisted. He lowered himself into the leather seat opposite the king, who folded his hands atop his desk with exaggerated patience; an attempt to appear regal, composed, unbothered before his esteemed guest.

“Where is the princess?” The king asked. “At the temple, as I’ve told you before...” Callen answered smoothly, crossing one leg over the other. “She’s due to return tomorrow afternoon.”

A lie. A deliberate one.

He’d grown accustomed to their routine; Zaria walking sunlit temple corridors beside her brother, speaking softly to the priests, helping with offerings, blending into peaceful spaces far from court politics. And at night… she belonged to him alone. Whether tracing the moonlit gardens, hands intertwined, or beneath him in the darkness where she whispered his name like a prayer.

He had bought her new clothes solely to hide the love marks he left on her skin, marks he had kissed until she trembled. Unfortunately, her brother had become increasingly inconvenient about it.

“Callen!” his father snapped. “Yes, Father?” Callen replied dryly. “Lord River has requested the princess’s belongings be moved to his chamber for the remainder of his stay.” The words sliced through the air like a sudden gale. Callen’s head snapped toward River.

The elf smiled... too serenely, too knowingly. “She will remain in my care until they depart,” Callen said sharply. River’s smirk stretched, pleasant yet predatory. “You’re sleeping with my wife.” A cold ripple moved through the room. Even the torches seemed to flicker.

“Is that true?” the king demanded, though his tone revealed he already knew the answer. “She is not your wife,” Callen replied icily. “And such arrangements,” he added with a pointed lift of his brow, “are hardly uncommon.”

“You are correct,” River agreed, folding one leg over the other with languid confidence. “She is not my wife... yet.” His gaze settled on Callen, dark eyes swirling with a strange, murky depth like silt stirring beneath troubled river water.

“But I request you end whatever… personal arrangement you share with her after today.”

Callen inhaled slowly. Deeply. Deliberately. Containing the instinct to let his cobalt blue flames devour the entire room.

“Lord River,” Callen said, controlling every syllable, “we do not wish a rift between our kingdoms. Allow me to return the bride price. Twice its amount, if that is what you require. We will void the proposal entirely.”

The king’s jaw tightened but he said nothing, unwilling to embarrass himself before his guest.

River brushed a nonexistent speck from his sleeve, thoughtful. “Keep the bride price,” River said at last, flicking a glance toward the king. “I am certain she is worth far more than what I paid.”

Callen’s hands curled into fists. Desperation pressed hard into his chest. “She is with child,” he said suddenly. The lie left his tongue with perfect calm, though his heart lurched violently. “My child.”

River stilled. The king’s head turned slowly toward Callen. “It’s far too early to tell,” he said, waving a hand dismissively at his son. “A healer will know. Bring the witch from the central-”

“No need,” River interrupted gently. “If she is with child, it will be my child, regardless of who fathered it.”

Callen’s pulse thundered. River rose in one fluid motion, smoothing the silks over his long frame. “If you were to claim the child,” he continued pleasantly, “it would be a bastard. Looked down upon by nobles… and certainly by your intended bride.”

Callen’s jaw locked. “He is engaged,” the king supplied unnecessarily. “It is settled then,” River said, inclining his head. “Worry not, Your Highness. I swear your wife’s child will be raised with the same care as my own.”

He bowed with elegant ease toward Callen. A gesture polite in form, cruel in meaning. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must prepare a space for the princess.” He turned.

“Five times the bride price,” Callen said suddenly. River paused at the door, but he did not turn. “I’m sorry. I will not accept.” The king leaned forward as if eager to smooth the matter. “Forgive my son’s insolence, Lord River.”

“Not at all,” River said with a warm smile. “I understand his unrest.” Then he slipped out, the door clicking softly behind him. Silence smothered the room. Callen stared at the empty doorway, something inside him fracturing under the weight of inevitability.

“Father…” His voice cracked. He had never pleaded with the man before, not once in his life. “Please.” The king sighed heavily, but not sympathetically. “Callen, I can see you care for the girl. But that is precisely why you must let her go.”

The words struck deeper than any blade. “Love as they call it,” the king continued, “is a weakness.” “It’s not a weakness,” Callen growled, voice raw. “It isn’t real, son. The sooner you accept that, the better.”

Callen pressed a shaking hand over his mouth. “What about my child?” “All the more reason she should wed Lord River,” the king said calmly. “You are engaged to Juliana. A bastard would complicate matters. I will not allow you to break that engagement.”

Heat surged through Callen’s veins, violent and consuming. “I will marry her! I will marry Juliana tomorrow if you wish!” Callen roared. “Just undo what you have done!” His palms slammed down onto the desk.

Blue fire erupted violently. Racing through polished wood, devouring everything in a crackling burst of heat and magic. The entire surface dissolved into ash.

The king stumbled backward, eyes wide. “Are you trying to kill your own father?!” Callen smiled... a sharp, broken thing and flames coiled around his fingers. “What use do I have for a repulsive man like you?”

“GUARDS!” the king bellowed. A dozen armored knights stormed in, forming a defensive wall between father and son. Before swords could be drawn, a familiar voice cut through the chaos.

“Callen!” The queen rushed into the room, skirts sweeping across the scorched floor. She froze at the sight of the obliterated desk, then lifted her gaze to Callen’s trembling form. “It’s alright,” she whispered soothingly. “It’s alright…”

“Don’t touch me, Mother,” Callen warned, voice frayed. “I can’t control it right now.” “I know,” she murmured, extending a hand without touching him guiding him gently from the room with slow, patient steps, like leading a wounded animal back into its den.

“Come with me, my love.” Callen allowed her to steer him away, but his eyes, darkened with grief, fury, and something dangerously close to despair, never left the spot where Lord River had stood moments before.

He had lost ground. He had lost time. And the noose around Zaria tightened with every passing breath. He would not lose her. He couldn’t. Not now. Not ever.