Behind The King

Chapter 3 - The Interview

Dani tapped the small voice recorder she had placed neatly on the conference table. The little red light blinked steadily, a pulse of red against the glass surface, like a tiny heartbeat in the quiet, air-conditioned room.

She swallowed, pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth to steady her nerves, forcing herself to breathe evenly, though her chest still felt tight. She had rehearsed this moment in her head a dozen times—how to sit, how to start, how to sound confident even when she didn’t feel it. Her pen hovered over her notebook, ready to scratch down every important word, though she already knew the recorder would capture what ink could not: the cadence, the pauses, the subtle inflections.

For some reason, that blinking light gave her a sense of control, as if she had finally locked the moment into something she could hold on to.

She leaned forward and murmured, almost whispering into the device, “This is Danny Evans, interviewing Adrian King, Day One.”

The sound of her own voice felt small, swallowed by the vastness of the oak-paneled conference room.

Across from her, at the head of the table, the man shifted slightly, scratching his scalp with a casualness that somehow looked deliberate. His hair was combed to perfection, his suit crisp, every detail about him arranged like a portrait come alive. His movements seemed to say: nothing here is accidental. This was Adrian King, the public face of the empire, heir to the King legacy.

Dani’s throat tightened again.

She adjusted her notebook and forced her voice to steady, though she still heard the faint tremor in her own words. “So, Mr. Adrian… what was it like growing up with Alstair King as a father, and Natasha King as a mother? I’m sure it must have been… something.”

Her eyes flickered down at the page. The questions the board had drafted for her sat in neat, soulless lines—sanitized, approved, and utterly lifeless. They sounded press-ready, which meant they weren’t really hers. She already wondered if it was too early to abandon them.

Adrian didn’t seem to mind. He offered her a small, composed smile, the kind that looked made for cameras. His voice was calm, each syllable polished. “There isn’t much to tell, actually. I was… privileged. Growing up, my father made it clear I wasn’t like other children, so I wasn’t treated as such. I had a legacy to protect, and a standard to uphold. My father was hard on me, yes, but now I know it was all for the best.”

His gaze flickered, briefly softened. “My mother, on the other hand… she has always been a very loving woman. Gentle. Supportive. When I was down, she baked me cookies. When I was sick, she stayed by my side instead of sending the help. I love them both very much, and I am… grateful for my childhood.”

Dani scribbled, her pen making quick, jagged lines, though in her mind she was already sighing. It was perfect. Too perfect. Each sentence felt rehearsed, the kind of response meant to look wholesome in a magazine spread or a primetime interview.

She knew she should nod and move on to the next question. Instead, she let the silence stretch, hoping maybe the stillness would peel back the surface. But Adrienne only folded his hands neatly on the table, as if waiting for her cue to continue his performance.

Danny cleared her throat. “And… outside of your parents? Did you have friends, a normal childhood?”

A flicker—barely there—passed across his expression. But then he smiled again, smooth as glass. “Friends, yes. As normal as it could be. But then again, I wasn’t like other children. That was always clear.”

Her pen hovered. Not like other children. She wanted to press, but the weight of the board’s draft questions sat heavy in her notebook. If she veered too far, someone would notice.

So she smiled politely, swallowing her curiosity, and asked the next approved question.

The interview went on like that, a polite back-and-forth. His answers were careful, gleaming, curated. She filled her notebook, though she knew she hadn’t written down a truth, not really—only a version of it.

By the time she clicked the recorder off, the little red heartbeat stilled. Adrienne stood, shook her hand with perfect civility, and walked out, his gait as composed as the rest of him.

Dani lingered for a moment in the empty conference room, staring at the spot where he had sat. Her fingers traced absent patterns on her notebook’s margin. Something about the whole exchange sat wrong in her stomach. Like watching a play where every actor hit their mark but no one actually believed the lines.

She gathered her things, slipping the recorder into her bag, and stepped out into the hallway.

The corridor was quieter than she expected. Dimmer too, with soft lighting that stretched shadows along the marble floor. She moved slowly, her mind still chewing on the interview, when movement caught her eye near the far end of the hall.

A figure.

Dani blinked, her steps faltering.

It was him. Adrian, though she didn’t yet know to call him that. But this wasn’t the polished man who had just shaken her hand across the table.

This man sat in a wheelchair.

He wasn’t dressed in a suit, just a simple gray shirt and dark trousers. His hair was tousled, imperfect. His body leaned slightly, not with staged elegance but with the weight of reality. Yet his face—his face was undeniably the same.

He looked up at her. And then he smiled.

It wasn’t the camera smile. It wasn’t polished or deliberate. It was small, almost shy, but startlingly genuine.

Dani froze, her notebook clutched to her chest, her thoughts scattering. The echo of the interview still buzzed in her ears, but it was dissolving, unraveling in front of her like smoke.

This—this was real.

And she didn’t even know what to say.