Chapter 9- Between Decisions
1282 Words
Snowfall lingered over Avernal for three days after the king’s passing. Thick, silent, and ceaseless—like the sky itself was grieving. Within the palace walls, mourning fabrics hung from every archway, the halls heavy with the scent of burning incense. Bells tolled every six hours, echoing through the mountains until the sound became part of the air.
Prince Delvin moved through it all like a shadow.
He had not slept since the night his father died. His eyes were rimmed in exhaustion, his movements taut with contained violence. The kingdom looked to him now—for orders, for stability, for strength—but inside him something had collapsed.
He buried his father with his own hands.
And yet the grief that tormented him most was not the grief of loss.
It was the grief of being forced to choose between his heart and his kingdom.
---
On the fourth morning, the council convened. Not to comfort him—Delvin never expected comfort—but to discuss the future. The room felt colder than winter as the elders gathered around the stone table, shuffling scrolls, murmuring prayers, avoiding his eyes.
Lord Hadrien, the eldest of the council, cleared his throat.
“Your Majesty—”
Delvin tensed. The title struck him like a blow.
“I am not king,” he said quietly. “Not until the coronation.”
“But you are the only ruler Avernal has now,” Hadrien insisted. “We cannot move forward without your approval.”
Delvin leaned back, crossing his arms. “Then speak.”
The table fell into an uneasy hush. Finally, Lady Mara—sharp-eyed, politically gifted—unrolled a sealed parchment.
“This letter came from Celestia at dawn,” she said.
Delvin’s heart stilled.
“From whom?” he asked.
“From King Alden.”
Delvin swallowed. “What does it say?”
Mara slid the parchment toward him. “A formal acknowledgment of King Raphael’s death… and a reaffirmation of the terms your father accepted.”
His pulse roared like thunder.
“The marriage,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she said softly. “He requests your return for the union as soon as the mourning period ends.”
Delvin’s fingers curled tightly around the scroll.
“He requests,” Delvin repeated. “Or demands?”
“A little of both,” Lord Hadrien admitted. “His message implies that without this bond, the resources granted to Avernal may be… delayed indefinitely.”
Delayed. Meaning withheld.
Meaning Avernal would starve.
The council watched him with quiet expectation, waiting for his response, waiting for him to nod and accept the shackles placed upon him.
But Delvin did not speak.
Because Violet’s face rose before him—her laughter in the gardens, the way she whispered his name, the warmth of her hand against his chest when she told him she wasn’t afraid.
She was waiting for him.
Believing in him.
Trusting him.
He had promised to return.
Now he was expected to destroy her.
---
Later, after the council dispersed, Delvin retreated to his father’s war room—a chamber carved from stone, lined with maps and relics, the walls still bearing the marks of past battles. He closed the heavy door behind him and leaned against it, letting the silence settle.
He dragged in a breath.
Then another.
But each one felt like drowning.
He paced the room slowly, his boots echoing across the floor. Every thought circled the same tormenting truth:
He could save his kingdom… or he could save his heart.
There was no path where he could do both.
He ran a hand through his hair, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. “Violet…” he whispered into the empty room. Her name burned—sweet, dangerous, impossible to forget.
He sank onto his father’s old chair—massive, carved with Avernal’s crest, smelling faintly of cedar. It felt wrong. Too big. Too heavy. He had sat here as a boy, watching his father command armies, resolve disputes, lead with unwavering certainty.
Now Delvin felt like an imposter.
No ruler should be torn in half.
A soft knock broke the silence.
“Enter,” he said, though the word was rough.
Commander Thorian stepped inside. “You haven’t eaten,” he said bluntly.
Delvin didn’t look at him. “I’m not hungry.”
Thorian exhaled through his nose. “This kingdom cannot afford a starving king.”
“I told you—I’m not king.”
“You are,” Thorian said quietly. “Whether you want the title or not.”
Delvin’s eyes flashed. “Tell me—would my father have wanted me to sacrifice someone innocent for the sake of a throne?”
Thorian hesitated. “Raphael wanted you to survive. And he wanted Avernal to survive with you.”
“That is not what I asked.” Delvin’s voice hardened. “Would he want me to destroy a girl who has done nothing wrong?”
Thorian lowered his gaze. “If that girl stands between you and the future of our people… then yes. Your father would expect you to choose Avernal.”
Delvin slammed his fist onto the table, sending maps tumbling. “She is not a bargaining piece!”
Silence crashed between them.
After a moment, Thorian spoke, softer than before.
“Love is a rare thing for men like us, Delvin. But kingdoms… kingdoms must come first.”
Delvin’s throat tightened. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Then why do you hesitate?”
Delvin closed his eyes, fighting a wave of pain. “Because… for the first time in my life… I am afraid.”
Thorian frowned. “Afraid? Of what?”
Delvin opened his eyes. “Of losing her. Of becoming the kind of man who could walk away from her and feel nothing.”
Thorian stepped closer. “You will not feel nothing. You will feel everything. And you will bear it—because that is the burden of the crown.”
The burden.
The chains.
The sacrifice.
“Your father believed you strong enough,” Thorian added gently.
Delvin bowed his head.
Strength.
Duty.
Honor.
The very things he had lived by.
The very things tearing him apart.
---
By dusk, Delvin finally left the war room. He found himself walking toward the west tower—the highest point of the palace. He climbed the spiral stairs slowly, his hand dragging along the cold stone walls.
When he reached the top, night had fallen. The balcony opened to the entire kingdom below—the dark forests, the distant villages, the frozen river reflecting the moon. Avernal looked fragile from here. Beautiful, but fragile.
He rested his hands on the railing.
“How many must suffer because of me?” he whispered.
The wind answered with a low howl.
He closed his eyes.
Violet’s smile flickered in the darkness behind his eyelids. The softness of her voice, the warmth of her touch, the way she looked at him like he was more than a title, more than a symbol.
More than a prince.
She saw the man beneath.
He opened his eyes again.
“I will come back to you,” he murmured into the night. “Even if it destroys me.”
His breath trembled.
“But I must save them first.”
---
Hours stretched. Delvin did not leave the tower until the moon was high. When he finally descended the stairs, his face was set. His steps were steady.
He knew what he had to do.
Not because he wanted to.
Not because it was just.
But because it was the only way.
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