THE ABANDONED PRINCE

chapter 28: the Prince in denial

The night after the battle was thick with silence. Smoke drifted from smoldering fires, the stench of blood clung to the air, and the villagers huddled close, whispering as if the truth itself might summon more enemies.

But Cael could not sleep.

He sat apart from the others, his sword resting across his knees, his eyes fixed on the earth as though it might give him answers. The words of Captain Dorian still echoed in his mind: “You are Cael Theonson. The lost prince of Elandor.”

Prince.

The word felt like a stranger’s cloak, heavy, suffocating, unfit for his shoulders.

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The Knights’ Vigil

Near the edge of the firelight, the five knights of Elandor stood watch. Though they had fought like lions that day, their attention now was fixed not on threats from the forest, but on Cael.

Aldric spoke first, his voice a low rumble. “He has the mark. No one can deny it. By the gods, after all these years… we’ve found him.”

Elias, ever the youngest and most restless, paced in excitement. “Do you understand what this means? The king’s grief—his searching, his prayers—all answered! The kingdom will rejoice when he is returned!”

But Serenya’s voice cut sharp and cold. “If he returns.”

They all looked at her. Her hood was still drawn, shadows cloaking her face.

“He does not yet believe,” she said simply. “And belief is the first battle.”

Dorian said nothing, his eyes fixed on the boy who sat apart. He could see the turmoil in Cael’s shoulders, the way his hands tightened on the hilt of his sword. The boy fought not against enemies now, but against truth itself.

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Mira’s Concern

Mira approached Cael cautiously, carrying a blanket. She laid it beside him, though she knew he would not use it.

“You should rest,” she said softly.

Cael gave a hollow laugh. “Rest? After all that? After… what they said?”

Mira’s heart ached at the despair in his voice. “Cael, you’ve always been different. Stronger. Braver. You’ve led this village when others faltered. Perhaps this explains why.”

His head snapped up, his eyes flashing with something between anger and fear. “No. Don’t say that. I’m not… I can’t be…”

He trailed off, trembling.

Mira reached for his hand, but he pulled away, staring at the ground.

“I’m just Cael,” he whispered. “Just Cael.”

But the words sounded like a lie even to his own ears.

---

The Knights Approach

At last, Dorian stepped forward. His armor glinted faintly in the firelight, though he had shed his helm.

“My lord,” he began.

“Don’t call me that,” Cael snapped, his voice sharper than intended. “I’m not your lord.”

Dorian’s gaze did not waver. “You bear the stag-mark. That is proof enough. You are the blood of King Theon. The true heir of Elandor.”

Cael rose to his feet, his sword still clutched in hand. “Proof? You think a mark is proof? Marks can be faked. Stories can be twisted. I’ve lived here all my life—these people are my family. Not some king I’ve never met, not some throne I never wanted.”

Aldric stepped forward, kneeling. “Forgive me, my prince, but the truth cannot be denied. I was there the night you vanished. I saw the king’s grief. He never stopped searching for you.”

“Stop!” Cael shouted, his voice breaking. “Stop calling me that!”

The villagers stirred at the outburst. Rowan, who had stood nearby, placed a hand on Cael’s shoulder. “Easy, lad. You’ll wake the whole camp.”

But Cael shook him off, eyes wild. “Don’t you see? If they’re right, then everything I’ve known is a lie. My life… my name… all of it stolen from me!”

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The Clash of Truths

Dorian’s voice softened, but it carried the weight of steel. “I know it is much to bear. But you cannot turn from what you are. Your blood calls to you. The kingdom needs you.”

Cael glared at him. “The kingdom? Where was this kingdom when my village starved? When the Ravens raided us year after year? If I am a prince, then why did no one come for me?”

The words struck deep, and even the knights could not answer at once.

It was Serenya who finally spoke. Her voice was quiet, but it cut like a blade.

“Because you were hidden. Because those who betrayed you wanted you dead. To reveal you before the time was right would have been your death—and the kingdom’s doom.”

Cael turned on her, trembling with fury. “So I was left here to rot? To grow up without knowing who I was?”

Her hood shifted, and though her face remained shadowed, her tone carried a strange sorrow. “Better a living prince in hiding than a dead one on a gilded bier.”

For a long moment, no one spoke.

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Mira’s Plea

Mira stepped forward again, her eyes glistening. “Cael, listen to them. You’ve always felt the weight of something greater. You dream of stags, of battles, of destinies. Do you really believe those dreams mean nothing?”

Cael faltered, his breath ragged. He remembered the stag of light, the voice in his dreams. He remembered the way his mark had burned when the Ravens attacked.

But still he shook his head, desperate. “Dreams are just dreams.”

Mira’s voice softened. “No. They are whispers of who you are.”

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The Prince’s Refusal

The knights waited for his answer. But when Cael finally spoke, his words were firm, though his voice trembled.

“No. I won’t accept it. Maybe I bear your mark. Maybe I fight like your king. But I’m not your prince. I never asked for this. And I never will.”

He turned his back on them, walking into the shadows of the village.

Dorian made a move as if to follow, but Rowan blocked his path. The hunter’s face was hard. “Leave him. He’s just a boy, not some pawn in your king’s game.”

Dorian met his eyes, a storm brewing in his own. But at last he stepped back, nodding.

“Very well. For tonight.”

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Malrik’s Wrath

Far to the north, in the black fortress of Kaelthar, Malrik raged.

The chamber trembled as he hurled a goblet across the hall, shattering it against stone. The Ravens who had returned knelt before him, trembling.

“You failed me,” Malrik hissed, his voice low, dangerous. “You let him live.”

One Raven dared to speak. “We did not know, master. The knights of Elandor were there. They protected him.”

Malrik’s eyes burned with a fire like coals. “The stag-born has awakened. Do you understand what this means?”

The Raven lowered his head. “That the prophecy draws near.”

Malrik strode forward, seizing the man by the throat. “It means our time grows short. If the boy claims his throne, all I have built will crumble.”

He hurled the soldier aside. “Gather the legions. Burn the Darkwood to its roots if you must. But bring me the boy’s head.”

The Ravens bowed low, fear thick in their voices. “Yes, master.”

Malrik turned to the great black window of his hall, staring out at the storm clouds brewing over the horizon.

“Run if you wish, stag-born,” he whispered. “Deny it if you will. But destiny cannot be outrun. And when I come for you, there will be no escape.”