Different Worlds

CHAPTER 5 : TIME PASSES

Five Years Later

Sunlight spilled across the courtyard of the old keep.

The snow was gone.

Children ran between the horses, their laughter rising above the clatter of hooves and the calls of stable hands. Servants crossed the courtyard carrying baskets of laundry, fresh bread, and flowers gathered from the gardens.

A young boy raced across the stones.

His hair was wild from the wind, his cheeks red from running, and his clothes were already dirty despite the early hour.

Desmond was five years old.

He was fearless, loud, curious, and nearly impossible to keep in one place.

He ran directly toward Ethan.

“Papa!”

Ethan turned just in time to catch him.

Desmond threw his arms around his father’s neck.

“You said you’d be waiting.”

“I was.”

Desmond pulled back and frowned.

“You weren’t.”

“I was standing.”

“That’s not waiting.”

Ethan considered this carefully.

“You’re becoming argumentative.”

“Mama says that’s your fault.”

Fay appeared behind them, carrying a small basket.

“I said curious.”

Desmond looked at her.

“Same thing.”

Fay laughed.

Ethan placed the boy on his shoulders.

Desmond immediately grabbed a fistful of his father’s hair.

“Higher.”

“You’re already higher than everyone else.”

“Higher.”

Ethan sighed.

“Your demands are becoming unreasonable.”

“You’re the king.”

“Unfortunately.”

Fay followed them toward the stables, smiling as Desmond pointed excitedly at everything he saw.

A dog.

A cart.

A bird on the roof.

A man carrying a sack of grain.

A horse that had already seen him that morning.

Every discovery required an explanation.

Every explanation created three more questions.

The keep had changed in five years.

Or perhaps Fay had.

The stone walls no longer felt entirely foreign.

The corridors had become familiar.

The bells had become part of the rhythm of her days.

The gardens had become places she returned to without thinking.

And Ethan—

Ethan had become something she had never expected to find on the other side of a door.

A husband.

A king.

A friend.

A man who could make her angry before breakfast and laugh before lunch.

A man who still refused to explain half the things she asked about.

A man who sometimes woke in the night and stared toward the windows as though he expected the darkness to answer him.

A man who loved their son with a tenderness he rarely allowed anyone else to see.

────────

The stables smelled of hay, leather, and warm animals.

Desmond sat on Ethan’s bad knee while Ethan adjusted a saddle.

The boy had insisted on helping.

His help had consisted of handing Ethan the wrong straps and asking questions at the exact moment his father needed both hands.

“Sing it,” Desmond demanded.

Ethan pulled a buckle tight.

“No.”

“Please.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Mama sings it.”

Ethan looked at Fay.

She stood near the stable door, leaning against the frame.

A smile was already forming on her face.

“He’s got you,” she said.

Ethan sighed.

Desmond grinned.

After a moment, Ethan began to sing softly.

“Go on and take the low road home…”

Desmond joined in immediately, with little concern for melody or timing.

“I’ll be the light—”

“Left on the water,” Fay added.

The three of them sang together.

Their voices mingled with the sounds of the stable—the restless shifting of horses, the rustle of hay, the distant calls of the stable hands.

For a moment, the world was perfect.

There were no doors.

No prophecies.

No Book of Houses.

No whispering councilmen.

No ancient women watching from courtyards.

There was only Ethan, Fay, and Desmond.

And the song.

────────

At sunset, the three of them sat on the hill above the valley.

Avelor spread below them in shades of green and gold. The river reflected the last light of the sun. Smoke rose from distant villages, and the mountains stood like dark guardians beyond the horizon.

Desmond had fallen asleep against Fay.

His head rested in her lap, his wild hair brushing against her hand.

Ethan sat beside them, watching the valley.

For a long time, he said nothing.

Then Fay spoke.

“They’re going to ask again.”

Ethan did not look at her.

“Who?”

“The council.”

“They always ask.”

“About Desmond.”

Ethan’s expression tightened.

He glanced down at the sleeping boy.

“They want him named to the seat.”

“He’s five.”

“They know.”

“They say the realm needs certainty.”

“The realm has certainty.”

Fay looked toward the keep in the distance.

“They’re afraid.”

“Of a child?”

“Of what happens if you die.”

Ethan’s gaze moved toward her.

Fay did not look away.

“You know they’re right to worry.”

“They’re right to worry about everything.”

“Ethan.”

He exhaled slowly.

The sound carried the weight of an argument he had already had too many times.

“A name on a seat draws things.”

“He’s your son.”

“Exactly.”

Ethan looked down at Desmond.

The boy shifted in his sleep, one small hand curling against Fay’s dress.

“I want him to have a walk of his own,” Ethan said.

Fay smiled.

“He already does.”

Ethan looked at the boy’s feet.

Even in sleep, one heel rested slightly forward.

The same way Ethan’s heel rested when he sat.

Fay noticed.

So did Ethan.

A quiet smile touched his face.

“He’s going to be trouble.”

“Definitely yours.”

“Unfortunately.”

Desmond murmured something in his sleep.

Fay bent over him.

“What was that?”

Ethan listened.

The boy’s eyes remained closed.

“Low road,” he whispered.

Fay smiled.

Then she looked toward the valley.

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to believe that this was enough.

That this life could remain untouched.

That the world beyond the mountains would stay beyond them.

────────

The council chamber was colder the following morning.

Thomas stood at the center of the room with the ledger open in his hands.

He had aged into authority.

The sharpness of youth had become something more controlled, more deliberate. His face was thinner now, his eyes more difficult to read. He was still perfectly dressed. Still perfectly still.

Still difficult to trust.

“The northern houses want Desmond entered,” Thomas said.

Ethan sat at the head of the table.

“No.”

“They want certainty.”

“You’ve already said that.”

“Because it remains true.”

Ethan looked up from the documents before him.

“Truth doesn’t become more convincing because you repeat it.”

Thomas held his gaze.

“No.”

A beat passed.

Then he added, “But law does.”

The room went quiet.

Ethan’s expression hardened.

“Careful.”

“I am always careful.”

“That’s your problem.”

Thomas closed the ledger.

“And yours is that you believe affection makes a law disappear.”

Ethan rose.

The chair scraped against the floor.

“Meeting’s over.”

The councilmen stood.

Thomas remained where he was.

“Forgive me.”

Ethan gathered the papers before him.

“I already don’t.”

Thomas’s gaze moved toward the doorway.

“The hour has been kept.”

Ethan looked at him.

“For what?”

“The next matter.”

A pause.

Thomas glanced toward the door.

Fay had just entered the chamber.

She stopped when she noticed the silence.

Thomas looked at her.

“It is not her in the book.”

Fay felt the words before she understood them.

Ethan’s expression changed.

“Thomas.”

“No slight,” Thomas said.

He tapped the ledger against his palm.

“I read books.”

“And you mistake that for wisdom.”

“Perhaps.”

Thomas walked toward the doorway.

Ethan’s voice stopped him.

“Thomas.”

Thomas turned.

“She has a name,” Ethan said.

“Yes.”

“Then remember it.”

Thomas looked at Fay for a long moment.

Then he left.

The door closed behind him.

Fay turned toward Ethan.

“Does he hate me?”

“No.”

“That sounded certain.”

“Thomas doesn’t hate people.”

Fay folded her arms.

“That’s worse.”

Ethan nodded.

“Much worse.”

────────

Desmond slept in the nursery that night.

The room was warm and softly lit, with painted animals along the walls and a small wooden horse near the foot of the bed. A red blanket lay folded beside him, though he had kicked it away in his sleep.

Fay sat beside the bed.

Ethan stood near the door.

Desmond turned his head against the pillow.

“Low road,” he murmured.

Fay smiled.

“He still thinks the song is about going somewhere.”

“Maybe it is,” Ethan said.

“Where?”

Ethan looked at her.

“Home.”

Fay studied him.

“This is home.”

“Yes.”

She reached for his hand.

He took it.

They sat together in the quiet nursery, watching their son sleep.

For a while, the room held only the sound of Desmond’s breathing.

Then—

a faint knock sounded at the door.

Three times.

Fay looked toward it.

Ethan did not move.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

Another knock came.

Desmond slept through it.

Fay began to rise.

Ethan caught her wrist.

“Don’t.”

“Why?”

He looked toward the nursery door.

“The last time I heard that sound…”

He stopped.

Fay’s expression softened.

“Your father?”

Ethan nodded.

The knock came again.

This time, it did not come from the door.

It came from inside the room.

Fay turned.

The wooden door of Desmond’s wardrobe trembled.

Once.

Then again.

Ethan stood.

He crossed the room and opened it.

Nothing waited inside.

Only folded clothes.

A child’s wooden horse.

A small red blanket.

Ethan stared into the darkness for several seconds.

Then he closed the wardrobe.

Fay stood behind him.

“What was it?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing it again.”

Ethan turned.

“Doing what?”

“Lying.”

He looked at her.

His expression was tired now.

Not angry.

Not defensive.

Only afraid.

“I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“From what?”

He had no answer.

Behind them, Desmond shifted in his sleep.

Neither of them looked away from the other.

────────

The horns sounded the next morning.

Three notes.

Then two.

The sound rolled through the keep and struck the stone walls.

Everything changed.

Guards stopped in the corridors.

Servants froze where they stood.

A stable hand dropped a bucket.

The horses began to stamp and whinny.

Ethan looked up from the table in the great hall.

Fay appeared at the far end of the room.

She knew from his face that something was wrong.

Desmond ran toward him.

“Papa?”

Ethan dropped to one knee.

He placed both hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“Stay with your mother.”

Desmond frowned.

“Why?”

Ethan looked at Fay.

She already knew.

She did not know what had happened.

She only knew that Ethan had heard something in those horns that the rest of them had not.

“Because I said so,” he told Desmond.

The horns sounded again.

Three notes.

Two.

The wrong call.

A murmur swept through the hall.

Guards moved toward the doors. Servants began clearing the passageways. Someone shouted an order from the courtyard, and another voice answered from somewhere above.

The keep had begun to move.

Fay stepped toward Ethan.

He reached for her hand.

She took it.

Neither of them spoke.

Desmond stood between them, looking from one parent to the other.

Ethan held Fay’s hand tightly.

The great hall seemed suddenly too large.

Above them hung the crown.

Below it rested the Book of Houses.

And somewhere beyond the ancient walls—

something was coming.

Something that had been waiting.

Something that had finally found the way in.

The family stood together in the middle of the hall.

For one suspended moment, they were still.

Then the horns sounded again.

And the keep answered.