Chapter 266: The Heir Without Merit
The King of Northem cast one last lingering glance at the son he had fathered with his first and true love. He waited—not with hope, but with a shadow of expectation—for his son to break, to plead, to beg for the parchment that would strip him of all claim to the throne.
But Alaric did none of these.
He stood still, unmoving, calm as a winter lake untouched by even the whisper of a breeze. His features betrayed no turmoil, no trace of desperation. If anything, he looked...at peace. As though this moment, this surrender, had been of his own design all along. When their eyes met, the king found no sorrow there—only the cool indifference of a man who had long stopped waiting for his father to see him.
Was this the same boy who once chased his approval like sunlight? Who once lit up with joy at a kind word, who once bent and broke himself to please? Heimdal’s heart twisted in his chest. Where was that boy now?
He hardened himself like stone. His hand, leaden with unspoken grief, came down heavily upon the parchment, sealing it with the royal crest. The declaration was now law.
Heimdal looked up again, searching Alaric’s face for regret, for sorrow, for any trace of pain—but instead, he found something else. A glimmer. Was it relief? Triumph? Or worse...mockery. How come Alaric seemed to be happy?
Beside him, Prince Reuben exhaled, a long breath of satisfaction. It was done. The crown was his, not by merit, but by default. He stepped forward and reached for the parchment, eyes flicking over Alaric’s final words:
"Honor the betrothal granted to him by his mother..."
A twinge of unease knotted in Reuben’s chest. He glanced at the king. "Father," he said quietly, "to whom was my brother betrothed?"