Chapter Text
It seemed like nothing could go wrong until it did. During a council meeting, King Atticus collapsed and fell deadly ill. The doctors were unsure if he would survive which left everyone in the castle devastated. On the night of King Atticus’ death, he wished to say goodbye to his family individually, starting with Callum.
He knew Callum was self-conscious about being a prince, so he addressed him as such whenever possible. “Callum,” Atticus murmured. “My dear boy, come here.” “Grandfather,” Callum choked out, using the endearing term Atticus had requested. It felt both foreign and intimate on his tongue. Atticus pulled Callum close, and their foreheads touched, “Find your path,” he urged. “Even if it diverges from tradition. Trust your instincts, my prince.” Atticus planted a kiss on Callum's forehead and chuckled softly, “You don't know how long I've waited for you to call me that.” After hearing this, there was a weight lifted off Callum’s shoulders. “Be the best older brother you can be for Ezran, okay?” Callum nodded sorrowfully, realizing that he would never again see his grandfather. “I won’t let you down,” he whispered. Atticus' heart shattered, “I know you won’t, my prince.”
After Callum it was Sarai and Ezran's turn to say goodbye. “Sarai,” Atticus rasped, “I know things were tricky for you initially, but look at you now. You must be the heart of our family, the pillar that holds everyone together. When I am gone, you must be there for Harrow. He will need your strength, your wisdom, and your love.” Sarai nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I promise.” The old king’s gaze shifted to the cradle by the window. Wrapped in soft blankets, Ezran, his newborn grandson, slept soundly. His tiny chest rose and fell with each breath, a symbol of hope in a troubled world. “Little Ezran,” Atticus whispered, his voice barely audible. “You carry the legacy of our bloodline.” Then looking at Sarai, “Protect him, teach him kindness, courage, and compassion. Let him know the weight of leadership and the joy of laughter.” Sarai squeezed Atticus’s hand. “I will.” He smiled, a fleeting expression of gratitude. “And when he is old enough, tell him stories of our land, of dragons and magic. Let him dream, for dreams shape destinies.”
Lastly it was Harrow's turn. King Atticus gazed upon his son, Prince Harrow, with a mixture of pride and sorrow. The flickering torches cast shadows on the chamber walls, and the air hung heavy with the weight of impending farewell. “Harrow,” Atticus rasped, his voice echoing its former strength. “My son, my legacy.” His gnarled hand reached out, trembling, and Harrow clasped it gently. The king’s eyes, once vibrant green, now held the wisdom of ages. “You must be a just king and listen to the people, understand their problems, and seek solutions.” Harrow’s heart clenched. He had always admired his father’s unwavering commitment to fairness and compassion. “I will, Father,” he vowed, his voice steady. “I’ll rule with honor and empathy, as you did.” Atticus smiled, a fragile curve of lips. “Remember, Harrow,” he whispered, “a crown is heavy, but a just heart bears the weight.” His breaths grew shallower, and he squeezed Harrow’s hand. “And love—love is the truest magic.” Tears welled in Harrow’s eyes. “I’ll make you proud,” he choked out. “I promise.” The king’s gaze softened. “Goodbye, my son.” His grip slackened, and Atticus closed his eyes, slipping into the eternal slumber.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the castle of Katolis. The grand halls echoed with hushed whispers as nobles and commoners alike mourned the passing of their beloved king. Atticus, a wise and compassionate ruler, had ruled with benevolence, ensuring that order prevailed in his kingdom. His death left a void that seemed impossible to fill. Harrow stood on the balcony overlooking the city nearby. He remembered his father’s advice: “You must be a just king and listen to the people, understand their problems, and seek solutions.” Harrow wondered if he could live up to those words.
As a tradition, they mourned his death for 7 days before crowning Sarai and Harrow as the new king and queen.
Moments before the coronation, Sarai stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the people in the castle courtyard. She had never imagined that one day she would rule this kingdom—a place where red and gold banners fluttered in the wind, and the echoes of history whispered through the stone walls. Harrow paced the chamber, his footsteps echoing like a heartbeat. His father, King Atticus, had passed away, leaving behind a legacy of fairness and justice. Now, the crown would rest heavily on Harrow’s brow. Sarai watched him, her heart torn between pride and anxiety.
Sarai missed the simplicity of her days as a warrior. She had fought alongside Amaya, their swords clashing with enemies at the Border. But now, the battlefield would be replaced with court intrigues, alliances, and whispered rumors. She wondered if Atticus had felt this same trepidation when he ascended the throne.
Then there was a knock on the door, “Your Highnesses, it's time.”
The air was thick with anticipation as the people of Katolis gathered to witness history unfold. The old king had passed, leaving an empty throne and a kingdom in need of guidance. The council had convened, and the decision was unanimous: Harrow and Sarai would be crowned as the new rulers of Katolis.
Harrow stood at the top of the marble steps, his heart pounding. The weight of the crown rested heavily on his brow, a symbol of responsibility and duty. Beside him, Sarai radiated grace and strength. Her eyes sparkled with determination, and her hand trembled slightly as she held the scepter. The crowd hushed as the High Priestess, Opeli, stepped forward. Her voice echoed through the courtyard, carrying the weight of centuries of tradition.
“We gather here today to witness the coronation of our new king and queen,” she intoned. “May they lead us with wisdom, compassion, and courage.” Harrow glanced at Sarai, their eyes locking. They had come a long way—from warriors, to friends, to lovers and now to rulers. He remembered the first time he had seen her, her fiery hair catching the sunlight as she sparred with the castle guards. She had been fierce and unyielding, a force to be reckoned with. And now, she would be his queen.
Opeli turned to Harrow. “Do you, Harrow, swear to uphold the laws of Katolis, to protect its people, and to rule with fairness and justice?” Harrow straightened his shoulders. “I do.” Sarai stepped forward. “And do you, Sarai, swear to stand by Harrow’s side, to advise him in times of need, and to be a beacon of hope for our people?” Sarai’s voice was steady. “I do.” Opeli raised the crown and placed it on Harrow’s head, and he felt its weight settle into his very bones. He turned to Sarai, who was wearing her new crown, held hands and walked towards the end of the balcony.
“Long live King Harrow and Queen Sarai!” the crowd erupted, their cheers echoing off the castle walls. Harrow looked out at the sea of faces—the farmers, the merchants, the soldiers, and the children. They were counting on him, on them, to lead them through the challenges ahead. He squeezed Sarai’s hand, and she smiled back at him, her eyes filled with determination.
The courtyard transformed into a dance floor. Musicians played lively tunes, and the people twirled and laughed. Harrow and Sarai led the first dance, their steps sure and graceful. The weight of the crown had faded, replaced by the joy of the moment.
“You make a handsome king,” Sarai teased. “And you, my queen, are radiant,” Harrow replied, pulling her closer. They danced, their hearts in sync, their love a beacon for their kingdom.
As expected, Harrow and Sarai’s days were full of council meetings, preparing for speeches, political affairs, and other kingly and queenly duties. But for some odd reason, Harrow couldn’t stop thinking about Callum. Was he doing enough? Their relationship was still kind of distant. He always grabs Sarai’s leg when he’s around. He decided to talk to Sarai about it.
Later that night in their study, the flickering candlelight danced across the parchment as Harrow sat at his ornate desk, quill in hand. Across the room, Sarai perched on a velvet-cushioned chair, her eyes fixed on the crackling fire while Ezran was breastfeeding.
Harrow cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Sarai,” he began, “I’ve been thinking about Callum.” The queen turned to him, her eyes softening. “Oh,” she said, “What about him?” Harrow reached into a drawer and pulled out a leather-bound sketchbook. Its pages were blank, waiting for inspiration. “I want to give him this,” he said. “He’s been drawing everywhere, and now he can savor his drawings in here.” The queen’s gaze lingered on the sketchbook. “I think it's sweet, when are you gonna give it to him?” Harrow thought about it, “Umm…I’m not sure.” “How about tomorrow? Give it to him after school, an early birthday present” Sarai suggested. “Yeah, that’s perfect!” Harrow nodded, writing a note on the sketchbook's inside cover. Sarai’s eyes sparkled. “You’re a good father,” she whispered. Harrow smiled. “I try,” he said closing the sketchbook. And so, in the quiet of their study, they sat together—the king, the queen, their youngest, and the space.
The next day King Harrow stood in the courtyard, the sketchbook cradled in his hands. He had slept little, his mind racing with doubts. Would Callum appreciate this gesture?
There was a knock on the door and Harrow went to grab the sketchbook. “Come in,” Sarai answered. Callum darted into the room, unaware that Harrow was there. “Hi, Mommy,” Sarai gave Callum a hug and a forehead kiss. “Hi, Callum.” With a nod, Sarai dismissed the governess, who then curtsied and closed the doors. “How was school?” Callum's eyes brightened instantly. "It was good; I was the only one who knew how to play the green glass door game. Then"
Harrow moved forward, "Callum," his tone firm but gentle. When did he get here? How long has he been standing there? Callum thought as he quickly hid behind Sarai. “This is for you.” Kneeling, he held out the sketchbook to the prince. Callum's eyes widened as he came out from hiding behind Sarai. A sketchbook for me? Callum took it from Harrow and smiled. He loved it. Callum hugged his new gift he whispered, “Thank you,” but it was loud enough for Harrow to hear. Yes, he likes it. “You’re welcome.”
Callum couldn’t wait to the pages with his drawings.