A Royal Obligation
Chapter 232: Silent Tears

Chapter 232: Silent Tears

The gentle glow of the morning sun filtered through the tall, arched windows of Eirik’s chamber.

Soft golden hues bathed the room, but the warmth of the light did nothing to chase away the cold emptiness that clung to Eirik like a shadow.

He stirred under the weight of the silken blankets, his eyelids fluttering open with a sluggishness that matched the haze clouding his mind.

Groggy and disoriented, Eirik blinked at his surroundings. The carved oak bedposts, the detailed wall hangings, and the faint smell of lavender were all too familiar.

He was home. His room in Valeidio looked just like it did when he left for Zephyros. Nothing had changed. But everything felt different.

A soft voice, tender yet strained, broke through his muddled thoughts.

"You’re awake," said Queen Morgana, seated beside him. Her eyes shimmered with relief and unshed tears, though she kept her expression carefully composed.

Queen Morgana had been by Eirik’s side since the moment Kaelix carried him into the room yesterday afternoon.

Even when her husband, King Xavian, had come to coax her into retiring to their chambers for the night, Morgana had refused, her voice soft but resolute.

"I’m staying," she had said, her tone brooking no argument. "He might wake up, and I need to be here when he does."

Xavian had sighed deeply, knowing better than to challenge her determination. "You’ll exhaust yourself, Morgana," he had murmured, his concern evident. "You can come back first thing in the morning."

But Morgana had merely shaken her head, her gaze never leaving Eirik’s pale face. "I’ll be fine. This is where I belong."

So she had stayed, in a chair beside her youngest son’s bed, her back straight despite the long hours she had spent there. Her hands rested lightly in her lap, but her fingers occasionally twitched as if resisting the urge to reach out and touch her son’s face.

Her vigil had been unbroken even as the hours stretched into the night. She had dozed off at one point, her head resting against the chair’s back, only to wake with a start when she heard Eirik stir. That moment of movement, faint as it was, had sent her heart racing with hope and fear.

Eirik turned his head slowly towards her. His gaze flicked to her face, recognition sparking faintly in his weary eyes.

Before he could utter a word, he was pulled into a warm embrace.

Morgana’s arms wrapped around him tightly, as though holding him could undo the pain and suffering he had endured. She buried her face in his shoulder, her voice trembling with emotion.

"I’ve missed you so much, my baby," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

But Eirik didn’t return the hug. His arms remained limp at his sides, and his body was tense in her embrace. Morgana noticed the hesitation, the unease, but she didn’t let it deter her. She simply held him closer, pouring all her love into that one gesture.

When she finally pulled away, she searched his face for some sign of the boy she had known, the vibrant, mischievous prince who had once filled the halls of Valeidio with laughter.

But all she saw was exhaustion, a heaviness in his eyes that no amount of sleep could cure.

The sight of her son so detached broke Morgana’s heart, but she refused to let her sorrow show. Eirik didn’t need her tears; he needed her strength, her love, her unwavering care.

"You must be hungry," she said gently, her tone light as she fought to keep her worry from showing.

Eirik shook his head weakly, his gaze drifting away from her.

Morgana smiled softly, and pretended not to notice his refusal. "I had the servants prepare your favorite dishes. They’ll be here any moment now."

Eirik said nothing, his gaze drifting toward the window. His silence was heavy, a barrier she couldn’t breach, and Morgana wasn’t planning on giving up.

Moments later, a soft knock sounded at the door, and a line of maids entered, their arms laden with trays of steaming food.

The rich aromas of roasted meats, spiced soups, and freshly baked bread filled the room, mingling with the faint scent of lavender that always seemed to linger in Eirik’s chambers.

Morgana stood and directed the maids with quiet authority, helping them arrange the dishes on a small table near the bed. She even assisted in laying some of the trays directly on the bed itself, knowing full well that coaxing Eirik out of bed in his current state would be an impossible task.

When the maids had finished, they bowed and left the room, leaving mother and son alone once more.

Morgana sat back down beside Eirik with a determined smile, she picked up a small bowl of stew, carefully ladling out a portion. "Here," she said, holding a spoonful toward him. "Just a taste. I promise it’s as good as you remember."

Eirik stared past her, his eyes unfocused. He made no move to take the spoon or acknowledge her words.

Undeterred, Morgana tried again. "What about this?" she said, reaching for a plate of honeyed rolls. "You used to love these. Just one bite, darling. That’s all I ask. Please."

But Eirik remained silent, his gaze distant, his hands folded in his lap.

Morgana’s smile faltered for the briefest moment before she forced it back into place. She continued her attempts, offering him different dishes with gentle persistence, but each effort was met with the same unyielding silence.

Finally, she set the spoon down with a quiet sigh, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly. Her eyes lingered on Eirik’s face, searching for any trace of the lively boy she had raised, but all she saw was the shadow of someone who had been through too much.

She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead with a mother’s tenderness. "You haven’t eaten since yesterday," she said softly. "You need to regain your strength, Eirik. Please, just a little."

Eirik blinked slowly, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, he turned his head away, his gaze fixed on the far wall.

Morgana’s heart ached, but she refused to let her sorrow show. She straightened her spine, her resolve firm. She would not let him retreat into himself, no matter how long it took.

"I know you’re hurting, my love," she said softly. "I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through. But you’re safe now. You’re home. Back with us."

Eirik’s lips parted again like he was trying hard to say something, but as usual, no words came out.

Morgana’s gaze lingered on him, searching for any sign of the vibrant, mischievous boy she had raised. All she saw was a fragile shell, a prince burdened by scars she couldn’t see but could feel in her very soul.

Gathering herself, Morgana stood and began tidying the dishes, her movements slow and deliberate.

I’ll leave these here," she said, gesturing to the trays of food. "In case you change your mind. They’ll stay warm for a while.

Her voice was steady despite the lump in her throat. "You need to eat, Eirik. Your strength will return in time, but only if you take care of yourself."

She paused at the door, glancing back at her son one last time. He lay still, his breathing steady but shallow, as if the very act of existing was a struggle.

Morgana’s chest tightened, but she straightened her spine, her resolve unwavering. "I’ll check on you later," she said, her tone firm yet gentle. "Rest my love. I’ll be here when you need me."

With that, she stepped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. As the latch clicked into place, Morgana leaned against the wall, her composure finally cracking.

Silent tears streamed down her face as she pressed a hand to her chest, the ache of her son’s suffering too much to bear.

Inside the chambers, the soft click of the door closing seemed to release something deep within Eirik.

Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring the intricate carvings of the ceiling above him. A tremble shook his frame as he clenched the bedding beneath him.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice so faint it was barely audible.

The words spilled out again and again, growing louder with each repetition, as if he were trying to drown out the crushing guilt that threatened to suffocate him. "I’m sorry... I’m sorry... I’m so sorry."

Silent sobs wracked his body, his shoulders shaking as he curled in on himself, his knees drawing up toward his chest.

He hated that he couldn’t respond to his mother’s warmth, her unwavering patience. He hated that her touch, once so comforting, now felt like a reminder of how broken he had become.

Most of all, he hated himself for bringing this grief upon her. She deserved better, better than the hollow shell he had become.

"I’m sorry..." he choked out one last time, his voice breaking before he buried his face in the pillow.