The Prince Who Ran

Chapter Thirteen: Webs In The Dark

Chapter Thirteen: Webs in the Dark

Caelan began his mornings earlier now — not from duty, but necessity.

He no longer trusted the sun to rise without someone watching it.

In the dim candlelight of the library’s east wing, he read over each day’s reports with quiet desperation. Palace staff. Correspondence logs. Guard rotations. Even deliveries to the kitchens.

Every pattern mattered.

Every detail was a clue.

Lyra arrived as he was finishing.

“You’re thinner,” she said.

“I’m smarter,” he replied.

She frowned.

“That’s not the same thing.”

He didn’t look up. “It is now.”

◇

They met in secret, a small circle of loyalists. Three trusted advisors. Two knights. One spy who Caelan had once sentenced to the stocks and later pardoned when she exposed a poison plot.

Her name was Nell.

Nell moved like wind. Talked like a thief. Thought like a king.

“I’ve tracked Sareth’s meetings for the last two weeks,” she reported, flipping open a bound set of notes. “He’s speaking with emissaries from House Carrin — the ones whose silver mines fund most of the western faction.”

“Is he promising them anything?” Caelan asked.

“Not directly. But he’s got a courier making double stops — to them and to your treasury.”

Caelan’s jaw tightened.

“So he’s bleeding the crown to bribe future allies.”

“Or buying time,” Nell said.

“For what?”

She didn’t answer.

◇

That night, Caelan lay in bed beside Lyra, the silence between them more intimate than conversation.

Until she said:

“I need to tell you something.”

He turned to face her.

“My mother is alive,” she said.

Caelan blinked. “I thought she—”

“I thought so too. But she sent word last week. She’s in hiding. In the north.”

Caelan sat up. “Why hide?”

“She was part of a dissenting group years ago. Quiet rebellion. Underground networks. When your father took the throne, she vanished. I was left with the blacksmith’s wife.”

He was silent for a long moment.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t know what she’d ask of me.”

“What has she asked?”

Lyra looked him dead in the eye.

“To convince you to dissolve the royal bloodline.”

The silence that followed was deeper than any Caelan had known.

◇

“She thinks monarchy is poison,” Lyra explained. “Even in your hands. Especially in your hands.”

“I’m not my father.”

“I know. But what happens after you?”

Caelan stood, pacing.

“I’ve fought to heal this kingdom. I’ve given every ounce of myself to—”

“I know!” she said, standing too. “But what if healing means something different than you imagined?”

He stared at her.

Not as the girl he loved.

But as someone standing on the far side of a line he hadn’t even seen drawn.

“You want me to give up the throne?”

“I want you to ask if it’s the only way.”

He turned away.

“I can’t.”

She took a breath. Stepped forward.

“Then I’ll go to her. Alone. To find out what she knows about Sareth. About what’s coming.”

His voice caught. “You might not be allowed back.”

“I’m not asking your permission,” she whispered.

Then softer: “I’m asking your trust.”

He nodded.

Slowly.

Painfully.

“I trust you.”

Even as his heart ached from the weight of those words.

◇

Two days later, Lyra rode north with only one escort — and left Caelan standing at the palace gates, alone once again.

He turned back into the halls of stone and shadow, knowing that every step now was a gamble.

Because even as he planned his next move against Sareth, part of him feared the truth:

He might win the battle for the throne… and still lose everything that mattered.