Stefan's head turned when he heard a sharp knock on his door. He stopped his pacing to open it.
“Father! Come in, please!” He stepped aside to allow the king to enter.
His father still moved with strong strides in his old age. He seated himself at Stefan's desk, turning the chair to face him. He had removed his coat after dinner and was clad only in his dress shirt and dark trousers, a cloak of deep purple at his shoulders, fixed by two large gold clasps. His gray eyes, drooping with years, fixed on his son's.
“A servant told me you'd been to see Peter.”
Stefan sighed and ran his hand through his hair, wishing for his pipe. “He let me in this time.”
“Is he the same as ever?”
His son closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to remember what he had rehearsed earlier for this moment. “No, father, he's much worse. Father, I think he has finally broken. He barely spoke to me except about Adva. He barely seemed to know I was there.”
His father considered this, stroking his short white beard. He looked at the carpet for a moment.
“Father, this has gone on long enough. He hides in his room. He barely eats. He has refused to speak to anyone—“
“Save you,” his father pointed out.
“And even so, I sometimes feel that he only tolerates my presence, and never says what he is truly thinking.”
The king fixed him with his gaze, looking at Stefan for a long moment. “I had hoped for good news,” he admitted. He shook his head. “This is not.” There was another stretched silence before he spoke, seeming to weigh his words carefully.
“Stefan.”
“Yes, father?” Stefan now sat on the edge of his bed, his arms crossed over his chest, staring into the carpet.
“What is your opinion of Peter's sanity right now?”
Stefan's head snapped up. He's fine, he is simply acting like a fool right now is all, he meant to say, but instead, he found himself speaking the truth. “I think he is mad. He's lost his whole self. My brother was filled with laughter and strength. The man who lets me into his room, the one who sits at the window, is not my brother.” He paused. “He hasn't been himself for almost a year.”
“You associate this with Adva herself?” His father raised an eyebrow.
Stefan's hands clutched the blanket at his sides. “Yes. That's when he started becoming quieter. Sadder. He insisted on having her with him everywhere. He began to object to his engagement.”
“It was natural for him to fall in love with her. She was a pretty little creature and his dear friend.”
Stefan shook his head. “You don't understand, father. It was as if she had enchanted him. You know how dedicated Peter is to you, to the kingdom. He never would have resisted the engagement so strongly before she came. He cared about the alliance and the people more than he valued his personal feelings.”
The king looked disturbed at this. “He did, eventually, agree to honor his betrothal.”
“Only after I took him aside on my own and argued with him to make him see sense again!” Stefan sighed, releasing the blankets. “Peter has always seemed as if he were following a compass, a star, that guided him in the right direction. I've never known him to be brash or selfish for all our years growing up together. But this depression he has given himself over to... Father, to me, it is madness.”
Stefan watched his father carefully. The king, deep in thought, did not notice his son's intense, almost hungry gaze.
Finally, he looked up. Stefan had rearranged his features so that they were smooth and even, appropriately worried. Something dreadful was stirring inside him, a sudden and traitorous thought, at the memory of his brother's blank face at the window that day, and the disgust he had felt. He fought to keep this from showing in his eyes.
But the king was too absorbed with his own thoughts at that moment to read his son's.
“What do you propose must be done, my son? You have had the opportunity to observe him the most closely.”
Stefan met his father's eyes boldly. “I do not believe Peter is recovering or has any desire to do so. His coronation was meant to occur two weeks from now, but I feel that he should be considered unfit to rule. Let the throne fall to me instead.
The king stood, eyes blazing. “What is this? Your brother is grieving, not gibbering. I never thought you to be ambitious, Stefan. And especially not at the cost of stealing the birthright of your own brother!” He shook his head. His face was red with anger.
“Not so, father!” Stefan cried. They were both silent, staring hard at one another. The sea roared outside, waves crashing against the stones.
Stefan broke the silence first. “Peter is ruled by his passions. I see that now. He was ruled by a passion for the kingdom once, and now his emotions have transferred to Adva. He is unstable, letting his feelings control him.”
“And you are cold, Stefan, which is all the worse,” the king said quietly.
Stefan felt anger rising but kept his voice calm. “Cold I may seem, but my mind stays clear because of it. Peter was once my superior in every way,” he admitted. “But at this moment, I am more capable of acting as king than it appears he will ever be again. Admit it, Father. Peter's mind broke when his heart did.”
His father's eyes flashed and he left without a word, shutting the door behind him.
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