Time

The room felt smaller than usual, its simple stone walls pressing in on William as he rummaged through his belongings. The chest at the foot of his bed creaked as he lifted its lid, brushing his hands over the worn fabric of his tunics. One by one, he folded them into his pack with mechanical precision, though his thoughts were far from orderly.

The trial of fears—a test every royal must face to earn a place among the Knights Guardians—was just days away. Success meant honor, a legacy etched alongside his ancestors. Failure meant disgrace. The thought coiled tighter around his chest with every passing moment.

He had heard the stories since he was a child, tales of how the trial stripped away pretenses and left only the core of who you truly were. It wasn’t just a test—it was a reckoning. Those who faltered bore the shame of it for generations. His hands stilled over the half-packed bag, the weight of its purpose pressing down on him like a stone.

What if I fail?

The faint scuff of boots at the door snapped him from his spiraling thoughts. He looked up, startled, to find Matthew leaning casually against the frame, his arms crossed, his grin maddeningly familiar.

“You won’t need half of that, Will,” came a voice from the doorway, light and teasing.

William glanced up sharply, his tension immediately prickling into irritation. Leaning casually against the frame, arms crossed and a smug grin firmly in place, was Matthew. His twin brother—older by minutes, if either of them could ever get the truth out of their parents—carried the same sharp features as William, but that was where the similarities ended. Where William’s dark hair always seemed to lie slightly out of place, Matthew’s fell perfectly, as though styled by some unseen hand. His posture, his confidence—it all seemed effortless. It always had.

William blinked, his grip tightening on the garment before he set it down with exaggerated care. “And you’re so sure, why?”

Matthew pushed off the frame and sauntered into the room, his every movement annoyingly effortless. “Just looking out for you, brother. I’ve yet to hear a tale of a Knight hauling half the castle across the trials. They’re supposed to test your courage, not your endurance.”

“You always think you know better, don’t you?” William snapped, his tone sharper than he intended. He straightened, squaring his shoulders, but the weight of Matthew’s easy confidence only made him feel smaller. “I’ll pack the way I see fit.”

Matthew raised his hands in mock surrender. “Suit yourself. But when you’re dragging that bag through mud up to your knees, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

William clenched his jaw as Matthew turned to leave, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. The silence left behind felt heavier somehow.

“Matthew,” he called, his voice tight. “No parting words of wisdom?”

Matthew paused, glancing over his shoulder. For a moment, his grin faltered, replaced by something softer. “Just… make sure to say goodbye to Mom before we leave, okay?” Without waiting for a reply, he disappeared down the hall.

William let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging. He turned back to his belongings, the room suddenly too quiet. The walls—simple stone adorned with worn blue drapes—felt closer now, as though the weight of generations pressed against him. His gaze drifted to the lone chest, the apple sitting atop the table, and the familiar grooves in the wooden floor where his boots had paced countless times. It was hardly the room of a prince, but it had always been his.

He grabbed the apple, turning it over in his hand before biting into it. The tartness bit back, sharp and bracing. His pack sat gaping open on the bed, half-packed and accusing. With a final glance around the room, he hastily shut his pack and swung it onto his shoulder, the leather straps digging into his palms, and stepped out into the castle halls.

The apple crunched sharply under William’s teeth as he strolled through the castle halls, its tartness a brief distraction from the weight pressing on his chest. His pack hung heavily over one shoulder, its uneven bulge a testament to his frantic packing earlier. The trial of fears loomed ahead—a rite of passage for all royals and a step toward earning a place among the Knights Guardians. It was tradition, an unbroken line stretching back to Brookhaven’s earliest days, but to William, it felt more like judgment. What if I fail? The thought continued to echo.

The dark stone walls around him seemed to share his unease, their worn surfaces cracked and weathered by centuries. Faint light filtered through narrow stained-glass windows, muted reds and golds painting fleeting patterns on the faded red carpet beneath his boots. His footsteps echoed softly, a lonely sound in the cavernous space.

Family portraits lined the walls, their painted eyes unrelenting. Each ancestor stared down at him, their expressions solemn or triumphant. But some bore a different mark: black silk draped over the frames of those who had failed the trial of fears. Their names, etched in bronze plaques beneath the shrouded portraits, stood as quiet warnings. Edmund the Timid. Liora the Lost. Their faces were hidden, but their disgrace was eternal.

William’s gaze lingered on Liora’s name, his steps faltering. As a child, he had imagined her as misunderstood, a kindred spirit. Now, with the trial ahead, her name felt like an omen. He forced his eyes back to the carpet and quickened his pace. I won’t fail. I can’t.

Ahead, the towering double doors to the throne room loomed. The two guards flanking them stood stiff and silent, their polished armor catching faint slivers of light. With practiced precision, they moved to open the heavy doors, their synchronized effort almost silent save for the low groan of iron hinges.

“Prince William has entered, Your Majesties,” one of them announced, his voice ringing out across the chamber.

William straightened his back, brushing at his tunic as he stepped inside. He tossed the apple core into a bin near the door, the hollow thud echoing faintly.

The throne room was austere compared to the lavish halls he had seen in other kingdoms, but its stark simplicity carried its own kind of weight. The high, vaulted ceilings and cold stone walls gave the space an unyielding presence. Flames flickered in the great iron chandelier overhead, their light casting long shadows across the floor. The kingdom’s crest loomed behind the thrones, its bold lines a reminder of duty and tradition.

His gaze drifted to the dais further, and his heart sank. The twin seats that had stood beside the thrones, meant for him and Matthew, were gone. The empty space seemed vast, a deliberate absence that made him feel smaller. He swallowed hard, the sight a silent reminder that he and his brother no longer belonged here—not until they proved themselves worthy.

Ellis, Queen of Brookhaven, rose from her seat with a warm smile. Her auburn hair was pinned in an elegant twist, her regal bearing softened by a mother’s love. “Ah, my glorious boy,” she said, stepping forward with her arms outstretched.

William felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders. “Mother, please,” he said, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “I’m not a child anymore.”

“You’ll never outgrow your mother’s hugs, will you?” she teased, drawing him into her embrace. Her familiar scent of vanilla and lavender anchored him, a brief balm against the storm of his thoughts.

Before he could respond, a deep, gravelly voice cut through the moment. “Grow up, boy, and show some respect to your queen.”

King Brookhaven, ruler of the modest but steadfast kingdom of Brookhaven, strode into the room from a side entrance. He was a towering figure, his presence as commanding as his voice. His dark hair was streaked with silver, and his sharp features were framed by a neatly trimmed beard. Every step of his boots against the stone floor seemed deliberate, a sound designed to command attention.

“Even your brother,” the king continued, his tone clipped, “had the sense to act like a man when he visited earlier.”

The words hit their mark, and William pulled back from his mother, bowing stiffly. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He hesitated before addressing her more formally. “Your Highness.”

Ellis shot her husband a sharp look, her warmth hardening into something fierce. “Do give your sons a proper farewell, you loaf,” she said, her tone sharp enough to make even the king pause. “I will not stand next to you if this becomes our last meeting.”

King Brookhaven ignored her rebuke, his dark eyes narrowing as he turned his full attention on William. “You’ll find no comfort in the trials, boy. No soft arms to shield you. Do you even understand what’s expected of you?”

“Yes, Father,” William said quickly, though his voice quavered.

King Brookhaven stepped closer, his shadow falling over William like a shroud. “Hesitation. Doubt. Weakness. All of it will be stripped away. You will face yourself in the trial. And if you falter—” he paused, his voice dropping lower, “you will not disgrace this family, because you will no longer be part of it.”

“Brookhaven!” Ellis snapped, stepping forward, but the king held up a hand, silencing her.

“It is not cruelty,” he said, his voice cold and measured. “It is truth. The world does not wait for the weak, and neither will the crystal.”

William felt his stomach churn, his father’s words a heavy weight settling over him. He lowered his eyes, focusing on the strap of his pack as his fingers tightened around it.

Brookhaven stepped back, his tone unrelenting. “Prove me wrong,” he said. Then, turning, he ascended the platform to his throne with the finality of a judge delivering a sentence. “Leave.”

William bent to retrieve his pack, his fingers trembling. He turned to leave, the sound of his boots echoing hollowly in the vast chamber.