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CHAPTER TEN

JACE

S ince the first light of the day, Prince Jace’s scraped and numb fingers had clung to the gilded bow of his violin.

The lesson was endless. Not that he dared complain.

He did complain, but only in his head. Outwardly, Jace sat perfectly poised, shoulders squared, his spine stiff as a bowstring. Even as his fingers throbbed, he maintained the same serene, angelic expression carved into his features.

A prince worthy of his title must wield every instrument with divine elegance!” his music instructor, Doerenis, declared, his high, piercing voice cutting through the gilded chamber. “This is even more crucial when one is a prince of Eldoria!”

Jace suppressed a sigh, his mind wandering even as his hand obediently guided the violin bow. He had heard this speech—this same pompous, bloated monologue—more times than he had voiced his own mind.

A sharp rap to his knuckles snapped him out of his thoughts.

Jace let out a startled yelp, pulling his hands back instinctively. His wide blue eyes flickered up to meet Doerenis, who was now standing before him, one hand perched on his hip, the other gripping his ever-present fan.

The man’s heavily crimsoned cheeks cracked under the weight of his cosmetics, flakes drifting like snow onto the pale stretch of his neck.

“Your Highness,” Doerenis whined, fanning himself furiously, “I beg of you, keep your mind clear! Focus ! The lesson demands perfection !”

Jace’s lips curved into a faint, practiced smile, the kind that never reached his eyes, as he nodded.

“Very good!” Doerenis exclaimed, clearly pleased with himself. He waved his conductor’s baton as though commanding an orchestra, and Jace returned his hands to the violin, resuming the delicate melody.

The notes flowed smoothly, light and enchanting, weaving through the room like golden threads.

It should have been beautiful, but to Jace, it was lifeless. He had played this piece for months. The same notes. The same flourishes. The same endless lectures. He could hardly hear the music anymore. It had dissolved into a dull hum, lost beneath the restless noise in his mind.

Doerenis spun, his towering wig of powder-blue curls wobbling. His hands cut through the air in fevered gestures, his voice swelling with exaggerated indignation about grace and focus. The glint of his gold-painted nails caught Jace’s eye, but he barely heard a word.

Unable to stop himself, Jace’s gaze drifted toward the window.

Through the gilded panes of his window, the Hive glimmered in the mid-afternoon sun. The leaves of the trees caught the light, shifting hues like polished gemstones—amber, violet, emerald. The air buzzed with birdsong, layered and endless, the melodies weaving together so intricately they almost felt rehearsed. The honey gardens sprawled with precision, their crystalline paths gleaming as though they had been sculpted.

Doerenis spun, his towering wig of powder-blue curls wobbling. His hands cut through the air in fevered gestures, his voice swelling with exaggerated indignation about grace and focus. The glint of his gold-painted nails caught Jace’s eye, but he barely heard a word.

Jace shifted his gaze back to the gardens.

Sometimes, he thought there was something wrong with him. His cousins and the other nobles outside never seemed to tire. They moved with a restless, feverish energy, their laughter too bright, echoing like glass breaking. Their painted faces gleamed under the sun, powdered skin stretched into perfect smiles that never faltered, their eyes glittering as if lit from within.

Jace… was different. He didn’t have their energy, their effortless, exaggerated happiness. He wondered sometimes if he was broken, or if they simply pretended better than he did.

Applause rang out, blending with joyful screams. Nearby, two people chased each other, their laughter echoing as they caught sight of him. They waved, their smiles stretched too wide, too perfect. Jace never understood the reason for their overwhelming joy. He only ever felt calm, steady, nothing more.

His gaze settled on another group of nobles gathered in one of the larger garden courtyards. They were playing a game called The Trial of the Fruits .

The goal was to strike fruit: apples, pears, pomegranates, and send it soaring through a series of golden rings at varying distances. Smashed pulp and skins littered the ground, ignored by the players, who laughed and clapped as servants darted between them, their arms full of ruined fruit no one would eat. Another apple landed with a sickly thud, split and leaking juice into the grass. No one glanced at it.

Jace fingers slipped against the violin strings, the melody faltering.

“ Jace! ”

Doerenis’s voice cut through the room like a whip. The professor marched toward him, his powdered wig bobbing precariously as he flapped his fan in front of his face.

“Your focus is abysmal today, Your Highness!” he exclaimed. “What will your father say if he hears of this? Do you wish to disgrace him?

Jace lowered his gaze, tightening his grip on the violin bow. “Of course not,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady.

The professor huffed, pacing once again. “Then play. Perfectly. Anything less than perfection is an insult to your name. For you are an Eldorian, and gold runs?—”

“Gold runs in our blood,” Jace finished, his voice flat, the words drilled into him since birth.

Jace finished the final notes of the composition, and Master Doerenis finally lowered his baton with a sigh.

He clutched his chest and gazed at his student with tear-filled eyes. “Twenty-one years...” he murmured, his voice cracking, “ of shaping your talent, and now the student surpasses the master.” A sob escaped him as he fanned himself with fervor.

“The night of the ball will be magnificent!” Doerenis cried, his voice cracking with exaggerated flair. “This year, Your Highness, your birthday will mark history. Let the kingdoms kneel before our splendor! Let them burn with envy at what we are!”

Jace forced a smile. Hollow, but seamless enough to pass for sincerity.

Doerenis’s words were the same as last year. And the year before. Every birthday was an ever-expanding spectacle: more gifts, more feasts, more faces with frozen smiles endlessly repeating the same hollow praises he had memorized by heart. He couldn’t deny that the gifts always surprised him; they were always things he desired, as though the Hive could read his very thoughts.

And yet, no matter how lavish the celebrations became, they all felt the same to Jace. Predictable.

The Hive anticipated every one of his needs except the most important one: freedom.

Since childhood, he had sought solace in his passions: reading, painting, astronomy, drawing. And the birds. Oh, the birds. They populated the Hive’s gardens in countless numbers, their songs filling the air. But to him, their melodies always sounded mournful. He didn’t want to watch from his window. He wanted to follow them, to see where they went when the golden walls of the Hive no longer held them.

He dreamed of traveling under the stars, of exploring lands and seas he’d only read about. But those were just dreams.

Once, he had dared to speak of his desires to his father. At first, his father drowned them in an avalanche of gifts: books glorifying Eldorian history, astronomy instruments crafted from gold. But when Jace’s longing persisted, his father’s tone changed.

“The Hive is your world,” his father had said sharply. “And here you will stay, for your own good.”

“Why?” Jace had asked, naively.

His father had fixed him with piercing sapphire eyes, so identical to his own, and replied simply: “To protect our blood. Your blood.”

Jace snapped back to the present as Doerenis wiped away a carefully staged tear from the corner of his unnaturally blue porcelain eyes. The hue was so unnatural it bordered on grotesque, born from the Hive’s obsession with elixirs that stained eyes in impossible shades: powder pink, lilac, emerald green.

Everyone indulged in these ridiculous transformations, except for Jace and his parents. Jace was to keep his natural sapphire-blue eyes, a constant reminder of the man who shaped him. He wished instead for his mother’s golden eyes, the ones their ancestors had worn.

Jace stepped forward, placing a light hand on his teacher’s shoulder. “Thank you, Professor. It has been an honor to learn by your side.”

Doerenis opened his mouth to respond, but Jace cut him off gently: “Perhaps we should stop for today.”

A flash of panic crossed Doerenis’s face. “But the ball is approaching! Your father... You cannot afford to disappoint him. None of us can,” he stammered, fanning himself with frantic urgency.

“Do not worry,” Jace said, offering a calm, reassuring smile. “I promise I will not shame you. You have nothing to fear.”

Doerenis hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

Sharp knocks echoed against the door.

“Enter,” Jace called.

The double doors swung open abruptly, revealing Octavius, the royal cook, panting heavily as two guards flanked him closely. The guards made to speak, but Octavius raised a hand to silence them, stepping forward with an air of urgency.

“Your Royal Highness!” he exclaimed, bowing low, his round belly following the motion. “Forgive my intrusion, but I bring news that will crown this day with imperial splendor!”

Jace arched a brow, already accustomed to Octavius’s dramatic flair.

“It concerns the flavor of your birthday cake,” he declared, his tone solemn as if revealing a state secret.

Jace gave a small nod for him to continue.

“Twenty-one layers!” Octavius exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with pride. “Each one is exquisitely adorned with moon honey, cherry-infused peaches, and, wait for it…” He paused for dramatic effect, as though expecting the prince to hold his breath, “silver frost berries!”

Silence stretched between them. Jace’s brow lifted ever so slightly, betraying a flicker of curiosity.

Octavius pressed on, clearly delighted by his own announcement. “Yes! I know! Those rare berries grow only in the frostbitten lands of Shen Feng! But imagine this, Your Highness—a fully armed Eldorian squadron, led by your cousin, Sir Eris, discovered a hidden Feng village. And they took their harvest! Isn’t that simply marvelous?” He clapped his hands together, practically beaming at his tale.

Jace inclined his head slightly, forcing a smile that was polite but distant.

From his readings, Jace knew that Shen Feng had been one of the last kingdoms to resist during the Great Eldorian Conquest before it was crushed. Once, their palaces of ice and stone, perched high in the mountains, had seemed to touch the heavens. But those marvels had been reduced to ash, their people slaughtered or enslaved, exiled, or scattered into hiding. Their lands had become nothing but a shadow of what they once were.

Silver frost berries, with their shimmering shells that cracked to reveal soft, blue flesh, had become coveted treasures. Yet the thought of armed soldiers raiding a village for berries left a bitter taste that Jace could not articulate.

Reading… It had planted seeds of sympathy within him where there should have only been pragmatism, the same unflinching practicality displayed by those around him. Reading made him falter, straddling two worlds: the Hive, where words like Octavius’s were spoken without a second thought, and the one he dreamed of seeing beyond its walls.

“Marvelous,” he replied in a measured tone, though his voice carried a faint chill. “I look forward to tasting them.”

Octavius, beaming, bowed deeply before hurrying out.

One of the guards stepped forward, rigid and imposing. In a firm voice, he announced, “His Royal Highness is requested to attend His Majesty the King immediately. Please follow me.”

Jace stifled a sigh, his shoulders stiffening slightly.

“Very well,” he replied, running a distracted hand through his hair. Then, with reluctant steps, he followed the guard, his mind already drifting elsewhere.

Jace followed the guard with measured steps, though his mind was elsewhere, caught in the whirlwind of thoughts that had consumed him the night before. They walked down a wide corridor, where sunlight pierced through gold-etched windows, casting shimmering patterns across sculptures, vases, and paintings that lined the walls. Everything seemed to whisper: perfection, grandeur, eternity.

As they left his private quarters, a wave of sweet floral scents swept over him. They entered the honey gardens, a lush, carefully cultivated paradise encircling the Hive like a gilded ring. In the distance, near a marble fountain, musicians played the harpsichord. The air pulsed with the sharp, metallic plucks of its strings, each note quivering like a silver thread left to shimmer. As Jace followed the guard, the melody leaped and curled through the gardens, trailing after him like a living thing.

With every step closer to the palace's heart, his chest tightened. It was just as well his father had summoned him. This time, Jace was going to speak. “My life will change soon,” he thought, like a whispered prayer.

He had rehearsed his speech dozens of times. The words hovered in his mind, familiar but fragile.

“Father… I… I am of age,” he whispered quietly, practicing once more. “I wish to express my desire… to…”

He faltered, summoning courage. But as he lowered his gaze, lost in his repetition, he failed to notice the bush in his path. His shoulder brushed against its branches, dislodging a flurry of fragrant blossoms that rained down around him. Behind him, laughter rang out.

He turned to see ladies watching him, giggling softly behind their fans. Jace offered a polite smile, straightened his posture, and continued walking, his cheeks faintly flushed.

Ridiculous, he thought, shaking his head at himself.

But the murmuring returned, his hands trembling slightly. “I wish to deepen my studies,” he said under his breath. “Maps, astronomy, ancient texts… Perhaps the libraries of Leos… or even those of Tulindor, if the distance concerns you…”

He forced himself to take a deep breath. Each word felt like a rebellion against his father’s absolute authority. But he had to try.

As they walked along the garden's stone-paved paths, Jace allowed his gaze to wander briefly over the beauty around him. Marble sculptures of Eldorian kings and queens rose high, exuding a cold dignity. The fountains shimmered in the sunlight, their crystalline waters reflecting the golden mosaics of royal portraits embedded in the basins. Birds fluttered among the vibrant, radiant trees, their wings a flash of color in the lush greenery.

They turned down a path lined with tall hedges, and that’s when Jace saw them: three young girls splashing barefoot in a honey fountain. The three sisters. Their golden hair glinted under the sun, and their laughter rippled like music in the sweet, perfumed air. Their dresses, hitched up to their knees, revealed legs glistening with honey as they skipped playfully through the shallow basin, sending droplets flying everywhere.

“Good morning, Prince Jace!” they sang in unison, waving sticky hands in his direction.

Jace offered a charming smile. “Good morning, Lady Anastasia. Good morning, Lady Nerissa. Good morning, Lady Calista,” he replied, punctuating the greeting with a playful wink.

The girls giggled, blushing like roses bathed in morning light, before turning back to their carefree games, radiant and unbothered.

Jace lingered, watching them for a moment. Their happiness was infectious, but it stung with cruelty. They seemed so light, so free. Everything he was not.

Jace didn’t blame them for their carelessness. How could he? They had everything : the golden hair that shimmered like sunlight, the laughter that rang out like a melody, their bare feet spinning freely across the honeyed ground. When you look and sound like that, what could there possibly be to fear?

Jace looked like them. And yet, he felt broken.

Jace always felt different. All of his cousins, all the nobles, all the families around him: they had their firstborn child a girl. It was tradition, the way of the Eldorian dynasty. He’d read it in books, seen it written across history like a law. But not him.

He was the first boy born first. People called him special. Whispered it as though it was divine truth. But Jace didn’t feel it. Surely, if you were special, you’d know it.

It was said that, in the age before time, the Eldorians served the ancient gods so faithfully that they were gifted golden nectar. Blessed with the secrets of divine hives, they guarded their treasure fiercely, becoming the sole keepers of a honey sweeter than any mortal could dream. Their nectar did not simply sweeten; it healed, strengthened, and preserved. Nations knelt for a taste of Eldoria’s golden treasure, and their wealth grew so vast that even the gods grew jealous.

Once, Eldoria had been matriarchal. The great queens of old, their bloodlines flowing like honey, had built the dynasty with such power that even the gods turned their heads. Eldorian women had ruled the hives and lands.

But that was millennia ago. The Eldorians didn’t have gifts anymore. Those blessings had been left behind with the golden hives of their old continent.

And yet, Eldoria thrived. Its power didn’t come from gods anymore: it came from wealth, ambition, and Their empire stretched across the six kingdoms, their golden Hive the beating heart of it all.

But Jace? He was nothing like the queens of old. Not a seer. Not divine. Just the boy who had been born first when he shouldn’t have been.

They had arrived.

Before him, the towering walls of the main palace rose, hewn from radiant white stone that seemed to glow under the light. Massive columns, etched with intricate carvings, shimmered faintly, as if breathing. Jace stepped inside, and a chill crawled down his spine—a familiar, almost ritualistic sensation that seized him whenever he neared his father.

The grand hall buzzed with activity. Servants moved briskly in every direction, their footsteps echoing against the polished floors.

Jace’s eyes lifted to the broad staircase spiraling upward toward the higher levels.

He began to ascend, his fingers brushing lightly against the banister. The staircase felt endless, each step pulling him further away from the freedom he so desperately sought, dragging him deeper into the gilded labyrinth of duty.

Then, something caught his eye—a portrait hung on the wall halfway up the stairs. He slowed, almost unconsciously.

It was one of the few family portraits that existed. It depicted his parents and himself, painted when he was much younger. Jace had been nine years old at the time. His mother sat in the center, her golden hair woven into a crown of braids. Her features were delicate, almost ethereal, but even then, a shadow lingered in her eyes—a fragility that hinted at the madness that would eventually consume her.

To her right stood his father, rigid as a blade, his face chiseled into an expression of stern authority. His gaze, though sharp, seemed slightly less severe than it was now.

Jace paused, studying the details. His mother…She looked almost alive on the canvas, her softness captured in brushstrokes. But even then, she had already begun to lose her mind.

And there he was: so small at their sides, standing with his hands clasped in front of him. None of them smiled.

They all shared the same aura, haunting and unyielding.

The Eldorians didn’t just bring kingdoms to their knees with wealth and power. They also mesmerized them with a beauty that seemed almost unworldly. And perhaps it truly was. Their faces were relics of an ancient continent, their bloodlines shaped by queens and seers who had once walked with gods.

Jace wore that same face: sharp yet delicate, with a bone structure too perfect to seem real. His hair gleamed like spun gold, falling in soft waves that caught every flicker of light. It was the kind of beauty that made people stare too long, whisper too much, and wonder if the Eldorians were still touched by the divine. But Jace despised it. All he ever saw in his reflection was the weight of a legacy he could never carry.

Jace pulled himself together and climbed the rest of the stairs. The guard pushed open the heavy doors of the council chamber, revealing a vast room steeped in the scent of polished wood and fresh ink.

He stepped inside, adjusting his tunic nervously. His voice trembled as he spoke before even lifting his gaze:

“Your Majesty, you summoned me, I?—”

But his sentence died in his throat, strangled by the tension that seized the air.

Other voices echoed around the room, low hurried murmurs, sharp fragments of speech that hung suspended in the heavy atmosphere. He wasn’t alone with his father, as he had naively hoped. The room was crowded.

Before him stretched a council table, cluttered with maps, crumpled documents, and overturned inkwells. Advisors, their faces lined with authority, turned to look at him. Their gazes pierced him, some curious, others heavy with disapproval.

Jace’s heart sank.

He was out of place here. This room, this table, these men, none of it had ever been his. It had never been made to feel like it belonged to him. This was a stage for another heir, one who didn’t exist.

And that heir could have been Eris.

Jace immediately felt the weight of his cousin’s gaze. Eris stood at the king’s right hand, holding an unrolled map in his hands. His golden eyes gleamed with amusement, his lips curled into a mocking smirk.

“Cousin,” Eris greeted, his tone dripping with false warmth, laced with biting irony.

Jace swallowed hard. Eris had always carried that subtle disdain, that effortless sense of superiority that reduced Jace to feeling small, clumsy, and insignificant. He had spent his childhood enduring his cousin’s ridicule, mockery of his naivety, his lack of focus, his disinterest in swords or political scheming. Even as a boy, Jace had understood that his father would have preferred a son like Eris.

At the head of the table stood King Ronan. Even in his fifties, the king’s presence filled the room with raw authority. His broad shoulders and unyielding posture carved a figure of sheer intimidation.

He didn’t even look at Jace.

“Your Highness,” the advisors murmured in polite acknowledgment.

But Jace didn’t care about them. His eyes were locked on his father, the man who, as always, seemed too absorbed in his duties to grant him even a fleeting moment of recognition.

Ronan cleared his throat, the sound reverberating. Without so much as a glance at Jace, he resumed his conversation, his indifference carving through the silence like a blade.

Jace felt the heat rise to his face, shame curling around his throat like a tightening noose.

Sometimes, he felt as if something toyed with his mind, stretching time just to mock him—forcing him to feel everything twice as sharply, to let it burn deeper into his soul. Like now. His father didn’t even glance at him, speaking instead to his councilors, while their pitiful stares screamed, "We’re sorry your father can’t even stomach the sight of you."

Since he was young, Jace had always felt it: the way his father looked at him, like he was a reminder of something terrible.

Jace stared ahead, expression blank, as time stretched endlessly. He didn’t belong here, that much was clear. Around the table, the advisors carried on, their voices rising and falling like waves, utterly unaware of his presence.

Jace averted his eyes. His father hadn’t even looked at him yet.

A part of him wondered if this was all a cruel performance, a test designed to humiliate him. Summoning him here, to this room where he had never been welcome, just to see if he would finally find the courage to assert himself. But he couldn’t.

His silence was a betrayal of himself, and Jace felt the weight of it, heavy and suffocating. The disappointment burned deeper in his chest than the disappointment he imagined his father must feel toward him.

He wanted to speak. He needed to. But the words were stuck in his throat. So instead, he studied his father.

Ronan had always seemed a stranger to Jace, and to his mother, as if he belonged to a world they couldn’t touch, a world he had left behind but still carried with him.

In the Hive, where its inhabitants sculpted their bodies and adorned their faces with pigments and elixirs to achieve an almost otherworldly beauty, Ronan remained untouched by vanity. He was raw. Austere. Almost primitive in his appearance.

He didn’t try to charm or please.

But it wasn’t just his appearance. Everything about him radiated a strange, cold detachment. He had never tried to share anything with Jace. No rides on horseback, no swims in the crystalline waters. Jace couldn’t recall a single moment of tenderness from him, not an embrace, not even a pat on the shoulder.

It was as if Ronan lived in a different world entirely, one he had abandoned but one that still clung unto him

Sometimes, Jace had noticed a shadow in his father’s demeanor, as if something unseen weighed heavily on him. During those times, Ronan seemed preoccupied, almost unwell. On those rare days, he was quieter, less sharp. And as much as Jace hated to admit it, he preferred his father that way. At least in those moments, he didn’t terrify him.

But today was not one of those days.

Today, he was commanding, unyielding. His voice, deep and imperious, carried over the murmur of his advisors, slicing through their arguments with a precision that left no room for doubt. Jace felt a lump form in his throat.

He had often wondered why his father always spoke as if something invisible was chasing him. Every word seemed heavy with urgency, propelled by a force Jace could neither see nor understand. For as long as he could remember, that strange detail had always stood out to him. It was as if he were perpetually chasing something—or fleeing from it.

Jace glanced down at his hands, fidgeting nervously in his lap. Should he leave?

The thought crossed his mind like a flash of lightning. Perhaps his father wouldn’t even notice his departure.

But another thought rooted him in place.

What if leaving made him furious?

And so he stayed, frozen, caught between the desperate desire to vanish and the suffocating fear of staying.

"South of Tulindor dares to persist in its defiance! Tell me, how is it that three saffron harvests were seized at sea while my army holds every inch of their cursed land? Are my soldiers blind? Or are they cowards? We do not negotiate. We do not plead . We demand tribute— we take —or we might as well strip off our crowns and beg them to rule us! "

Jace cleared his throat and tried again. “Your Majesty…”

But once more, he was cut off.

“Your Majesty, allow me to advise,” interrupted Sir Beron, the King’s Hand and husband of Jace’s aunt, Queen Alys’ sister. Beron stood, his voice calm yet deliberate. “Send an additional squadron of soldiers to the colonies and arm them properly. We must avoid another loss. However, striking Tulindor now would be unwise. With the Imperial Banquet just days away, and representatives from every kingdom attending, an open conflict would tarnish our image. What we want isn’t their bodies in the ground… it’s their resources.”

He continued, his tone growing colder. “The Reaping Day in Tulindor approaches. Striking them now would reduce the number of workers they send to Eldoria. Fewer children. Fewer hands. And less production to sustain The Hive.”

A wave of unease crept over Jace, tightening his chest and turning his stomach. “Father—” he tried again, this time louder.

But Eris cut him off harshly. “Utter madness! It’s not the colonies we should target—it’s those cursed pirates! The rats from the guilds in the slums. They’ve been raiding and terrorizing for far too long,” he declared, his voice brimming with venom. “Send me. I’ll reduce their filthy alleys to ash before the next moon. I’ll turn their chaos into dead silence.”

Jace closed his eyes briefly, his patience thinning to a fragile thread. The shame of being ignored melted away, replaced by a deep, simmering frustration. When he opened his eyes again, the pressure inside him broke loose.

“You summoned me! Did you not?!” His voice cracked through the room like a whip, silencing everything.

The King finally looked up. His cold, piercing gaze locked onto Jace’s, freezing him in place. The room fell into an unbearable stillness.

Sir Beron rose slowly, his brows knitted in disapproval. He motioned toward the advisors. “Gentlemen, this council is adjourned.”

Chairs scraped against the floor as the advisors stood in awkward silence, avoiding Jace’s gaze. One by one, they filed out of the room.

Jace was left alone with his father.

“Tell me,” Ronan began, his voice cold. “How are the preparations for the ball coming along? What do you think of this whole mess?”

"I—my teachers tell me my strokes are perfect. That's one good thing…," Jace offered, his voice faltering, like a boy presenting a broken toy to his father.

Ronan exhaled through his nose,as if Jace’s words had physically exhausted him. "Do you even understand why we host these celebrations every year?"

Jace blinked, unsure of what answer his father was looking for. “To celebrate my birthday… to entertain the court and invite the lords to the capital?”

The king closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if warding off a migraine born of his son’s answer. His other hand pressed to his forehead, fingers curling slightly, like he was physically restraining himself from striking him.

He opened his eyes, fixing Jace with a look full of disdain,”That’s what idiots think. Birthdays… are some hollow spectacle of gifts and music. It only means one more year alive.”

Jace shifted uncomfortably. His lips parted as though to respond, but no words came.

“Why do you think we invite the lords of the Kingdoms, hmm? When we stripped their ancestors of their lands decades ago?”

Jace’s throat tightened. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this. His mind had been preoccupied with dreams of freedom, of speaking about leaving the Hive. He glanced up, meeting his expectant gaze.

"Speak, boy!" Ronan snapped. “I can not read your eyes!” "Why do you think we summon them to our hive—a hive we built by stripping them of their titles, and power?"

"I—I don't know," Jace stuttered, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

"Of course, you don't. Because you spend your time gazing at birds and playing in the wind instead of helping your father." "We bring them here to remind them of their place. To make them kneel before our wealth, our might. They smile and drink our wine, but their hearts burn with rebellion. They wait for the moment my grip loosens, for the slightest weakness in this dynasty. And you..." He pointed a finger at Jace, accusing. "You are that weakness."

Jace flinched, the words striking him like a blow. "I didn’t?—"

He slammed his fist onto the table. “That’s why they come here. To measure my strength, and see if I falter.”

“And we must remind them that each morning they rise because I allow it. Their daughters and sons do not wake in a world of blood and ash because of my mercy. And at any moment, that mercy can end.”

Jace’s breath caught in his throat. His father’s words made his chest feel tight, his head spinning.

“All I ask of them is their obedience and resources. A small price to pay,” Ronan continued, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. And for that, I need you by my side, Jace. Always. Do you understand?”

The words clawed their way out of Jace's throat before he could stop them. It was his one desperate moment.

"Mother promised me," Jace whispered, his voice breaking as the tears came unbidden. "She said, when I turned twenty-one, I could leave the Hive. I could go to the Great Library of Tulindor. I could study astronomy?—"

Ronan’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, “What did you just say?”

Jace said, his voice trembling as the words spilled out in tears. “I want to leave the Hive…”

The slap came so fast, Jace didn’t see it coming. His head snapped to the side, and a sharp sting bloomed across his cheek.

“You want ?” Ronan hissed, his voice trembling with rage. "You ungrateful brat," Ronan hissed. "I built this hive in the image of heaven itself, and you would leave it? Leave me? “I fight like a dog to keep this kingdom from crumbling. Do you think our enemies will sleep while you chase stars?"

Tears streamed down Jace’s face as he whispered, “But Mother?—”

“I do not care what your demented mother thinks,” Ronan snarled, “She lost her mind like a little girl decades ago. The only reason her family still lives, the only reason they exist in this world at all, is me . I saved this dynasty. Freedom is for those who have no duty, no crown.”

"Do you understand? The wealth, the power, the silk on your back —it’s all because of me! Not your mother. Do you want to see your cousins destitute, your family reduced to beggars? Do you want to see them fall because of your selfishness?"

Ronan paced now, his steps hectic. "I needed you to come in here and listen. Haven't you heard of the catastrophic situation in the colonies? Instead of listening, or showing even the faintest interest in your father's problems, you interrupted the council. A room full of men who know better than you.

He stepped closer, his face inches from Jace's. "You will stay here. You will not speak of this nonsense again."

Jace’s sobs filled the room, his shoulders shaking as he fought to catch his breath.

"Get out," Ronan spat, turning his back on his son.

Jace didn’t move, his legs frozen.

"I said, get out! " Ronan roared, grabbing a vial from his desk and downing its contents in one swift motion. He slammed the empty glass onto the table, his shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath.

“As you wish, your majesty.”

Jace stormed out, tears burning his cheeks, his face still red and stinging from the sharp slap of his father. No… not his father. His king. Because surely a father wouldn't strike his son like that. “I deserved it,” he thought bitterly. His hands trembled as he quickened his pace, praying no one would cross his path, that no one would see him like this—broken, humiliated. He passed windows with their gilded frames, sunlight pouring in to bathe the walls in a glow. Everything sparkled around him, but all Jace saw was darkness. He kept his head down, walking faster. His steps faltered as he neared the tearoom. Laughter spilled out. Jace wiped his tears with the back of his hand and stole a glance inside. His mother was there. Queen Alys sat at the center of the room, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting. They laughed too.

One of them braided her long golden hair while another poured her tea. Alys laughed openly, her eyes gleaming with a light that seemed… manic. Jace’s chest tightened, a wave of relief mingling with sorrow.

At least today, she smiled. It wasn’t one of those days when she wandered the palace halls like a ghost, crying and muttering prayers to forgotten gods. It wasn’t one of those days when she didn’t recognize anyone. Not even him. A faint, sad smile touched his lips. He wanted to believe that the women laughed with her, not at her. But deep down, he knew the truth. The cruel nickname that echoed through the palace corridors twisted in his gut every time he heard it whispered: Queen Alys The Demented. He turned away, unable to watch any longer. With his throat tight, he resumed his path, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. “The Hive is a paradise,” his father had said.

Indeed, everything around him was bright, delicious, perfect. Yet it still felt like a cage. A prison of color, taste, and beauty. Because if he was truly lucky and free, as they loved to remind him : then why couldn’t he leave?

Was Heaven truly paradise if it trapped you?