It was only late at night, long after the palace had fallen silent, that he finally appeared, reeking of alcohol.
“You’re still awake, Mother? What’s the matter? Thinking about Alistair and can’t sleep?”
He staggered over, his steps unsteady, and grabbed my hand. His eyes were bloodshot, his face haggard.
“Caelan, you’re drunk.”
I tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened, his strength far greater than I expected. The small, soft child I once knew had grown into a tall, imposing young man.
“I’m not drunk, Mother.”
His voice was almost a plea as he leaned closer, his head resting heavily on my shoulder, his body pressing me back into the chair.
“Stop thinking about him. Think about me instead, alright?”
His words sent a chill through me. “Caelan, snap out of it. Get off me!”
But he didn’t listen. Instead, he leaned in even more, his weight pushing down on me. His scarlet eyes were filled with a wild, suppressed rage that I had never seen in him before.
“Why won’t you answer me? What does he have that I don’t?”
“Have you lost your mind? I am your mother!”
If I still didn’t understand his intentions, all these years would have been in vain.