Chapter 2 Warmth In The Cold

Inside the palace, far from the gilded halls and the grandeur of shimmering chandeliers, there was a small kitchen tucked behind the servant's quarters. A place where the royals never set foot, except one.

Orion sat at a battered wooden table, his posture stiff and his expression distant, the faint warmth of the candlelight was dancing across his features. His silver-blue eyes, usually piercing and cold as ice, softened under the flicker of the flame. The plate before him was simple and filled with roasted roots and salted meat, nothing like the decadent feasts served in the royal dining hall. And yet, he found solace in this humble setting. For once, he didn't feel the weight of his title, the expectations pressing down on him like a mountain.

Across from him, Thalia bustled around the kitchen, humming as she served extra spoonfuls of stew into Garrett's bowl. Her apron was stained, her hair pulled back into a messy knot, but she wore a wide, contented smile, a smile that lit up the room as she worked.

"Eat up, boys," she said cheerfully, her voice was warm and welcoming, the sound of it soothing Orion in a way few things did. Her hands,which were worn from years of hard work, wiped themselves on her apron as she took a step back to survey her little kingdom, her kitchen.

Garrett, sitting between them, caught the distant, almost wistful look in Orion's eyes. He nudged him with his elbow, with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Hey," Garrett teased, "you planning to marry that plate or eat from it?"

Orion's lips twitched, the barest smirk tugging at them, just a flicker, a rare moment of warmth breaking through his usually stoic mask. It was gone almost as soon as it appeared, but Garrett caught it and chuckled louder.

"Seriously," Garrett continued, nudging him again, "you smile like that and half the palace maids might faint. Cold face, killer smile."

Thalia laughed, at the playful jab. She turned her attention to Orion, tilting her head with a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Don't you like today's food, my dear?" she asked, her tone was light and affectionate.

Orion lifted his gaze, meeting her eyes for the first time that evening. This time, his smile was different, it was full, genuine, and boyish in a way that made him seem far younger than his years. It was a smile that could light up a room, and he said softly, as if the words were a precious secret, "I love it. It's perfect, just like always."

Thalia's hands fluttered to her chest, clearly flattered by his praise. "Oh, listen to him, Garrett!" she said with a mock gasp. "You'd think he's trying to charm me into baking extra pies."

The three of them burst into laughter, a warm and easy one, filling the small kitchen with the sound of real, unguarded joy. For a brief moment, Orion wasn't a prince. He wasn't a candidate for a throne. He wasn't anyone who carried the weight of royal expectations. He was simply a boy, surrounded by the only family he truly trusted, a family that didn't see him for his title, but for who he was.

After the meal, as Garrett licked the last smear of stew from his fingers, Orion stood up from the table, his body awkward and stiff as he shuffled toward the doorway. He hesitated, unsure, then he cleared his throat.

"Um... Thalia," he said quietly, almost shy, "did you... maybe set aside some food for Father?"

Garrett, ever the one to leap into action, jumped up before Thalia could answer. "Of course she did! And I'm coming with you to deliver it!"

"You don't have to..." Orion began, but Garrett waved him off with a grin.

"C'mon, buddy. Two are harder to catch than one!" He winked, his tone light, but there was an edge of understanding behind the words. Garrett knew the significance of this small act.

Thalia appeared from the other room with a wrapped bundle of food in her hands. Her face was gentle, and a quiet smile tugged at her lips as she offered the bundle to Orion.

"It's better you both go together," she said softly. "It's less suspicious."

Orion took the bundle with a nod, his fingers brushing against hers in a moment of silent gratitude. It was rare for him to show such vulnerability, but with Thalia and Garrett, he didn't need to hide his true self.

Under the cover of night, they made their way through the palace gardens, careful to avoid the sentry paths. The air smelled of dew and fresh earth, and the soft grass muffled their footsteps. Orion's usual tension seemed to ease in the quiet of the night, his shoulders relaxing for the first time that evening.

Declan, Orion's father, lived in a small, rundown hut by the old west wall. He was allowed to live, but he was never welcomed near the royal wings. The man had once been a proud soldier, but age and illness had taken their toll. Still, Orion's heart lifted when they reached his door, a private joy flickering in his eyes, it was a brief moment of happiness he didn't suppress.

The door creaked open before they even knocked, and Declan's weathered face appeared, his features softening in recognition. Without a word, Orion's eyes met his father's, and for a moment, the years of absence, of bitterness and distance, fell away.

They didn't speak much. There was no need, just smiles, a few words were exchanged, updates, reassurances and the unspoken understanding that despite the royal titles, they were still father and son.

As the moon climbed higher, they slipped back into the shadows of the palace, unnoticed, and their footsteps swallowed by the night. For that brief moment, Orion had been more than just the prince. He had been someone's son, someone's family. And that, for him, meant more than any throne ever could.

Meanwhile, at the edge of the kingdom, in the humble home of Celeste and her family, the fire burned low, flickering weakly against the cold, damp night. The crackling of the fire was the only sound that dared disturb the oppressive silence that hung in the air. Fear, thick and suffocating, clung to the walls, settling into the very bones of the home. Every crack in the wood seemed to whisper threats, and every shadow seemed to stretch with the weight of impending doom.

Vivian stood in the doorway like a phantom, her presence was so sharp and cold that it seemed to cut through the dim warmth of the room. Her gown swept the floor, its fine fabric contrasting sharply with the simple surroundings, as though it was a reminder of the life she belonged to, far beyond the reach of Celeste's modest existence. Her green eyes, which were sharp and calculating, raked over every imperfection, every flaw in the crumbling walls and meager furnishings, as if the very sight of them disgusted her.

Tristan stepped forward with his shoulders square, determined to shield Celeste and her trembling family. He stood just slightly in front of them, trying to act as their protector in the face of the woman who had always been a symbol of cruelty and control. His voice rang out, though it trembled with a hint of uncertainty. "It was my idea, Mother," he said, lifting his chin high in defiance. "They didn't force me here. They didn't even invite me."

Vivian's gaze narrowed to slits as her eyes glimmered with disdain. She stood motionless, and the air around her seemed to crackle with her barely contained anger. When her voice finally came, it was soft, but it was a blade-cold, slicing, and designed to wound.

"How... generous of you to tarnish your bloodline so willingly," she said, her words laced with venom, as though each syllable was dipped in poison. Tristan's heart hammered in his chest, and his breath coming quicker, but he refused to falter. He stood his ground, even as the oppressive weight of his mother's disapproval pressed down on him.

Vivian's eyes slid from Tristan to Celeste, her expression twisted with contempt. Her nose wrinkled slightly, as though she had just caught a whiff of something foul. "Be grateful my son still has use for you," she sneered. "Otherwise, your entire family would be washing latrines until death."

Celeste's mother, who was pale and trembling, bit her lip until blood welled up, but she said nothing. The words cut her deeply, but she remained silent, a prisoner of the circumstance she had long been resigned to. The tension in the room grew thick, a suffocating weight that seemed to bend the very air itself. The fire flickered uneasily, its light casting long, twisted shadows on the walls as if reflecting the darkness in the hearts of those present.

Tristan's fists clenched at his sides with his knuckles turning white. He wanted to say something, to fight back, but he knew it was futile. He knew this was a battle he couldn't win. So, he stood there, as a silent witness to the humiliation of the woman he loved, as his mother continued her cruel reign of words. The room felt smaller, and suffocating, as if it was closing in around them all.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Vivian broke the silence with a sharp, decisive motion. She turned on her heel, with her royal seal at her waist gleaming coldly in the dim firelight, a cruel reminder of her power. "Come, Tristan," she ordered, her voice was icy. "You'll learn soon enough: the company you keep is the first step to your ruin."

Tristan hesitated, just a breath, a fleeting moment of doubt. His heart screamed to stay, to fight for Celeste and for her family. But he knew better. Vivian's presence was a command, a force that could not be denied, not without consequences that would reach far beyond this house. With a heavy heart and a reluctant step, he turned away, following her out into the cold night, leaving the warmth of the home, and the woman he loved behind.

Celeste stood at the doorway, her hands trembled at her sides, and her gaze locked on Tristan's retreating figure. The firelight flickered, casting faint shadows on her face, but it was the shimmer of unshed tears in her wide, green eyes that caught the attention. She stared after him, the weight of his departure crashing down on her like a wave. She had no idea how true Vivian's words would one day become, how the seeds of Tristan's ruin were already being sown with every step he took away from her, from them.

In that moment, Celeste's heart ached with a quiet despair, and she wondered if she would ever see him again, truly see him or if he would be lost to the cruel world that his bloodline demanded of him. The fire burned low behind her, its warmth fading, leaving only the cold echo of a future she feared was already slipping away.