The cold sting of metal bites into my wrists as they cuff me to the infirmary bed, the clank of the restraints ringing in my ears. My chest rises and falls in ragged breaths, fury and frustration twisting inside me like a storm I can't control. The guards don't say a word as they finish securing me, their faces blank, indifferent. I glare at them, but they don't meet my eyes. It's as if I'm not even worth their acknowledgment now that I'm shackled like some common criminal.
One guard remains stationed at the door, arms crossed, his gaze focused straight ahead. Another stands just inside the room, his eyes fixed on me, watching my every move as though I might break free at any moment and cause more chaos. They've made sure to block any possible escape route this time. I'm trapped. Completely and utterly trapped.
The throbbing pain in my body is nothing compared to the pain gnawing at my mind. I thought I could do it. I thought I could sneak out, reach my mother, get her help for Seraphina… and maybe finally face the woman who tortured me. But now, all of that seems so far away, so impossible.
My muscles ache from the struggle, every part of me screaming in protest as I try to shift against the cuffs, the sharp clink of metal against metal grating in my ears. I pull once, twice, but it's useless. The cuffs are too tight, and every movement only serves to remind me of my helplessness.
How did it come to this? How did I end up here, chained to a bed like some kind of wild animal?
The door creaks open, and my head snaps up. My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of hope and dread filling me. Maybe it's someone who can help me, someone who will listen. But as soon as I see her step into the room, my heart sinks like a stone.
The Dean.
Her heels click sharply against the floor as she strides in, the air in the room growing heavier with her presence. She's an imposing figure—tall, with sharp features and eyes that seem to pierce right through you. She always carries herself with an air of authority, like she knows exactly how much power she holds over everyone around her. And in this moment, it's clear that she's the one in control.
I grit my teeth and sit up as much as the cuffs will allow, but I don't say anything. My throat feels tight, my mind still reeling from everything that's happened. What's the point of speaking when I know she's already made up her mind?
She stops a few feet from the bed, her arms folded neatly in front of her. Her gaze sweeps over me, cold and calculating, as though I'm just another disobedient student in her academy—not the Lyric's son.
"Prince Dragonir," she says, her voice smooth but laced with condescension. "I must admit, I'm impressed. It's not often that someone escapes the infirmary under such heavy guard. But of course…" She pauses, a thin smile curling at the corners of her mouth. "It was only a matter of time before you were caught."
I narrow my eyes at her, my jaw clenched tight. "I wasn't escaping for me," I snap, the words spilling out before I can stop them. "I needed to get to my mother. Seraphina—she's in danger. I have to—"
"Your mother?" The Dean cuts me off, arching an eyebrow. "Oh, Prince Dragonir, do you really think you were going to make it to her without anyone noticing?" She laughs, the sound cold and humorless. "You truly underestimate the reach of the crown, don't you?"
Her words hit me like a slap in the face, but I keep my expression stony. "I don't care about the crown. I care about—"
"You don't care about the crown?" The Dean's smile widens, but there's no warmth in it. "Interesting. Considering the fact that you ran away from your mother's expectations, I'd have thought you might still hold some concern for the duty you were born into."
I freeze, her words cutting through me like a blade.
She knows.
She knows I ran away. The shock of it reverberates through me, but I try to keep my face neutral. "What are you talking about?" I manage to ask, though my voice is strained.
The Dean steps closer, her eyes narrowing as she studies me. "Do you really think we didn't know the moment you left? Your mother was informed the second you set foot outside the palace. Every movement you've made, every place you've hidden, every step you've taken—it's all been monitored." She tilts her head, her voice softening, almost mocking. "Did you really think you could escape your destiny, Dragonir?"
I can't breathe. The room feels like it's closing in on me, the walls pressing tighter and tighter as her words sink in. My mother knew. She knew I ran away, and she let me go. She let me believe I was free, that I could find myself, find my own path away from the suffocating expectations of the crown. But all this time, she was keeping tabs on me? Watching me?
"Liar," I spit, though even as the word leaves my mouth, I can feel the weight of doubt settling over me.
The Dean raises an eyebrow, her smile fading as she leans in slightly. "You know I'm telling the truth. Why do you think no one came after you? Why do you think no one stopped you?" She straightens, her gaze never leaving mine. "You were allowed to leave. Because your mother, the Lyric, decided it was in your best interest. But she's always known where you are."
My stomach churns. My thoughts race, spiraling out of control as I try to process what she's saying. None of it makes sense, but at the same time, it makes too much sense. The way no one chased me when I left. The way no one came looking for me. I thought I'd gotten away. I thought I'd finally broken free from the weight of being the Lyric's son, from the duty that had been shoved onto me since I was born.
But now it's all crashing down around me.
She knew. All this time, she knew, and she let me believe I was in control of my own life.
The room feels too small. I can't think. I can't breathe.
"You're lying," I repeat, but my voice is weaker now, hollow.
The Dean gives me a look of pity, as if I'm some naive child clinging to an illusion. "Dragonir, your mother loves you. But she also knows what you need, even if you don't." She steps back, folding her arms again. "You think you were running away to find yourself? You think you were escaping the responsibility of being a general?" She shakes her head, her expression hardening. "You can't escape what you are. You were born for this. You were bred for this."
Her words make me want to scream. Every syllable feels like a chain tightening around me, reminding me of the weight I've been trying so desperately to outrun. General. Duty. Honor.
I didn't ask for any of this. I never wanted to be a general, to lead armies, to have the weight of the kingdom resting on my shoulders. I just wanted to be… me. To figure out who I am, outside of my mother's expectations, outside of the crown. But no matter how far I run, it always finds me. It always pulls me back.
The Dean watches me, her eyes sharp and unforgiving. "You're not just the Lyric's son, Dragonir. You're her only son. You carry the legacy of the crown, whether you want it or not. And your mother has always known where you are because she knows what's best for you." She pauses, letting that sink in before continuing. "The moment you stepped foot onto academy grounds, I was notified. You were never out of reach."
I can't stop the way my chest tightens, the betrayal settling deep in my gut like a sickness. How could she do this? How could my mother watch me from a distance, keep me under surveillance, and never tell me? How could she make me think I was free, only to let me realize that I've been caged all along?
"Why?" I whisper, my voice breaking as I try to piece everything together. "Why did she let me go if she was just going to watch me?"
The Dean's gaze softens, but only slightly. "Because she believed that by letting you think you were free, you might eventually come back on your own. That you might accept your role willingly." She shrugs, her expression unreadable. "But clearly, you haven't."
I feel like the ground is crumbling beneath me, like everything I've been standing on is slipping away. I don't know what to think anymore. I don't know who to trust.
For so long, I've been running from this—running from the weight of my mother's expectations, from the destiny that's been hanging over me since I was born. I thought that by leaving, I could escape it, that I could find myself and figure out who I am without the crown suffocating me. But now… now it feels like I've never had a choice. It feels like everything I've done has been part of some twisted game, orchestrated by my mother and the crown.
"You're wrong," I manage to say, though my voice sounds weak even to me. "I'm not going back. I won't be the general she wants me to be. I'm not her puppet."
The Dean gives me a long, measured look, then turns toward the door. "That's not for me to decide, Prince Dragonir. But I'll leave you to think about your options." She glances back at me, her eyes cold once more. "You can either accept your role, or you can continue fighting it. But in the end, the crown always wins."
With that, she strides out of the room, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence.
I stare at the ceiling, my mind racing, my heart heavy with betrayal, confusion, and a deep, aching sadness that I can't shake. My mother knew. She knew I was running, and she let me. She's been watching me all along, letting me think I had control when in reality, I've been in her grasp the whole time.
The weight of it presses down on me, threatening to crush me.
What's the point of running when there's no escape?