It's been two days since Madin disappeared, and the atmosphere in the palace is heavy with unspoken questions and unease.
Arthur hasn't left his chambers except for the occasional appearance at the king's insistence.
Even then, his presence is a shadow of the man the court once revered. Gone is the confident, composed prince who commanded every room he entered. Now, he is distracted, irritable, and burdened by an ache he cannot escape.
Arthur sits by the window, staring out at the vast fields that stretch beyond the palace grounds.
His eyes, red from lack of sleep, search the horizon as if Madin might suddenly appear, walking back toward him.
The memory of their last conversation replays in his mind endlessly.
"Why?" He mutters to himself, his voice hoarse. "Why would you leave like this?"
He grips the edge of the window frame, the cool wood grounding him momentarily. His mind is a storm of emotions—guilt, anger, confusion, and a yearning so deep it terrifies him.
Madin's absence feels like a wound that refuses to heal, and the not knowing—where he is, if he's safe—gnaws at him relentlessly.
A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts.
"Your Highness," a servant calls hesitantly. "The royal council awaits you in the great hall."
Arthur sighs, his shoulders slumping. He knows what's coming: more questions about his behavior, more accusations about his priorities. But he cannot ignore them. For all his personal turmoil, he is still a prince, and the kingdom expects him to act like one.
The great hall is colder than usual, the tension palpable. The royal family is already gathered, their expressions ranging from concern to outright annoyance.
Eleanor, the queen, sits regally on her throne, her gaze sharp as it fixes on Arthur. "You're late," she says coolly.
Arthur doesn't respond, taking his seat at the long table.
"You've been avoiding your duties, Arthur," King Elias begins, his tone measured but firm. "This cannot continue. The people are noticing. Your council is noticing."
"I'm handling it," Arthur replies curtly, his jaw tightening.
"Are you?" Jona, his elder brother, interjects, leaning forward with a mocking smile. "Because from where I stand, it looks like our great prince is unraveling over a servant."
Arthur's fists clench under the table, but he says nothing.
"Enough," the king commands, silencing Jona. He turns back to Arthur. "What happened two days ago cannot happen again. You lost control, and everyone saw it. You're fortunate your reputation precedes you, but even that has limits."
Arthur meets his father's gaze, his voice low but steady. "I will not apologize for caring about her."
"Her?" Loretta, the youngest of the siblings, raises an eyebrow. "Are we sure this isn't some elaborate ploy? A servant? Really, Arthur? Do you even know who she truly is?"
Arthur's silence speaks volumes. He doesn't know everything about Madin, but what he does know is enough for him. It's not about titles or status. It's about the way Madin makes him feel—alive, vulnerable, human.
Amelia, the more empathetic of his sisters, speaks up. "Love doesn't follow logic or rules, Loretta. You of all people should know that."
"Love?" Jona scoffs. "Is that what we're calling it now? A prince throwing away alliances, reputation, and his sanity for a fleeting infatuation?"
Arthur slams his fist on the table, the sound echoing through the hall. "Say what you want about me, but do not mock what I feel for her."
The room falls silent, the weight of Arthur's words settling over the family.
Later that evening, Arthur retreats to his chambers. The palace feels colder, emptier without Madin. Every corner reminds him of her—the way she used to move through the halls, the softness of her voice when she called him, the fire in her eyes when she challenged him.
He stands before the mirror, staring at his reflection. The once-proud prince now looks like a man unraveling. Dark circles mar his eyes, and his usually immaculate appearance is disheveled.
"I will find you," he whispers, as if saying it aloud will make it true.
A knock interrupts his thoughts again, and this time it's Michael, one of the few people Arthur trusts implicitly.
"Your Highness," Michael says, bowing slightly. "The search parties have returned. No sign of her yet."
Arthur's shoulders slump, but he nods. "Keep looking. I don't care how long it takes or how far they have to go. Bring her back to me."
Michael hesitates, then speaks cautiously. "Are you certain this is wise, Your Highness? The longer she's gone, the more questions arise. The court is already murmuring. Some are saying she left because—"
"I don't care what they're saying," Arthur cuts him off. "She didn't leave because she wanted to. Something else is at play here, and I will not stop until I know the truth."
Michael nods, his loyalty unwavering. "As you wish, Your Highness."
The night drags on, and Arthur finds no solace in sleep. He paces his room, the weight of his emotions threatening to crush him. Outside, the palace remains tense, its inhabitants walking on eggshells around their volatile prince.
In the shadows of the servant quarters, whispers spread like wildfire. Some believe Madin fled out of fear, while others think she was taken. The truth remains a mystery, but one thing is clear: her absence has shaken the palace to its core.
And at the center of it all, Arthur remains a man consumed—by love, by guilt, and by the desperate hope that he can bring Madin back.