He was already ahead, and waited for Hael to catch up to him before speaking.
"To answer your question, yes some people engage in such…intimate acts with the person they love, however that's not the kind of place lovers go to. If you're looking for love, you most certainly won't find it there." He scoffed.
"Is love something you don't wish to have…Your Majesty?"
Ceremus went silent when he heard this.
Ceremus had only truly loved a single person in his life—his father. After his father died, it felt like a part of him died with him. That deep loneliness, that void that was left after his passing was never able to be filled even to this day. The notion or the concept of loving someone was a foreign feeling to the young king. Who couldn't possibly fathom the thought of loving another for he felt as though it would be a betrayal to his father. Love was a feeling he had since lost and couldn't even remember what it felt like to receive it, let alone express it.
These were his true and honest thoughts, things he himself would never admit out loud. Had it been anyone else asking him such a personal question, he would've struck them then and there, but because it was Hael speaking to him, he couldn't bring himself to do so. He also couldn't bring himself to lie, not when he was looking at him so earnestly, so expectantly.
The young man felt himself at an impasse.
"Love is all consuming. It takes more than it gives, and when it's gone you no longer know yourself. I'd rather be half full than completely empty…" He whispered.
They continued the rest of the walk in silence, and though Hael longed to hear him speak, to share more about his feelings, he knew it wouldn't be right to pry any further than he already had. So he left it at that.
*
Hael lay awake that night, unable to sleep for the first time since he'd arrived at the palace. His mind kept returning to Ceremus' words.
He wasn't sure why, but they resonated deeply within him. They were raw, vulnerable, yet the king had spoken as if they didn't apply to him. There was a cold detachment in his voice, but Hael could also sense an underlying longing. Ceremus was a mystery he desperately wanted to unravel.
He spent the entire night thinking about him, and by the time morning came, sleep had still not found him.
Hael reported for duty and was asked to escort the King to the throne room for a meeting with an envoy from a neighboring kingdom.
"Which kingdom?" Hael asked Anemone as they walked toward the King's chambers.
From the brief history and geography lessons Anthanasia had given him, Hael recalled that two other nations surrounded Trojas: Kalos to the east and Cleves to the west. Besides those two, Trojas had friendly relations with Polovia and Demer.
"We're meeting with Cleves," Anemone replied.
Dressed in his formal robes, adorned with the finest gold, the King made his way toward the throne room, followed by Hael. Ceremus took his seat, and the royal council gathered around him. Hael stood at the base of the throne, his uniform immaculate, his posture dignified.
He felt the curious stares of the council members, but he ignored them, his focus fixed ahead as the throne doors opened and the envoys entered.
One of them stepped forward, and a collective gasp rippled through the room.
A stunning woman knelt in respect, her beauty almost otherworldly—haunting, ethereal, touched by darkness. The only words Hael could think of to describe her were those.
"You may rise," Ceremus said, his expression one of disinterest.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," the woman said, lifting her head with a serene smile before stepping back.
"So? To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?" the King asked, his gaze narrowing, making the woman appear no more than a mere insect he'd stepped on.
The others who accompanied her visibly recoiled, offended by his tone, but the woman remained unfazed. She had heard rumors of the King of Trojas—of his particular nature and his unique personality.
"My name is Atalanta," she said smoothly. "We come on behalf of our King, who wishes to form a friendly alliance with you… through marriage."
Gasps echoed through the throne room, and Hael felt his heart sink. Unconsciously, his eyes flicked to Ceremus, who appeared unfazed by the bombshell that had just been dropped. The council waited with bated breath, anxiously awaiting their king's response.
"Marriage, you say? With whom?" Ceremus finally asked, his voice neutral.
Atalanta let out a soft laugh. "I don't think there's anyone else here who's king besides yourself, Your Majesty."
The council members were taken aback, some exchanging shocked looks. "H-How dare she speak such insolent words!" one of them muttered.
Ceremus let out a long sigh, silencing them instantly. Atalanta, however, observed the subtle shift in his demeanor and smiled knowingly.
"I have no desire to be wed, nor am I seeking a wife at this time. You can go back to your king and tell him as much," Ceremus said, his tone firm.
The envoys behind Atalanta shifted uncomfortably, uncertain of how to react to the king's refusal. But Atalanta's expression remained resolute. She wasn't leaving without getting the answer she wanted.
"I understand your reluctance to agree to such a sudden proposition," she said calmly. "Perhaps we could give you a few days to reconsider?"
Ceremus smirked. "Ha! I understand you people are rather busy, yes? I would hate to waste your precious time when the answer will be the same no matter how much time you choose to give me." His voice dropped dangerously low.
The council, visibly uneasy, exchanged worried glances as they watched their king's mood darken with each passing second.
After years of serving under his command, the council had become well-versed in recognizing the signs of Ceremus' volatile moods. They had learned to detect when he was on the verge of exploding in a fit of rage, and it always began the same way—a slow, steady build toward madness. At first, he would speak languidly, his boredom so palpable that even those unskilled in the art of conversation could feel it.
His voice would drop lower, his patience thinning with every word, until it would culminate in thinly veiled threats before the inevitable outburst.
The council watched with growing concern as Ceremus had already moved from the first stage to the second in mere seconds.
It was clear: the King was not pleased with the envoy's words, and his mood had shifted dangerously.