The Prince's Shadow

Chapter 5: The crowned voice

Chapter Five: The Crowned Voice

The clouds over Caelwyn hung low and gray as the city massed before the balcony of the palace. The square was packed to overflowing nobles in velvet cloaks, merchants in their finest festival attire, and even the commoners who did not often catch a glimpse of the gilded gates. Crimson-and-black banners of the royal house streamed from every tower. A thrum of expectation hung in the air like static.

Prince Kairo would be speaking today.

One week had passed since his wondrous awakening, and although official ceremonies had stirred amazement, their long-abed heir had not yet spoken to them. Rumors spread like storm winds of lost memories, of divine healing, of prophetic dreams that were spoken of.

Today they would learn his truth from his own lips.

Inside the Hall of Sovereigns, the prince gazed into a gleaming mirror. A servant snapped the last catch of his ceremonial cloak: black velvet, trimmed in bloodred silk, bearing the Caelwyn crest in silver on his shoulder.

"Too showy?" he asked, smoothing his reflection.

"No, Your Grace," replied the servant, bowing low. "You look like the prince they remember."

Kairo smiled faintly. "Good."

He turned, shooed the attendant back, and strode to the antechamber where Queen Alys and the High Regent waited.

"Welcome, my son," Alys greeted softly, eyes still sweeping.

"Mother," he replied with courtesied warmth, touching a kiss to her hand.

The High Regent, a gaunt hawk-eyed man named Vollen, bowed rigidly. "All of Caelwyn waits to be told by you."

"Then tell them so," the prince stated.

The balcony doors swung open.

A roar of cheer burst like thunder.

The prince stepped into view, face calm, eyes glinting. Queen Alys sat behind him on her silver throne, a stern queen against weathered marble. A hush fell as he raised a gloved hand.

"My people," he began to say, his rich, mellow voice ringing well out over the square. "I am here not as a miracle, but as a man who has returned from the edge of nothing."

Whispers made their way through the gathering.

"I remember little of those lost years," he continued. "Only shadows. But I remember Caelwyn. I remember honor."

Applause.

"I remember love. The touch of my mother. The street songs of the city. The promise that I made a child, to protect this kingdom till my death."

More applause. Queen Alys looked at him sideways.

"I have woken to a different world. New faces, new voices, and hurt both seen and unseen. But there are some things that do not change: loyalty. Honor. Justice."

His tone shifted slightly, tightening like a vice hidden in silk.

"And I know… that not all those who dwell in these halls wear his own face."

A hesitation. A long, considered silence.

"Some would bend the truth to gain power. Some whisper poison behind tapestries. They call it politics."

The crowd was silent.

"I call it treason."

Gasps.

"But I am not here to condemn the past. I am here to guide the future. A future where Caelwyn does not break under ambition. Where those who live in darkness, forgotten and hidden, are brought to light."

A cheer began again, slower this time. Unstable.

He smiled, relaxing. "To the servants, to the guards, to the merchants who have breathed life into our kingdom this crown owes you more than thanks. It owes you peace."

Louder cheers now. Women cried. Nobles looked at each other with suspicion.

"I shall not be an unheard queen. Nor a distant one. If you cry, I shall hear you cry. If you bleed, I shall see you bleed. And if you betray Caelwyn, I will find you."

That declaration hung in the air like a blade.

He bowed his head. "Long live the Queen. Long live Caelwyn."

The square erupted in applause.

As the prince spun to leave, the High Regent smiled graciously. "That was… stirring."

"Only the beginning," the prince growled.

In a dusty back room on the city's edge, Sheila Ren observed the speech on a grainy monitor, her heart racing. Tate sat beside her, crossed arms.

"He's good," Tate said.

"Too good," Sheila said. "He's not speaking to the people. He's warning them."

She zoomed in on the feed. When the prince turned his head, she froze the frame.

There were the eyes again.

Still cold. Still watching.

Still hunting.

Later that night, in the prince's private study once again, a servant lit the last of the evening candles.

"Will that be all, Your Grace?"

"Yes," replied the prince.

The servant turned to leave.

"Wait," called the prince.

He walked across the room, pulled out a crumpled parchment from his cloak, and handed it over.

"Take this to the Warden of Shadows. Privately."

The servant bowed, glanced once at the seal the sigil, altered, worn.

"Immediately, sire."

Alone, the prince leaned against the window, gazing out over the ink-black city.

"They are watching me," he whispered. "Let them."

He pressed a finger to the cold glass.

"I want them to."