Ash's POV

I threw the heavy, mahogany doors of the study open, causing the settled dust to rise from its long slumber. The last person to step into this room was my father, the night before his trip to Canterbury. Had I known it would be his last, I wouldn't have left his side that night. I stood in the center as the musty scent overwhelmed my senses. Months had gone by, yet I still saw the aura of my father hunched over the sturdy oak desk, its cracks crept to the surface from generations of use. He spent countless nights here, drafting policies and reading letters from citizens all over the kingdom.

Above all, he was a man of honor.

Not a man who would squander the blood, sweat and tears of his people, especially not for personal use.

I frantically opened the drawers of the desk, revealing their contents.

Maps, parchment, ink –

There it was, bound in leather, still in its primeval form, lay my father's accounts book. I found comfort in his familiar script, which seemed to effortlessly flow across the page. He handled the quill with such grace that he turned writing into an art. I felt a pang in my chest once I realized I'd never be able to observe his penmanship again.

Hansbury will eat his words, and at the very least, the pages of the pristine accounts this journal held.

I flipped through the pages, scanning the numbers, and waiting for my mental arithmetic to add up—

Yet, I had to wait longer than I expected.

The numbers didn't add up.

My entire being froze. Not even a finger would give way for me to flip to the next page.

No.

No, this can't be.

I rummaged through the other drawers, hoping to find the real accounts book. But it wasn't there. It wasn't there because it lay in front of me, overflowing with conceited lies.

A teardrop fell onto the worn page, causing the old ink to distort into an illegible blot. Several tears followed after that as my form shook uncontrollably. I deliberately cried over my father's accounts, hoping that my tears would somehow erase the sinful ink that bled through the innocent lives that toiled to support the kingdom.

I felt a hand on my shoulder as another delicately raised the book off the desk. I looked up to find Evelyn as she furrowed her eyebrows over its contents. I dropped my gaze, too ashamed to meet her eyes.

I felt dirty, like a hypocrite. Everything that I stood for as king was in direct contradiction of my father's platform. The man whose footsteps I yearned to follow, I now wished to erase.

What world had I been living in for the past few years that I wasn't even aware of the illegal dealings happening just down the hall?

How could my mother simply watch as her son vehemently denounced the very deeds committed by his own father?

I let out an agonized cry as I angrily swung my arms across the desk, knocking nearly everything over.

Evelyn's POV

I jumped as an inkwell, several books, and vase fell tumbling towards the floor with a loud crash. A nearby guard rushed in, alarm written all over his face.

"Is everything alright, your majesties?" He questioned with his head held low.

It must have been an awkward scene to run into, regardless of how worried he may have been about our safety.

"Bring my mother." Ash barked at him.

Wide-eyed, he let out a curt affirmation before scrambling out of the room.

Poor guy, he was only trying to fulfill his duty.

Ash was still visibly shaking, although the tears stopped rolling down his face. From what I could see, the trails they left were now nearly evaporated due to the heat radiating from his face.

Although he got angry often, though not as much now, I had never seen him this livid before.

I was almost intimidated.

Almost.

"Ash..." I quietly reached for his face.

There was no response.

I too was stunned by the contents in this book, but not quite to that extent.

There had to be an explanation to this.

The King Gavin I knew was a man of honor. He held the upmost respect of everyone he graced. He would never embezzle public funds, yet the book told me otherwise. The amount he amassed over the years was beyond my comprehension. Perhaps it could parallel the total amount owed by the very men who pointed Ash to these accounts.

I heard shuffling beyond the doors as they opened to reveal Aunt Claire. A few hairs escaped her otherwise immaculate bun and her dress was disheveled. She most likely rushed over here from another pursuit. Her face looked worn as the fine lines indicating her age folded deeper than usual, and her eyes were wrought with concern. Once they caught hold of the book in our hands, her lips pursed into a fine line.

She knew.

"Ashton, what is the meaning of this?" She gasped, scanning the mess around her.

He grabbed the book from my hands before throwing it on the table, causing both of us to flinch.

"I should be the one asking you, Mother." He spat.

"Ash, settle down and listen to me." She pleaded.

He halted, mustering every ounce of his energy to restrain his temper.

I pushed a chair forward so that Aunt Claire could take a seat. The poor woman looked as if she would faint at any moment.

"Thank you, dear." She lovingly placed a hand over mine to balance herself as she sat down.

She looked down, her eyebrows furrowed as she thought of where to begin.

With a heavy sigh, she spoke up, "Ash, your father was not a bad man. He was simply a King thrown into a web of power and greed, much like you now."

"Except I haven't been taking bribes and breaking the very laws of the land we rule by." He spoke through gritted teeth.

"Yet," she continued, "It's hasn't even been a year since you've ascended the throne. Your father started off much like you, but it gets difficult, Ash. You can't control people the way everyone is led to believe. In the end, the King is just a head of state, a symbol. The real power is held by a select group of people. Without their support, your position would mean nothing. They fuel your power."

"The people who fuel my power are the ones who slave day after day to keep Sedalia running. I could care less for the pigs who waste away indoors, stealing food right from the very mouths who starve to feed them."

The Queen had a sad smile on her face, "Your father thought the same when he first took the throne. His intentions were good up until the end, regardless."

"What good are intentions if they're not reflected by behavior?" Ash shot back.

She let out another heavy sigh, one weighed down by deep sorrow, "Tell me that again in a few years. But I'd like to let you know that your father never touched that money. He planned to use it for the public, as the taxes he never received were meant to. He figured something is better than nothing, and that something came in the form of these bribes."

"Still menial in comparison to what was originally owed."

"I only wish you my sincerest luck, my son. I fear that you'll be disappointed far too quickly."

"We'll see about that." He challenged, clutching the book before walking out.

"Good night, Aunt Claire." I wished her before dismissing myself.

I decided to leave Ash with his thoughts, and I with my own, as I stepped out into the garden for some fresh air. I envied how calm the pond was, while ripples disturbed the castle on this heavy afternoon. I couldn't help but agree with Ash.

Could someone really change so considerably under pressure?

If so, I feared for our future.