You were never alone Part II

It was Maddox who answered.

"He never abandoned the search for you. Your disappearance has haunted him for eighteen years."

Maddox folded his arms.

"Those who remained loyal to your father made sure he never found you. They planted false evidence and conflicting reports about your whereabouts, keeping Aldren searching in the wrong places."

His gaze hardened.

"They're the reason you've lived a peaceful life until now while he spent all those years chasing rumors and ghosts. And whenever someone came too close, I handled it myself."

Maddox lowered his gaze to the axe resting beside him.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then crimson flames slowly spread across its blade.

Damian stared at him as fragments of forgotten moments surfaced one after another.

Every unexpected visit.

Every coincidence.

The hooded warrior he had once thought he'd imagined.

"You..."

His voice caught.

"It was you."

Maddox said nothing.

His silence was answer enough.

"But this time is different," he finally continued. "Our spies inside the castle intercepted a report. Aldren isn't visiting this kingdom for trade."

Damian's attention sharpened.

"Under the guise of military support, several battalions will remain in Flargan permanently. He intends to tighten his grip over this kingdom, create enough chaos to incite a rebellion, and seize control under the pretense of restoring order."

Maddox's expression darkened.

"The occupation won't stop there. They'll begin recruiting the kingdom's young men. At first, they'll call it voluntary."

He paused.

"It never stays voluntary. With your reputation, your name won't remain unnoticed for long."

Maddox held Damian's gaze.

"You escaped this war once. I'm not letting it claim you a second time."

Damian's eyes immediately shifted toward Stefan.

Maddox understood the question before it was spoken.

"Stefan was never Aldren's enemy. But with you here, if anyone recognizes him—if even a single memory resurfaces—they'll connect the threads. So even his life is in danger."

He straightened.

"We leave together before Aldren reaches the city."

Damian said nothing.

"You have three days to prepare."

Everything Damian had ever believed about himself seemed to crumble at once.

Without another word, he slowly rose from his chair.

"I... need a moment."

No one tried to stop him.

He quietly climbed the stairs and closed the door to his room.

•••

Morning arrived, but the crippling silence remained.

Damian needed time, and it was given to him. Stefan kept glancing toward the stairs every few minutes, hoping he would appear, but he never did.

The day passed slowly. The bakery operated as usual, but Stefan handled every customer and completed every familiar task with a heavy heart and a growing dread of the future.

He did not want to lose his only son.

Still, he had kept his promise to Queen Relliana, and he was proud of it.

The sun rose again.

The bakery stirred to life as it always had. Bread rested in the oven, fresh pastries cooled upon the shelves, and the familiar scent that had filled Damian's home since childhood drifted through the house once more.

Stefan and Gemma worked quietly side by side. Neither had slept, though neither expected the other to admit it.

Footsteps echoed down the stairs.

Both abandoned their tasks, their attention immediately settling upon the young man descending toward them.

Damian appeared with red, sleepless eyes. He looked at them for a long moment before offering a faint smile.

"Morning."

Stefan forced one in return.

"Morning, son..."

He hesitated.

"Prince Damian," he whispered, as though correcting himself.

A heavy silence followed.

It was Gemma who finally broke it.

"Eat. You must be hungry."

She placed his favorite eggs and muffins in front of him. Damian noticed the worried glances she and Stefan exchanged while he ate, but he said nothing.

When he finished, he carried his plate to the sink and began washing it.

Gemma stepped toward him.

"Aunt Gemma, let me."

Afterward, Damian returned to the table and sat quietly, his hands folded together.

"I need to talk to both of you."

Stefan looked at him.

The boy he had once carried in his arms had grown into a tall, muscular young man. Years of sword training showed in his broad shoulders and steady posture, and despite everything that had happened, the person standing before Stefan was still unmistakably his son.

A faint smile found its way onto Stefan's face.

"No matter what I learned that night," Damian began, his voice calm, "you will always be my father."

He turned toward Gemma.

"And you will always be Aunt Gemma."

Gemma lowered her head as tears rolled freely down her cheeks.

"I don't know what awaits me. I don't know if I'm ready, but I have to discover my own path."

A small grin appeared despite the conflicting emotions written across his face.

"And if it's with Uncle Mad, that would be amazing."

A faint trace of hope and excitement returned to his voice.

"He's obviously been hiding how incredible he is. He isn't merely a weapons master—he's a warrior who harnesses crimson flames. I'm going to learn so much."

His eyes wandered around the little bakery that had been his entire world.

"If I ever lose my way..."

His eyes filled with tears once again, but a gentle smile appeared.

"I know where home is."

Damian looked back at Stefan.

"Please, Dad... trust me a little. The same way I trusted you."

Stefan could only stare at him.

Even after discovering the truth of his past, he's the one reassuring me.

Then he looked again at the young man before him and realized something far more important than the bloodline Damian had just inherited.

He had not raised a prince.

He had raised a good man.