Heirs to the throne

The hall was flooded with golden light — not warm, but heavy. Columns stretched upwards, disappearing into the haze of incense, and it seemed that the very air here was saturated with the oaths of centuries past. The council of elders stood in a semicircle, their faces motionless, almost stone-like. They were not watching the people. They were weighing the figures on the board. Today was the coronation of the official heir. Holland, the court's recognised candidate, worthy and proven, was becoming the face of the new government, of new hopes. The crown was supposed to symbolise power, but not end the struggle: conspiracies were already brewing in the shadows of the palace, and Shane's every step was under the scrutiny of invisible eyes, as if the very silence of the palace was watching him. He knelt on one knee. The crown lay on the altar — ancient, dark, decorated with symbols whose meaning had long been forgotten but continued to be feared. When it was lifted, the hall became noticeably quieter. He felt the gazes — hundreds, thousands — and among them one that was impossible not to feel. Rozanov. He stood to the right of the throne — as protocol dictated — dressed in black, too simple for such a day. The slight sheen of his light brown curls, which slightly escaped his neat hairstyle, shimmered in the light of the chandeliers. A mole on his cheek, almost imperceptible, attracted the eye, and his confident posture and relaxed gestures made him strangely attractive. Not a single unnecessary sign of authority, only calmness and a gaze — attentive, penetrating, as if he were not attending the ceremony, but merely studying it. When the crown touched Shane’s head, something inside him stirred. Not triumph. Not pride. A feeling of terrible burden. — From this moment on, you are the voice of power, — said the high priest. — Your will shall be law. Holland rose. Applause rippled through the hall like a wave. He turned — slowly, deliberately — and for a split second allowed himself not to be perfect. Ilya bowed his head slightly. The gesture was correct. But his gaze expressed the exact opposite. There was something dangerous in it. Mockery? Interest? Or a challenge disguised as respect? Shane caught himself thinking that he wanted to get closer. To check. To make sure it wasn’t his imagination. The priest’s voice echoed through the hall.

***

The reception after the coronation was inevitable. Music, whispers, glasses clinking, the rustle of expensive fabrics, insincere laughter — the court breathed its usual hypocrisy and emptiness. Here, people smiled at those they despised and bowed to those they had already betrayed. Shane knew this. He had been taught to read such masks since childhood. But today he felt Rozanov’s presence all the time. His warmth behind his back. His gaze sliding over his skin, his back. — You look… tired, — said one of the advisers. — The crown is heavy. I have been entrusted with many responsibilities and hopes that I fear I will not be able to fulfil, — Shane replied, and at that moment he heard a quiet chuckle very close by. — Don’t lie, — whispered Ilya, coming too close. — It suits you. Holland turned his head. Their shoulders were almost touching. He caught a scent — cold, sharp. Wild. — You are too free with your words, — he remarked in a serious tone. — And you are too constrained, — Rosanov parried. — Balance, Your Majesty. The sarcasm was gentle, almost playful. And that made it even more daring. Shane felt something other than irritation rising inside him. What was this feeling? He couldn’t let this bastard mock him on such an important day. — The protocol… — …doesn’t forbid telling the truth, — Ilya finished for him, leaning closer. His voice grew quieter. — Or do you just not like being seen? That was too much. Too accurate.

***

The night after the coronation was too quiet. Shane stood by the tall window, still wearing his ceremonial doublet, watching the lights of the capital slowly fade, as if the city were bowing its head with him. Everything had gone perfectly — just as it should have. He had been prepared for this day. Everything had been decided even before he was born. The applause, the oaths, the expectant glances. He knew this role. He had grown up in it. — Do you always look at the city like this? — came a voice from behind him. Shane didn’t turn around immediately. He recognised it instantly. Ilya stood at the door, gloves off, collar unbuttoned — too casual for an heir, too bold for this palace. There was neither defiance nor reverence in his posture. Only a calmness that was both irritating and attractive. — Only when he looks at me, — Shane replied coldly. — Protocol forbids you from being here alone. Ilya smiled — barely perceptibly. — Protocol forbids many things. But today, it seems, no one cared about it. He came closer. One step. Then another. Too close. Holland felt it almost physically — the stranger’s warmth, the stranger’s confidence. And anger at himself. — You’re too bold, — he exhaled, but his voice trembled, which he hadn’t expected even from himself. Ilya smiled, quietly, almost in a whisper: — Do you like it when someone breaks the rules? Shane wanted to back away, but his legs wouldn’t obey him. Rozanov raised his hand, almost touching his chin, and for a moment lingered on his lips. How careless. In that moment, the hall and the courtyard, the protocol and the council of elders — everything dissolved. Only one thing remained: a dangerous, burning attraction. — If you win, — Ilya said, his breath scorching the prince’s face, — I’ll have to hate you. — And if I lose? — Shane replied quietly, each breath weakening under the pressure of those expressive hazel eyes. — Then I won’t be able to let you go. And for a second, barely noticeable but palpable, their lips were almost touching. Both felt a flash of electricity — desire, risk, power and madness mixed in a single moment. Shane stepped back, turned abruptly, but his heart continued to beat wildly. Ilya took a step back, but looked at him as if he could see every thought, and both understood: this game was just beginning.