I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 354: Part 2 - Rhys Flashback

The three sisters fled with alacrity. They recognized exactly how dangerous their mother’s mood was. The door closed behind them with a large bang that felt like a cell door slamming shut.

Her Majesty’s scrutiny shifted between Rhys and Claudia, assessing and deeming both insufficient.

”You,” she addressed Claudia with the tone someone might use for particularly persistent vermin, ”should not be here. This wing is for family only.”

”My son lives here,” Claudia replied, her voice steady despite facing someone who could destroy her with a word to the right ears. ”I have every right to visit him.”

”Your son,” the Queen repeated, each syllable dripping with contempt, ”exists here through my husband’s weakness and my own reluctant tolerance. Do not presume rights where none exist.”

She turned her full attention to Rhys, and he felt the weight of that gaze. This close, he could see the subtle lines around her eyes, and how much hatred rested in them.

”You are the reminder of my husband’s betrayal,” she said quietly. ”Every time I see your face, I see his infidelity. Every time I hear your name, I remember that he chose human flesh over elven dignity. You are living proof that even kings can fall to temptation.”

”Your Majesty...” Claudia started.

”Be silent,” the Queen snapped, her composure cracking fractionally. ”You have poisoned this palace enough with your presence. Your common human blood has created this... abomination that walks our halls and shames our lineage.”

Rhys felt something crack inside his chest, something that had been bending under pressure for years, finally breaking. Tears threatened, but he refused to let them fall. Crying would only prove everything she said about human weakness.

”I didn’t ask to be born,” he managed, his voice small but defiant. ”I didn’t choose any of this.”

”No,” the Queen agreed coldly. ”You didn’t. But you exist nonetheless, and your existence is a wound that festers in the heart of this family. Human filth has no place in these halls, child. No matter whose seed created you, you will never be one of us. You will never be acknowledged. You will never be loved by the man whose blood you carry.”

She leaned down, bringing her perfect face level with his, and Rhys saw something in her eyes that went beyond hatred. It was fear. Fear that he would be acknowledged, that her daughters’ positions would be jeopardized, and, worst of all, that he might finally matter.

”Pray you never catch his attention,” she whispered, her breath cold against his face. ”Because the moment you become inconvenient rather than merely embarrassing, the moment you threaten my daughters’ futures, I will ensure your mother’s business contracts are terminated, and you both disappear into whatever hovel spawned her originally.”

She straightened, composure restored as if the threat had never been spoken. ”Guards. Escort these two to the servants’ entrance. They’ve overstayed their welcome.”

Two palace guards appeared instantaneously, their faces carefully blank as they approached Claudia and Rhys. They wouldn’t touch the King’s... guest... roughly, but the message was clear.

Claudia took Rhys’s hand, squeezing it desperately, trying to reassure him and let herself be guided toward the door. But as they reached the threshold, Rhys looked back.

Through another window, across a courtyard, he could see the throne room where King Maelor held court. His father stood there, listening to some petition from a minor noble, his expression regal and distant.

The King never looked toward the window. Never acknowledged the son being escorted from the palace like unwanted trash. Never showed any sign that he knew or cared about what his Queen had just said to his only son.

’Does he even know I exist?’ Rhys wondered, the thought cutting deeper than any of the Queen’s words. ’Does he care?’

That night, alone in his quarters after his mother had been sent away, Rhys stood at his window watching the stars emerge. Somewhere in this palace, his father slept in rooms Rhys would never enter. His half-sisters prepared for tomorrow’s lessons in subjects Rhys would never be taught. The Queen plotted ways to ensure he remained invisible, insignificant, wholly and thoroughly unwanted.

But in the silence of his isolation, Rhys made a promise to himself.

’I’ll prove them wrong. All of them. I’ll become so powerful, so accomplished, so undeniably worthy that Father will have no choice but to acknowledge me.’

’I’ll graduate first in my class from Cordelia Academy. I’ll achieve things no half-blood has ever achieved. I’ll force them to see me. I’ll show them what human blood combined with elven heritage can accomplish.

And then... then maybe Father will finally look at me.’

The stars offered no response, their distant light as cold and uncaring as everything else in Rhys’s young life.

But the dream took root nonetheless, growing in the darkness where rejection had tried to plant only despair.

------

King Maelor stood alone in his private chambers, staring at a portrait he kept hidden behind a false panel in the wall. The painting showed a younger version of himself standing beside a dark-haired human woman whose smile carried warmth that elven faces rarely managed.

Claudia. Before their love had created a child, the kingdom would never have accepted.

A month had passed since reports reached him about an incident at the human capital. His son, and he could call Rhys that here, in privacy where the Queen’s spies couldn’t hear.

He had been humiliated in a duel. Beaten soundly by some human boy, a chosen one barely sixteen years old.

The political implications were minimal. Rhys had no official status to damage, no reputation to protect beyond his own pride. But Maelor had felt the sting nonetheless, the father’s instinct to protect warring with the king’s necessity to remain distant.

He’d watched Rhys grow from shadows and hidden galleries. Watched him endure his half-sisters’ cruelty with dignity that belied his apparent age. He stood tall despite the Queen’s hatred and the court’s contempt.

’My only son,’ Maelor thought, his stoic expression cracking fractionally in this privacy. Created from love, the kingdom calls weakness. Brilliant, talented, determined... and completely alone.

The Queen had given him three daughters. Beautiful, accomplished, politically perfect daughters who would make excellent matches for other royal houses. But no son. No male heir to carry forward the direct bloodline, to inherit without the complications that female succession sometimes created.

He should be grateful for what he had. Three legitimate heirs who could rule adequately. A stable kingdom. Political alliances are maintained through marriage prospects.

But late at night, when duty could be set aside, Maelor wanted his son. He wished to acknowledge Rhys publicly, to give him the royal education he deserved, to watch him grow into the remarkable leader his talent deserved.

The kingdom would never allow it. The Queen would revolt. The court would fracture. And Rhys himself might be destroyed by the political backlash that would result from his open acknowledgment.

So Maelor did what kings learned to do. He found alternative solutions.

He closed the false panel, hiding Claudia’s portrait once more, and moved to his desk, where reports and intelligence waited in carefully organized stacks.

One report in particular caught his attention, its contents representing an opportunity.

Information about a Mythical-rank wind spirit dwelling in the ancient forests, three days’ ride from the capital. Sylph, she was called. Mischievous, powerful, and known for making contracts only when sufficiently entertained by the potential partnership.

Most spirits rejected people outright. But Mythical-rank entities operated on different principles than their lesser cousins. They cared less about bloodline purity and more about interesting possibilities.

If Maelor could convince Sylph to approach Rhys, to offer a contract that the boy would believe he’d earned through his own merit...

The power boost would be substantial. Rhys could legitimately claim achievements worthy of recognition. The contract would give him leverage to demand acknowledgment without it appearing to be mere nepotism.

And if Maelor arranged it carefully enough, Rhys would never know his father had helped. He could maintain his pride, his belief that he’d accomplished something himself.

It was a gift Maelor could give without ever receiving gratitude. A father’s love is expressed through covert manipulation and secret actions, rather than open affection.

’My only hope for your future. So that no one will ever look down upon you.’