His daughter once caught him struggling on palace stairs.
“Need help?”
“No.”
She waited.
He took another step.
His knee failed.
She caught his arm.
He sighed.
“Do not look pleased.”
“I learned patience from Grandmother.”
“You learned sarcasm from her.”
“Also true.”
He allowed her to help.
Halfway up, he laughed.
“What?”
She asked.
“My father warned me about this.”
“About stairs?”
“About loving the man in front of you instead of waiting for the one you remember.”
She looked confused.
He smiled.
“You’ll understand later.”
On his final morning, the King asked to be carried into the arena.
The same arena.
The same pedestal.
The same broken mask.
Only the banners had changed with age.
His children gathered around him.
Grandchildren too.
The Captain was long dead.
The Keeper gone.
The old Queen and King buried beside each other beneath the western cliffs.
The King looked toward the golden mask.
“Bring it.”
His daughter frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I am old and entitled to strange requests.”
They brought it.
He held it with both hands.
Still heavy.
Even after all those years.
He turned the face toward himself.
Cold.
Expressionless.
Then turned it around.
Cracked plate.
Empty compartment.
He smiled.
His grandson asked, “Is that really where the key was?”
“Yes.”
“Did nobody know?”
“Someone knew.”
“Who?”
The King thought of the dead metalworker.
The frightened Keeper.
His imprisoned father.
The Regent.
“Too many people knew pieces.”
The boy frowned.
“Then why did nobody find it?”
The King looked at him.
“Because knowing a piece of truth is not the same as being willing to put the pieces together.”
His daughter sat beside him.
“Do you regret breaking it?”
“No.”
“Anything?”
The King considered.
“I regret not understanding the Captain sooner.”
“The shove?”
“Yes.”
“He saved you.”
“I know.”
“He also bruised you.”
“I know.”
His daughter smiled.
“You held that grudge a long time.”
“Family tradition.”
The King leaned back.
His breathing had become shallow.
The western bell began ringing in the distance.
One.
Two.
Three.
He closed his eyes.
Twelve bells.
Twelve years.
His father’s prison.