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wildsaltair · 4 months ago

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This will be my single controversial rant about Gladiator and its sequel (specifically my thoughts on Maximus being retconned as Lucius' father), and then I will be silent on the matter because this blog is meant to be A Good Time and I just enjoy sharing my love for Gladiator with everyone on here :)

KIND OF SPOILERS FOR GLADIATOR AND THE SEQUEL (BUT NOT REALLY) BELOW

As everyone knows, Ridley Scott made the choice to reveal in Gladiator 2 that Lucius is actually the son of Maximus from a secret affair with Lucilla. In G2, it's apparently implied that Lucilla was trapped in a bad marriage, fell in love with Maximus, and kept the truth about Lucius' father a secret. Lots of viewers have been split about this, with some thinking that plot point was implied in Gladiator and others feeling that it contradicts what was established in Gladiator.

I am strongly of the opinion that this choice was a bad one, that it does interfere with the integrity of the original film, and that Gladiator 2 would have been much better without that change. I'll give my reasons below.

1. Yes, rewriting Maximus as a cheater does destroy his entire character arc in Gladiator.

We've all seen Gladiator, right? The one where the hero has everything life can offer but longs only to return home to be with his beloved wife and son? Carries their figurines with him into battle, cares only for them when his own life is threatened, lays down to die by their graves after he finds them dead? Spends the whole movie only wanting to meet them again in the afterlife and only gets peace once he's there?

Yeah. Apparently that guy cheated on his wife with a princess. His son and Lucilla's sons are the same age, which means Maximus would have to have been married to his wife while also sleeping with Lucilla.

Maximus' entire character arc relies on his pure, unconditional, self-sacrificial love for his family. Take that away, and you have a generic action movie about a guy who wants revenge because the Emperor tried to kill him once. Even when Maximus has lost everything inside himself and cares about nothing else, he still honors the memory of his family and fights to avenge them as well as join them. He is shown still talking to his wife in the afterlife through prayer and believing she can hear him. As @streets-in-paradise pointed out, it's the equivalent of having Aragon or Hector of Troy cheat on their wives �� it's just painfully out of character for them.

There's also an element of Maximus' love and respect for his Emperor, Marcus Aurelius, another driving force in his characterization. I think Maximus has too much respect for Marcus to have had an affair with Marcus' married daughter, even if he knew Marcus maybe would have wished Maximus had married Lucilla. We never get much insight into that part of the past, but if we go by the virtues Maximus upholds throughout the movie, I just don't think Maximus would have considered sneaking behind Marcus' back to sleep with his daughter.

Either way, the emotional heart of Maximus' character is his love for his family, and retconning that so your sequel has a "bigger emotional impact" is nothing short of undignified and sloppy.

2. All the conversations between Maximus and Lucilla in Gladiator imply that they did have a romantic relationship — but that it was public (not clandestine) and took place before either of them were married.

Yes, Maximus and Lucilla definitely were in love at some point. Russell Crowe and Connie Nielsen have great chemistry, and their conversations (both of them) hold so much weight with "what could have been." Lucilla talks about how she wounded Maximus deeply as he did her, and their conversations are full of things like, "Is it so terrible seeing me again?" The weight of their previous emotional attachment pervades the movie in a way that is inextricable from the plot.

BUT. Maximus and Lucilla had their relationship A LONG TIME AGO. This is very clearly established by the way they talk to each other. Maximus has been in Germania for twelve years (taking breaks only to go home, but NEVER to visit Rome). He and Lucilla presumably met sometime before that, probably while the royal family was visiting some city where Maximus was serving in / commanding the army. The details are never established.

However, Maximus and Lucilla clearly had a public enough relationship that Marcus and Commodus knew about it, but there is never the slightest mention in Gladiator that Lucius might be Maximus' son — something Commodus surely would have exploited had he known it was a possibility.

Maximus and Lucilla were in love, but it was before they married other people. They were probably teenagers or young adults who fell madly in love, wanted to marry, but were stopped for whatever reason (probably Maximus not wanting to play politician's games, as he implies). Maximus met the woman he eventually married, Lucilla married Lucius Verus, and they carried on with their lives until they met again at the beginning of Gladiator.

Also, Maximus talks about the respect he had for Lucilla's husband (a far cry from what Gladiator 2 implies about Lucius Verus), and she talks about how she mourned Maximus' family. Sure, you can read into the script and find stuff about how Maximus could have been Lucius' father, but it explicitly goes against the values and implications of the overall acript.

Connie Nielsen stated that she played her scenes thinking that Maximus was Lucius' father. She's an actress, and she plays Lucilla brilliantly. But she's not the scriptwriter, and no matter what her intentions were, the script implies that their relationship took place much longer ago, before either of them were married. @becomelions made a great post about how Lucilla, too, can wish as much as she wants that Maximus was Lucius' father, but he couldn't have been. Not unless you retcon all of Gladiator as fanfiction.

3. Maximus' relationships with Lucilla and Lucius are not meant to replace those he had with his wife and son — they are meant to be reflections of some of the bigger themes of the film.

With all that said, this is not a hate post about how Gladiator should have been about Maximus and his wife and son, and how I hate Lucilla and Lucius' story and think it contradicts that blah blah blah. NO. The storyline with Lucilla, Lucius, and Maximus is one of the strong points of the whole movie — but not as a replacement for the family he has lost.

In a lot of ways, Lucilla represents Rome as the ideal Maximus always believed in: beautiful, noble, and proud. When he becomes disillusioned with Rome, he becomes disillusioned with Lucilla; when he starts to believe in the hope of Rome again, he starts to believe in Lucilla again. They're always linked. Lucilla is not the woman he wants to start over with and marry now that his wife is gone. She is an old friend and ally whom he eventually learns to trust again.

Lucius, on the other hand, represents what Rome can be again. Lucius is the grandson of Marcus Aurelius, and I think Maximus longs to honor his mentor by preserving the life of his last living heir. Lucius reminds Maximus of his son, yes, and he brings out the protectiveness and the desire to do for Lucius what he couldn't do for his own son. But that doesn't mean Lucius has to be his son for that relationship to have emotional impact, as I will explain further in point 5.

4. Maximus' relationships with Lucilla and Lucius are genuinely integral to the film, but as they are — not as what they could be.

Again, I absolutely love the dynamics between Maximus, Lucilla, and Lucius throughout Gladiator. Russell and Connie play off each other so well with those "I remember how you used to be but that was a long time ago" vibes. Russell and Spencer Treat Clark only share one scene, but it's one of the film's most memorable scenes.

However, we are not meant to question those relationships as "oooooh but what if Lucius is actually Maximus' son????" Maybe Ridley left that door open for the audience to consider, but again, I feel like the film contradicts that by implying that Lucilla and Maximus loved each other much longer ago.

When you make Lucius Maximus' son, Lucilla's seeking out of Maximus as his savior becomes less interesting. It becomes "I'm calling on you to save your son even though you don't know he's your son" instead of "I'm asking you to act out of the goodness inside you to save a boy who doesn't deserve to die any more than your own son did." The version we see in Gladiator is so much more impactful.

It also cheapens what Lucius' journey could have been in Gladiator 2! Again, @streets-in-paradise pointed out how much better the sequel could have been if Lucius had been acting in the shadow of a brilliant man who captivated the city of Rome but also was his friend for a little while. As I'll discuss in point 6, having the reveal of Lucius as Maximus' son is just the laziest possible route for a sequel, and it certainly drags down the dignity of the relationships we see in Gladiator.

5. One of the strengths of Maximus' choice to fight for Lucius' survival in Gladiator lies in the fact that he doesn't have any familial obligation to him.

This is one of my favorite points, because I do love the dynamics between Maximus and little Lucius! Maximus has a bone-deep obligation to save his family — he rides for days and nights to get home and save them, but he misses them by a matter of hours. He wrestles with guilt and misery because he feels like he failed them. He was supposed to be their protector, and he couldn't save them.

BUT. Maximus has no such blood ties to Lucius. This kid is the son of Maximus' ex, the grandson of Maximus' dead mentor, and the nephew of his most hated enemy. Maximus doesn't have an obligation to Lucius as his father: he doesn't even know him until Lucius approaches him in the arena.

And that's what makes his decision to fight for Lucius so powerful. Maximus sees Lucius as the hope of Rome, and he decides that's still worth fighting for — something he had given up on before. Even though he has no obligation to save Lucius as his son, he wants to save him as an innocent young boy caught in political matters over his head.

Again, making Lucius Maximus' son cheapens the impact of that decision. Ridley Scott built up so many amazing plot points and relationships, and it really disappoints me that he just cast them aside to make some easy money by relying on the success of the original.

6. Relying on such a trite, overused plot point to make up the emotional foundation of your sequel can only weaken your sequel and ruin the dignity of your original film.

My final point is simply that Gladiator 2 could have been really well done. They could have done something original with it (or something totally off-the-wall like Russell Crowe's vision LOL). But I think Ridley Scott was banking on that nostalgia factor, and he chose a plot point that he knew would be easily marketable — the hero of the second film is the son of the hero of the first film.

We've seen it done literally hundreds of times, from Star Wars to Superman to Toy Story, and having that be the big reveal of Gladiator 2 is just lazy writing. To have Lucius trying to live up to the legacy of Maximus the hero would have been interesting. To have Lucius discover that he's the son of literally anyone else would have been interesting. To have Lucius discover that he's the son of Maximus is an eye-roll-inducing move that should have been trailer bait and nothing more.

Primarily! Because it can't be the emotional foundation of the movie! Lucius has to have his own journey if it's his movie; he can't just walk in Maximus' footsteps and be like, "Father, speak to me," if he's not going on his own individual emotional journey. We as the audience have to relate to our hero because he's our hero, not because he's the son of our hero.

I'll be honest — I probably wouldn't go see a sequel to Gladiator no matter what it was about because I think Gladiator is a perfect standalone movie and should have stayed that way. I just don't think you can recreate the scale and impact and simplicity of Gladiator in today's film industry.

However, I could at least have had respect for a sequel to Gladiator if Ridley Scott had shown some respect for his own movie. I just hate the fact that Maximus' noble, honorable character is reduced to a cheating husband whose only character trait of note is that he served Rome. Maximus is one of the best characters of the 21st century, and I love him too much to support a movie that trashes that legacy (as well as tries to replicate the beauty of my favorite film of all time).

Final thoughts:

Gladiator is a movie. You can read into it whatever you want, and it doesn't hurt anyone.

I love Gladiator more than I can say, and it's really important to me not just as a cultural icon but on a personal level as well.

Anyone who knows this blog knows how much I love Maximus Decimus Meridius, and Ridley's choice to change Maximus' character so drastically is one that really just ticks me off.

To me personally, Gladiator 2 is not canon, and I will never consider it so on this blog.

#i woke up this morning and chose literary analysis #i've been drafting this forever but now it's coming to your dashboard #enjoy my passionate defense of gladiator and maximus #as always this is not a hate post for anyone who enjoyed gladiator 2 #this is my reasoning for why i won't consider it canon #but like i said this is my one contoversial post and i'm now done talking about it #except maybe in a few tags if i'm in a feisty mood #this is a happy blog where i come to obsess over maximus and gladiator and russell crowe's other movies #anyway thanks for reading if you read it #it's a monster of an analysis and i wrote it in an hour #probably not gonna look at it again either because i don't want to think about it #gladiator #text posts #maximus #maximus decimus meridius #gladiator 2000 #russell crowe #connie nielsen #lucilla #lucius verus #ridley scott

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malum-forev · 29 days ago

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Chapter One

Summary: On the island of Atelonia, tradition rules above all.

For Elias, the once-rebellious prince and reluctant heir to the throne, returning home comes with an impossible ultimatum: marry and produce an heir, or lose the crown to his power-hungry uncle.

For Valentina, a spirited local, life means following her father's plan–maintaining her family's struggling restaurant and keeping their legacy alive. But when a chance encounter thrusts her into Elias' chaotic world, they strike a daring deal: a fake marriage that serves them both.

Neither Elias nor Valentina believe in love, but as they navigate public scrutiny and the pressures of royalty, they discover something unexpected in each other: comfort, trust, and maybe even the chance for something real.

Will they risk everything for a love they never imagined?

Chapter One – Elias

Calm waves surround me. The deep blue ripples would feel like a friendly welcome if not for the restlessness of my mind, making me wary of them.

I shift my weight from my heels to the balls of my feet, trying to get myself to take the first step towards land but apprehension nips at the back of my neck, rooting me to my spot at the edge of the ship.

Taking the first step towards the ramp feels like hearing leaves crunch behind you in a desolate forest—fucking terrifying.

I look down the side of the boat. The dark blue sea gets lighter as my eyes travel upwards from my spot at the marina. The eerie ultramarine fades into an obnoxious shade of cobalt, and I have to squint as I take in the lush mountains that surround the small piece of land I call my own. Colors seem much more vibrant this summer than I remember.

It seems my time away has done two things: made my memories hazy and turned me into an arrogant piece of shit who takes himself too seriously.

I reach for the railing, but my body refuses to move. I sigh, trying not to dwell on the fact that three days ago my life was normal—or at least as normal as it has been for the past four years.

Nothing prepares you for the call. My hands clammed up as I heard the words from someone back at the Palace. I didn’t even register who called me—everything turned fuzzy after they said the words I’ve been dreading to hear:

The pawn has moved two spaces.

I felt my body go slack and my hand struggled to grip the phone. I wasn’t sure if my knees were giving out or if the ship was rocking harder than usual.

Let me make something perfectly clear: my reaction to the coded message had nothing to do with me feeling saddened about my father’s health taking a nosedive. It’s what comes afterwards that makes my insides feel like gelatin.

“Prince Elias.” A shaky voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

The man who’s been eyeing me from the Rolls-Royce parked at the end of the gangway finally decides to raise his voice but doesn’t move. I imagine the scowl on my face is what keeps him away from me.

I pay no attention to him, I’m too busy trying to get myself out of this sleep paralysis-like trance. It’s as if the moment I step forward, reality will crash down on me. I’ve been playing make-believe in the navy, and now I have to come back and rule my country.

Death comes with the territory when you’re part of a hereditary monarchy, especially when you’re first in line to the throne. My father’s health has been a constant topic of discussion ever since he was diagnosed with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy—a disease that thickens the heart muscles.

No matter where I was in the world or how far away I stood from land, every first and last Sunday of the month for the past four years, I’ve been receiving the same sealed envelope. His blood work and test results are the best kept secret in the world, right after Atlantis’ exact coordinates.

In theory, people who have his condition have the same life expectancy as people who don’t. But it seems, my father’s diet of caviar and cigars has made things more complicated.

I stand tall with my arms crossed over my chest dissecting everything that’s changed since the last time I was in Costa de Ville, my country’s capital and only city. Anxiety creeps up my back as I look around. I feel like I’m the winner in a fucked up gameshow where the host wears a hideous burnt orange suit and talks with a transatlantic accent.

“And the first place prize is the beautiful island of Atelonia. With just under 4 square kilometers of land, this city-state comes with unresolved family trauma and at least 300,000 citizens who think you’re the worst thing to come from the monarchy since that disgraced uncle from a couple of centuries ago!” I imagine him saying.

“Your Royal Highness,” The driver finally works up the courage to approach the ramp, bowing his head as he comes closer. “Queen Adora has requested you meet her at the clinic.”

I raise my eyebrows slightly at his choice of words.

Clinic.

He means to say hospital, but I’d bet good money that everyone around me has been not-so-lightly coached to avoid saying the word. The slightest whisper of the word hospital could create a media frenzy. Atelonia is one of the oldest reigning monarchies yet countries still underestimate our power.

Most of the time I pay no mind to what other government rulers have to say about my country. Small and mighty is what my grandfather used to call Atelonia and he couldn’t be more correct.

But having my uncle step in as interim King doesn’t help our case.

It took a serious heart attack for me to be called from military training.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to subside the headache I’ve been nursing ever since we entered Costa de Ville’s maritime boundary.

The driver urges me to answer with a look of impatience on his face.

“Where’s Constantin?” I ask, walking past him towards the car.

“His Royal Highness Prince Constantin’s schedule is quite hectic; he’s engaged in various Royal duties,” the driver stutters out.

“He’s at the Palace then.” I steady my tone, feeling my patience running thin. I unbutton my suit jacket as I step into the black car.

The driver hesitates before speaking again. “I would recommend we go directly to the clinic, as the Queen instructed.”

As the nervous driver shifts on his feet, the gold pin on his lapel catches the light, reflecting into my eyes. He wears my uncle’s crest proudly on his chest—giving me all the information I need to know.

I take a deep breath before answering.

“When I start taking recommendations from people whose lives mean nothing to me, I’ll be sure to call for you.” I don’t bother looking back at him as I pull my phone from my uniform jacket. “Take me to the Palace.”

“Yes, sir.” He says, closing the door. I put up the partition before he even has time to get in the driver’s seat.

The drive from the dock to the Palace gives me a moment to calm myself. Now is not the time to let my anger seep out. I try to focus on the scenic view behind the tinted windows instead of the storm brewing inside me.

It only takes a few minutes for the car to leave the marina and merge onto Rue Independence. As we glide down Costa de Ville’s main street, I try to pick out everything that has changed but the long line of restaurants and apartment buildings that line Costa de Ville’s main street look just like they did when I left.

It becomes clear that things here have stayed the same, but I’m completely different.

We drive past pristine gardens and up the hill, tall and slim pine trees line the driveway to the Palace’s entrance. My childhood home is nothing short of breathtaking. The Palace sits on one of Atelonia’s tallest mountains, overlooking the ocean. The gilded doors balance the stone façade, a fusion of styles that blend the best of neighboring countries’ architecture.

That’s what Atelonia is— a blend of competing characteristics that somehow work perfectly.

The car stops at the side entrance and I get out before anyone can open the door. Walking up the red velvet-lined stairs, I ignore the staff members and make my way directly to my father’s study.

Guards scramble around me, whispering into radios about how I’m back, their hushed words filling the halls. Things are exactly how I want them—no time for fake niceties.

I motion for the guards to open the study doors and wait. My spine remains upright, hands behind my back, chin tilted upwards. Not a single muscle in my body twitches as I hear the commotion behind the dark wooden doors.

A muffled, booming voice yells and curses, drawers slam shut, and I hear the record player scratching. My gaze is lost in the grooves of the wood as I remain stoic.

As children, my siblings and I would spend hours pressing our ears to this very the door, hoping we could hear even a single sentence. The work happening behind the oak seemed so important, so alluring.

Foolish.

A light blinks, signaling my entry, and the guards take hold of the brass handles and let me in.

“Crown Prince Elias, here to see you, Your Highness,” the guard announces.

I fight my instinct to scowl as my uncle turns from where he sits on my father’s leather chair.

Constantin waves the guards away with no words.

My jaw twitches as I bow my head to my uncle. My body rejects the idea of having to show any sign of respect to the man in front of me. My uncle meets my haze, his piercing blue eyes scanning me like he’s trying to measure every change since the last time we saw each other.

Four years.

His eyes flick to my navy uniform and unkempt beard. A flash of distaste runs through his face for a second before he masks his true identity completely.

“My dearest nephew,” He opens his arms but keeps his seat. “It’s been too long.”

His voice carries more confidence than I wish it would. His pointed smile reminds me of the night he convinced my father to send me to military training.

My molars grind.

“I would rather our reunion be under better circumstances.” I keep my words clipped.

While my uncle is playing King—smoking my father’s cigars and reading the newspaper in his office—my father is fighting for his life in a hospital. I’m not my father’s biggest cheerleader but I’ll take him over the snake he calls his brother any day.

I used to think my father was a mastermind villain but now I see him for the puppet he is. Constantin has always been by his side, feeding him instructions while my father complies like an indebted zombie.

I hold his gaze, his crystal eyes bore into mine. A silent war brewing between us. I may have stayed silent four years ago, but I’ll stand my ground this time.

The tension between us comes as nothing new, in fact, it’s nostalgic in a twisted way. It reminds me of the night everything changed. My back goes taut beneath the suit I wear at the memory.

“Good thing you’re here now.” My uncle says sarcastically, he can’t hide the venom seething out this time.

I nod. “I’m here to fulfill my duty. The job that’s rightfully mine.”

I don’t need to look at him to know the message between the lines hit its target.

“You, more than anyone, know that you can’t just waltz back in and be handed the throne, Elias,” Constantin’s gravelly voice pierces through my bones. “And if my memory serves me right, neither you nor your brothers have obtained your father’s signature.”

“Atelonia is my country.” My words firm.

“Just like it was mine, just like it was Grace’s.” Constantin chuckles darkly, a wicked smile stretches his mouth. “Things change, Elias, you know that.”

I stiffen at the sound of my older sister’s name coming from his mouth.

My molars grind together. “Don’t you dare talk about Grace.”

“May she rest in peace.” The motherfucker presses his hand to his heart.

I open my mouth, seconds away from letting the rage take over—but something catches my attention. My eyes focus on the rings settled on his fingers.

Thick gold bands made from gold bars that have been in my family for centuries, each adorned with a large ruby and sapphire.

I know those rings. I’ve memorized the Crown Jewels collection and could recognize any item in my sleep.

I smooth the sides of my hair and step away from him instead of lashing out.

“Your assistance, while greatly appreciated,” I lie. “is no longer needed.”

I press the button on the underside of the mahogany desk, letting the guards know the doors are to be opened and my uncle escorted.

“Crown Jewels are to be worn only by the Regent.” I say as he turns to leave.

Without missing a beat, Constantin twists both rings and lets them drop to the floor. The sound of millions hitting the carpet makes me wince.

He steps forward, pausing just before crossing the threshold.“Elias Constantin.”

My muscles tense at the sound of my second name—his name.

“It is an honor to know our next king will be carrying my name.” He lets out a content sigh. “Long live the King.”

“Long live the King.” I repeat, watching as he leaves the study.

My body slumps and the pressure on my chest lessens the second the doors close. I shrug off my naval uniform jacket and look around the room.

A shiver runs down my spine, it feels strange to be inside when I spent so much of my life trying to get into this room. The study has been kept the same since the last time I was here, but it feels so different. Wrong in a way.

I’m a foreigner in the place that’s to become mine.

My hand reaches out to the back of the leather chair. The fabric has been patched and replaced thousands of times but one thing stays the same, the original stitched crest lies on the head rest. The faded gold thread makes me remember the men and women who’ve come before me.

Before my fingertips can touch the coveted crest, my phone starts ringing.

I bite the inside of my cheek as I read the name on the screen.

Carter.

I let the phone keep ringing.

After the third ring, the call ends and a message immediately pops up, like my brother was expecting me not to answer.

–Heard from my assistant that you're back. Glad to know you're home. -C.

I type and erase three different answers to his cold message.

Meeting. 8 p.m. Make sure Archibald is there too.–

That’s all I manage to write back. After four years of no contact, that’s all my mind can come up with.

–Lovely having you back, Elias.

The indifference stings more than I expect.

Maybe if you had called him at least once, Carter wouldn’t be like this.

I shake my head, trying to rewire my brain. I can’t be bothered with what I should or shouldn’t have done, when I have a desk full of paperwork to go through.

A second text pops up on my phone.

–Is this your new number? Please call me. -Madeline.

If I thought I didn’t have time to dissect the strained relationship I have with my brother, I definitely don’t have time to deal with Madeline Devreaux.

The thought of going down that rabbit hole makes me want to bury myself in the sand just outside the office balcony and never come up for air.

I turn off my phone and set it down next to the pile of unread documents addressed to the Interim King. My hand hovers over the back of the leather chair once more.

I hesitate.

Again.

“Don’t be a coward. Just sit in the stupid chair.” I whisper to myself, but my feet don’t move.

I exhale sharply, dragging a different chair toward the desk instead.

“I’m a thirty five year old man afraid of an inanimate object. What has my life become?” My head falls back on my shoulders and I let out a groan.

I sigh, picking up the first set of documents. “What should I start with?”

In my mind, the twisted game show host from before makes his return.

“Behind door number one: a detailed report on how the citizens of Atelonia think you’re an arrogant trust fund idiot! Door number two holds your father’s unchanged will, don’t forget you and your brothers need to complete a series of damn near impossible tasks before your father kicks the bucket! And finally, behind door number three: a list of laws your uncle has started to pass, designed to screw over the citizens while lining the pockets of the wealthy!”

Unlike the Monty Hall problem, where I might have a 33% chance of winning a decent prize, all three of my options are equally shitty.

I fidget with the signet ring on my left pinky, tracing the imprinted ivy leaf on my fingertip.

“We should be proud of our history.” I can almost hear my older sister’s voice. She held her head high as she gave each of us a small box, the dark green leather looked like gems in our hands. “Ivy rises by twining its stem around any available support.”

“We only have each other as support.” Grace smiled, extending her left hand sporting the personalized signet ring.

Even with all the priceless jewels in the royal collection at our disposal, the four of us would prefer to wear the small gold ring instead.

A dry chuckle escapes me.

The irony isn’t lost on me.

Right now, there is nothing I need more than support.

And yet, I have never before felt so alone.

✨

I run my hand through the cracked spines on the century-old books lining the Palace’s library. My eyes close as I breathe in the comforting scent of leather and musk, the aroma mixing with the whiskey in my glass.

Some of my only good memories in the palace are in this exact place.

Our grandfather spent hours in this library, which is probably why I have such a strong attachment to this room. Each of the four walls are permeated with something that reminds me of him.

A great ruler and an even better man. He'd spend most afternoons with Grace and me, teaching us about Atelonia’s history, about the men and women who fought for this land before us.

That man bled patriotism.

It’s one of my favorite things about him. And the thing I hope I inherited—the undying love for my country.

I hear them even before the door opens.

Their bickering reaches me first, the sound is oddly comforting.

As I turn around, there’s a part of me that expects to see my younger brothers exactly the same as I did four years ago. But time has carved its mark into both of them.

Carter steps forward first, taller and sharper than I remember. The ever-present rigidness in his posture makes him look every bit the diplomat he’s been forced to become. And then there’s Archibald. At twenty-seven, he’s almost unrecognizable—his features leaner, more mature, though the mischievous glint in his eyes remains.

Carter must have noticed my shock because as he comes closer, he cracks an uncharacteristic sympathetic smile. “Have you no razors on the ship? You’re one inch away from becoming a Komondor dog.”

I’ll give him points for trying but the forced expression makes him look like he’s feeling pain more than sympathy.

My cheek twitches slightly, my own version of a smile.

Archie claps a hand on my shoulder. “Carter’s only saying that because he couldn’t grow half a mustache if his life depended on it.”

My younger brother’s attempt at a joke should’ve lightened the mood but instead, I revert to my trusty coping mechanism. Keeping quiet and analyzing everything.

Closest to me in age, but my complete opposite in appearance, Carter inherited our mother’s features—light brown hair covered in specks of blonde with eyes that carry the same exact shade of hazel as our mother’s side of the family.

Archie and I got the short end of the stick, sharing the same straight nose from our father along with his dark hair and green eyes.

As I notice the bags under his eyes and his unkempt shirt, I realize it’s clear that life hasn’t been treating either of us well.

Carter rolls his eyes. “Maybe I can’t grow a mustache but at least I know how to drive.”

“I know how to drive, dipshit.” Archibald says, making his way towards the bar cart at the far end of the library. “The problem came when I decided to do it after having a few too many drinks at the casino.”

A strange feeling rolls over me as I watch my brothers rile each other. The pressure on my shoulders lessens and I almost feel calm. Just for a moment.

It makes me feel like I’m at home.

Like the Palace is home.

Before everything turned into a circus. Before my every move was scrutinized. Before the accident.

As Archie pours whiskey into a glass, I notice a sliver of dark ink peeks from his rolled sleeve.

“Is that a tattoo?” It’s the first time I've spoken.

I didn’t mean to ruin the moment; I wanted to talk to them. Wanted to tell them that their pointless bickering made me feel like a normal person for the first time in years. I wanted to say I meant to write them letters. I especially wanted to tell them that I missed them.

But of all those things, I say nothing.

I just stare at Archibald, raising my eyebrows slightly, forcing him to answer me.

“Oh this?” Archie lets out a forced laugh, trying to act casual. “I had it done a long time ago.”

Carter sets his eyes on the floor and bites the inside of his cheek.

Archibald rolls up his sleeve, revealing the eight numbers inked on his skin. Just like that, I’m abruptly reminded that we’re not here to laugh or to play or to reminisce. We’re here to fulfill our duty and nothing more.

Show up for our family because that’s what’s expected of us, nothing else.

“It’s the night Grace-“ Archie starts but the words don’t come out of his mouth.

I straighten, knocking back the rest of my drink. The whiskey burns, but it’s nothing compared to the fire licking up my spine. The scar underneath my right eyebrow pulses as memories from that night claw their way forward.

The car. The impact. The blood.

“I know the date.” I rasp, my throat burning not only from the whiskey.

Whatever calm sensation I had felt before is now long gone, the unexpressed words jumping between my brothers and me now wedge a bigger bridge between us.

Carter clears his throat. “We should talk strategy. The doctor said our father doesn’t have much time left and he hasn’t changed the will.”

“Let’s get this shitshow on the road.” Archie plops himself down on one of the leather couches spilling some whiskey on his white shirt, acting like nothing ever happened.

My youngest brother has always had a knack for avoiding difficult things. Whenever things get awkward or complicated, he changes the subject or makes light of a situation, anything to get himself out of talking about the elephant in the room.

Acting like he doesn't have a care in the world is one of Archibald’s many talents but this time I fear it’s gone too far. The light in his eyes has dulled and he seems tired.

“When did he become this much of a mess?” I ask Carter, looking at my youngest brother up and down.

Carter closes his eyes, pressing his fingers to his temples. “You missed a lot in four years.”

“Lucky for you, there’s nothing like below zero communication skills to bring you up to date.” Archie raises his glass to us.

“We don’t have time for a therapy session today, Archibald.” Carter sighs.

“I’ll call your secretary tomorrow to make an appointment.” Archie gives a fake smile. “Will she be at the office or should I call your apartment so she can comfortably answer from your bed?”

I raise my eyebrows at Carter, a mental picture of his almost middle-aged secretary coming into my mind.

“Childhood trauma and mommy issues seem to run in the family, you should get checked.” Archie says to me.

“We’ll never get this done if we don’t work as a united front.” I say, shutting them both up. “I know we didn’t expect for this to happen now, but we need to finish our part in the succession clause. We cannot lose everything to Constantin.”

Archibald huffs. “This whole thing is ridiculous. I’m sure we can get a lawyer to put this to rest. The crown is inherited; it has been for centuries. I don’t see why our father can change tradition just because he was guilt tripped into it while he was drugged out of his mind and trying to get through grief.”

“That’s exactly why we need to complete our part in the clause.” I interrupt, rubbing a hand over my face.

While he may look like an adult, I know Archie’s road to maturing is still long and arduous.

“Like you said, the crown is supposed to be inherited.” I continue.

“Emphasis on supposed.” Carter adds.

“Our dear uncle Constantin should’ve had the crown passed down to him seeing as he’s the eldest son, had our grandfather not declared him unfit to rule right before he died.” Explaining why we’re in this problem starts my headache back up.

“Our father ascended to the throne then-”

“Then Unc saved father from the burning helicopter or whatever,” Archie drawls, waving a dismissive hand. “Blah, blah, blah. I know the story.”

My temples throb and Archibald’s indifference doesn’t help.

Constantin spent years trying to convince our father to create the succession clause, dangling that moment over him like a poisoned carrot. It wasn’t until after Grace’s death that my father caved.

If only we hadn’t been in the car that night—no. You can’t think like that!

The sound of Carter smacking the back of Archie’s head grounds me. “I’m glad you know the story, seeing as you still have to buy back more than a dozen paintings to complete the investment portfolio.”

“I’m back in New York a month from now. I’ll get it done before Daddy Dearest has a chance to get another heart attack.” Archie rubs the spot on his head. “How’s your heavy lifting going? You seem way more preoccupied with my part of the deal.”

“I’m working on it.” Carter takes a cigar out from the humidor.

“Is it time to put your big boy pants on yet?” Archibald taunts, smiling at the fact that he can oh so precisely push Carter’s buttons.

Carter grips the edge of the cigar case until his knuckles turn white. “If you have something to say, say it.”

“I’m just saying, maybe it’s time to give your good old friend Becks a call.” Archie shrugs, acting like his words are innocent, a Cheshire cat smile playing on his face.

Carter nearly lunges. I grip his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“This is exactly what I mean!” I yell. “You’re too busy fighting each other to see the bigger picture! We’re about to lose everything—the monarchy, the private estate, the portfolio—all because you’re too busy taking your dicks out and arguing about whose is bigger!”

Archie smirks. “It’s obviously mine.”

I point a warning finger at him. “Not. Another. Word.”

Archie leans back against the couch, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “You’re feeling high and mighty telling us what we’ve got to do when you’ve done jack shit to complete your part.”

I arch a brow. “I’m here aren’t I? I already have everything planned.”

“You think that after four years of radio silence, you can just come back and ask Madeline to marry you?” Carter laughs.

“That’s exactly what I plan on doing.”

Archie perks up, grinning. “Please have someone film it. I think video proof of your inevitable rejection would do wonders to my self-esteem.”

“You won’t need video proof because I won’t be rejected.” Had I missed my brothers? Yes. Are they a huge pain in my ass and eating away at my patience in record speed? Also yes. “We’re having a gala this weekend, that’s when I’ll ask her to marry me.”

“Just like that?” Carter raises his eyebrows, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Just like that.” I enunciate each word.

Carter leans against the desk, arms crossed. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to show up after four years, tell her you’ve always loved her—despite never doing a damn thing about it—explain that you need to marry her so you don’t lose the throne, and also mention that she’ll need to give you an heir ASAP?”

Archie gets down on one knee, holding up an imaginary ring. His voice drops to a dramatic whisper.

“Dear Madeline,” he begins. “You’re the love of my life—even though I never told you. I know I disappeared without a word, but I need you now. Marry me, bear my children, and, if time allows, love me.”

I shove his shoulder, sending him sprawling on to the rug with a thud.

Carter scratches his chin, like he was actually considering Archie’s speech. “Maybe you should emphasize the fact that you’ve never had a public outing with her.”

“Oh yeah, women love being kept a secret.” Archie adds, grinning. “Really makes them feel special.”

“It’s been a long day, and I don’t have the time or the energy to deal with you.” I throw my head back with a groan, walking towards the door. “Just be ready for the gala on Saturday.”

Archie calls after me, his voice laced with laughter. “If you need help with the first kiss, I suggest you make out with your reflection in the mirror!”

I shut the library door behind me before they get a chance to say anything else.

Their laughter fades as I step into the dimly lit hallway, my pulse is steady but my mind restless.

The paintings lining the corridor stare down at me, their gilded frames glinting in the soft light. My father’s portrait. My grandfather's. And then, at the end of the hall—Grace.

She smirks down at me from her oil-painted canvas, eyes full of mischief, as if she knows exactly how this is all going to play out.

I let out a quiet breath, running my hand down my face.

“Was this your plan all along?” I murmur, my gaze locked on hers. “Leave before things got complicated?

The portrait doesn’t answer.

I chuckle dryly, shaking my head.

“I miss you.”

My words hang in the empty hallway but I push forward, towards my childhood bedroom, because there’s too much at stake.

No time for ghosts or regrets.

The only way to win this game is to play it.

And I intend to win.

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Author's note: Helloooo everyoneee sooo here's the first chapter of my novel. I'm so incredibly nervous for you guys to read it so please please please be kind. I'd love any kind of feedback. If you guys like it, I'll go ahead and post the second chapter. Sooo thank you so much for taking the time to read it. K love you guys bye.

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