“Is this really necessary?” Cas asked when he and his father had been left alone. “Look at me, dad. Do I seem like I’m not thinking straight to you? I might have been a little banged up, but I’m not fucking brain damaged.” He didn’t want to have a visit with a psychiatrist, especially when the king was calling for one because he thought he was mentally unstable. It was ridiculous. He didn’t deserve to be accused of having something wrong with his head just because he disagreed with his father’s decision to have Iris interrogated. They’d had arguments before, but this was the first time the monarch had ever gone so far as to say that he needed psychological intervention. It hurt him that Atlas’s first flinch after they’d been separated for a week was to distrust him to this degree.
“Watch your language, Caspian,” his father reprimanded strictly. “You’re speaking like a commoner.”
“Seriously? That’s what you’re concerned about?” Cas wanted to throw up his hands in exasperation. “I almost died at least three times while I was outside the capital, but excuse me for swearing. I wouldn’t want to ruin the family name with my foul mouth.”
Atlas stared at him in shock before a scowl contorted his face. “What’s gotten into you? This is no way for you to speak to your father and your king.”
Cas snorted belligerently. “You’re really pulling the ‘king’ card on me? And here I thought you were actually starting to care.” In the back of his mind, he knew he was letting his emotions get the best of him, but the words were already flowing, and he didn’t have the self-restraint to stop them. All at once, every grudge and every pain he had toward his father welled up inside of him, and their only escape was through his lips. Trembling slightly in anger, he crushed the empty paper cup in his hand and held the king’s gaze as he gave voice to the internal wounds he’d buried for so long,
“I should have known better than to expect a warm welcome from you. You’ve never taken me seriously, and you’ve never valued my input on anything. All I am to you is a tool to be molded into the image you want, so you’ll have a perfect heir to take over all your little projects after you die. That’s why you had me in the first place, right? You didn’t want a son, you wanted a descendant to keep the line for the crown intact.”
As his voice raised, the pain in his chest worsened, but he didn’t let it stop him from going on, “Well, guess what. I don’t want it. I hate living like this! Having to walk on eggshells every time I’m around you, constantly worried that I’m not living up to your ridiculously high standards. Getting abducted by the rebellion was the most horrible thing I’ve ever been through, but at least when I was in the other districts, I had the chance to be the kind of man that I want to be, and I was treated like I have value as an individual rather than just a figurehead for your future political ventures. That, to me, was priceless, and I almost regret coming back here if it means I’m just going to have to go back to being your carbon-copy puppet.
“You can be mad at me for having my own independent thoughts, but accusing me of being fucking brain damaged because I disagreed with you? That’s not the way a father should treat his son.” Tears stung the corners of his eyes as his frustration boiled over, and he bit his lip to fight back against the urge to let them go. He’d never spoken out against his father so harshly before, but he was fed up with rolling over every time Atlas told him he was wrong. If being on the run from the rebellion had taught him anything, it was that he was more capable than he’d realized, and he wasn’t going to let the king steamroll over him anymore.
For a moment, Atlas was silent, seeming frozen in shock that his son had lashed out at him. A series of emotions danced across him features, first surprise, then sadness, then finally pure rage. He grasped his cane firmly and rose from his chair. “I don’t know what those anarchists did to you, but I’m glad that you’re seeing a psychiatrist now, because it needs to be undone,” he said coldly.
Cas ground his teeth. He wanted to scream that no one had done anything to him—that this was who he’d always been and that he wished his father would lift him up rather than continue to tear him down. However, he could tell that nothing he said would get through to the king. He was also too angry to keep trying, so instead, he snarled three scathing words: “Go to hell.”
Atlas casted him one final glare and marched out of the room, leaving the prince alone once more.
As soon as he was gone, Cas deflated. The fury that had coursed through him seconds before was replaced with dejection, and he threw the crumpled cup at the closed door. He knew that acting out hadn’t solved anything, but he couldn’t help himself. Slumping on the bed with his gaze fixed dully on the ceiling, he wished he could see Iris again. Right now, it felt like she was the only person in Aspiria who genuinely cared about him.
Meanwhile, in the corridor, Jacob raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. He’d wanted to avoid sending Iris to isolation, but the incompetent soldiers at the prison were making that damn near impossible. “I said hospital,” he barked into the receiver. “It doesn’t matter if she’s on death row, that order comes from above me. Fucking hell.” The last part was added after he stopped his transmission. He was doing his best to keep the girl alive, since Prince Caspian had made it clear that he didn’t want her to die, but if the guards weren’t willing to follow his orders, there was nothing he could do short of making a trip to the penitentiary in person.
I might have to do just that, he groaned and then tensed at the sound of raised voices on the other side of the wall he was standing against. Glancing over his shoulder, he could hear Caspian yelling at Atlas, but he didn’t want to get involved in any more conflicts that day, so he stayed out of it. He made a mental note to relay the information about the northern area of Tongsen to the military and spoke over his com device again: “If she’s barely breathing, call a damn ambulance!” He ran his hand over his face. “You know what? Fuck it. I’m coming down there myself.”
Almost as if on cue, the door to Caspian’s room opened, and Atlas stepped into the hall. “Bring me back to the palace,” the king growled. “I’m done with this visit.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Jacob nodded, leading the way back to the elevator. After he dropped Atlas off at the palace, he planned to go to the prison to find out what had happened to their prisoner since he’d left.