Page 131 of The Sun King's Noon

It could not be.

Richard staggered to his feet and wandered towards the trees. The forest stretched before him, looming, dark.

“Father?” he called softly.

Footsteps crunched dead leaves, and from between two trees, a tall figure stepped into the clearing.

Richard released a shuddering breath.

Golden hair. Sharp blue eyes that lit easily with laughter or fury. Proud chin and high cheekbones that carved Richard’s own face.

“Father,” Richard choked out past the lump in his throat. “Is—is it really you?”

In the back of his mind, a voice screamed.He’s dead. He’s dead, you fool. You lit his pyre with your own hands?—

But with each passing heartbeat, a fog rolled in, and the voice grew muffled.

What did it matter? His father was here. Haldric was here. There was that splitting grin Richard had always tried so hard to receive. There was that scar at his brow where Corwin had nicked him with the dagger one summer. There were those broad shoulders, always so strong, so firm. All would be right, Richard knew, when his father took charge.

“Son.” Haldric opened his arms with a tilt of his head. “Well, boy?” He laughed. “Won’t you give your old man a hug?”

Richard ran into the embrace, stumbling forward as if he were six again. His arms wound about Haldric’s back, his face buried itself in Haldric’s shoulder, and the familiar cedar perfume wrapped around him like a blanket.

“Father,” he whispered. “Father, it has—it has been so very hard.”

Haldric’s hand carded through his hair. “I know, boy. I know. I shall sort it all now that I am here.”

Richard’s knees nearly buckled. Of course, his father would sort it. His father, who had stood between Ardenia and danger for over thirty years, who had stopped the dark mages of Joplin, who had carried the crown without ever appearing to feel its weight, who had laughed and roared and slammed his fist upon tables and made the High Council fall into line.

Words tumbled from Richard. “There’s an elf of Gloamvarn. He—he has marked me, seeks to unmake me, and I fear him so.”

A growl rumbled through Haldric. “And think you I’d let anything harm my firstborn?”

Richard’s shoulders sagged. “No. No, Father. Of course not.”

Haldric pulled him closer still. The arms about him were iron-strong. Galdran could not reach him through those arms. His father had slain any enemy that had tried to hurt him, and the elven king would meet the same fate.

“You need not carry this any longer,” Haldric said. “I shall take it from you.”

“You shall?”

“All of it.” A kiss pressed to the crown of his head. “Every load. Every burden. I shall fix it, my son. You need only sleep.”

“Sleep,” Richard echoed.

A great heaviness was gathering behind his eyes. His limbs seemed attached to an anchor dragging him down. His eyelids drifted shut.

“Close your eyes, boy,” Haldric murmured. “You have been awake too long.”

“I—Father.” Richard’s legs gave way, but Haldric took his weight. “I’m sorry I didn’t kill Marius and wage war.”

The hand stilled in his hair. “You sought peace. I understand, boy.”

Something in the phrasing snagged against the fog. His father had never shirked from battle or vengeance. Haldric should be furious. Should grab him by the collar, give him a hard shake, and demand why Marius still drew breath. Never had Haldric forgiven his mistakes so easily?—

But the fog thickened, and Richard’s thoughts grew lost. The arms about him rocked, gentle, so gentle, and his fists loosened in the cloak.

“Father,” he managed to mumble. “Please. Don’t leave me when I wake.”