“Wait, what?” Ren's jaw went slack, something like absurd laughter bubbling in his stomach. He waited for the king to pat him on the back, wink and tell him to go get ready for the party, but the man's expression remained closed and tired. “I can work tomorrow,” Ren argued. “It's Hellic's birthday. The party-”

“I won't argue this, Ren. I'm sorry the circumstances are like this. Now, go.”

Ren's brow furrowed, blunt nails digging into his palms. “What… What did I do?”

“Ren, please.” The king's voice was tense as he rubbed his brow.

Disappointment settled cold and heavy in Ren's gut. He parted his lips to argue further, but Callun cut him off before he could speak. “Do I have to order you, Ren? I won't say it again.”

Ren could hear by Callun's tone that he meant it, so he swallowed his bitter disappointment and left the chambers, slamming the door behind him.

Perhaps if he hurried, he could finish quickly and might only miss an hour of the celebrations. The Skarlans were early, after all, and the real entertainment wouldn't start until later tonight. It sparked some hope in Ren as he passed the servants and slaves. Dressed in white, they rushed to and from the kitchen and supply rooms with food, wine, cups, and plates. Their feet skidded and slipped against the shining marble floors, but they never lost their balance. They didn't slow down as they passed him, but respectfully nodded their heads. Like the citizens in the streets of Aleria, the staff and courtiers living in the castle treated him as they treated his brothers, a mindset Ren knew had been strictly enforced by the king. Ren, Hellic, and their younger brother Thais were the Stags of Frayne, the pride and future of the country.

Personally, Ren didn't care much for formalities so long as people would come to his bed when he bid them.

Two guards in white and gold armour flanked the doorway to his chambers. The unusual sight made Ren pause before he stepped past them and pushed the door open.

Immediately, his heart sank.

A pile of papers nearly as tall as a child was stacked neatly on his desk next to a vial of ink and a quill.

Paperwork. That was the job? A massive pile of paperwork?

The anger and disappointment that had temporarily settled flared up inside Ren and he kicked the door shut with his heel and marched over to his desk.

“This has got to be a joke,” he hissed as he flipped through the top layers of the pile. Not much of it made sense. The papers were lined with rows of numbers and some of it looked like stock, inventory, and trade agreements. Paperwork was a slow, tedious job for bookkeepers and royal advisors, taking place in dusty old libraries. It wasn't a job for the queen's son on the most important day of the year.