Chapter 170

Jack

I look through my lens and take a picture of the mountains. We’re in the eastern sector of Solmere.

There’s a mine in these mountains that recently exploded. Which is a very big deal—Solmere is so wealthy because of its mineral reserves. But they’ve been mining these mountains for the past two centuries; there’s bound to be a problem eventually.

Easting is a beautiful city, though. On par with Sol. I’d like to bring my family here sometime.

Heh.

Family.

Who would have thought I would have a family?

I take another picture.

"I didn’t know you were interested in photography," Prince Russell says.

I lower my camera. "Oh, it’s just a hobby, really."

*

We get to the mine.

It’s worse than expected.

There are still constant rescue efforts happening. Families and friends crowd the perimeter, crying out for their loved ones. The air is thick with dust and smoke and the kind of grief that doesn’t have words.

It’s a devastating sight.

An official runs toward us.

"Your Highness—I didn’t expect you so soon. I could have—"

Russell cuts him off. "This is not the time for formalities. Give me a rundown."

They walk. The official stumbles over his words, pointing at maps, gesturing toward the collapsed tunnel, explaining something about "unforeseen structural weaknesses."

I stop listening.

Because I see a woman.

She’s holding a child, standing too close to the danger zone. Her eyes are hollow—empty in a way I recognize. Her child is crying, wailing, tugging at her collar. But she doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even blink. She just stares at the rubble like she’s waiting for someone who isn’t coming.

Workers are trying to get her to move. They touch her arm, speak to her. Nothing.

I walk toward her.

"I’ll handle this," I say.

"Hey." I keep my voice soft. Low. The way I talk to Lanny when he’s scared. She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t look at me.

I reach out, slowly, carefully, and take her child from her arms.

He’s small. Light. His face is red from crying, his little hands shaking.

"It’s okay," I whisper to him. "It’s okay. I’ve got you."

I bounce him gently, the way I do with Lanny. I murmur soft sounds—nothing words, just rhythm—and his cries start to slow. Hiccups. Whimpers. Then silence.

The light returns to the woman’s eyes.

She blinks. Looks at me. Looks at her son.

"My baby," she says.

"He’s okay." I hand him back to her. "He’s okay."

She clutches him to her chest and finally, finally, she cries.

Now that she’s responding, I ask her to move back a little so they can work. She nods, and I help her to the tent with the other families.

I look at the collapse and think: I’m not going home anytime soon.

***

Ciel

"...it’s the 75th hour since the explosion at the biggest mine in the kingdom. Rescue efforts have been progressing very slowly. Every minute counts. We can only pray to God to help us."

I look at my phone screen. The news reporter speaks, and the camera pans to the wreckage.

Among the workers in the worksuits, I notice Jack.

That’s why he hasn’t been answering the calls.

"Our two princes have been hard at work since they got here." 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

The view changes to Prince Russell speaking to someone, visibly exhausted, with dark bags under his eyes. I think this is the first time I’ve seen the Crown Prince not perfectly put together.

The camera pans to Jack. Carrying a rock. Moving it. Searching.

"...at a dark time in our lives, it brings great comfort to know that our leaders care about us," the reporter says.

The news report goes on. I watch mindlessly for the next twenty minutes.

"...oh, that’s Prince Jackson. Let’s see if we can ask him to share some words."

They follow him. He removes his mask and drinks a bottle of water.

"Your Highness, you’ve been here working nonstop. Care to share some words? Why have you not rested?"

He smiles. It’s tired, genuine, human.

"I’m not some saint. I tried to rest, but I wasn’t very successful. For some reason, I couldn’t close my eyes in peace."

The reporter laughs lightly.

"On a serious note, this is a tragedy. No one expected this. The royal family will do its best to help the victims and families impacted." He pauses.

"This will not be much. I have a family myself. Just imagining something happening to any of them absolutely destroys me, so you can only imagine what the families here are going through."

He looks directly at the camera.

"I cannot offer cheap words of consolation. Only through my actions. We care about the people here, and I hope that provides even a fraction of comfort."

I wipe my tears.

Someone like him.

That’s someone I could entrust myself to.

I hold the back of my neck and make up my mind.

Yeah.

I don’t think I would regret it.

***

Peter

The Prince confuses me.

As I watch him work himself to the bone for these people—he doesn’t have to. He could simply be here for the formalities, shake a few hands, make a few statements, and leave.

But he doesn’t.

He’s been lifting rubble for hours. His hands are bloody. His clothes are covered in dust. He hasn’t slept.

And he looks genuinely concerned.

Which is puzzling.

Because I’ve seen the darkest sides of this man. I’ve seen him kill in cold blood and not bat an eye. I’ve seen him manipulate, strategize, dismantle enemies without mercy.

Then there’s this version of him.

The one who crouches down to speak to a crying child. The one who carries rocks until his arms shake. The one who looks at the families huddled in the tent with something soft and wounded in his eyes.

I thought his kindness was solely reserved for his family.

But it seems that’s not the case? He genuinely is an enigma.