“My fellow Aspirians, it is with great sorrow that I stand here before you on this eve to remember the life of my dear son, Caspian,” Atlas began. His voice was uncharacteristically heavy, a testament to how deeply he had truly been wounded by the news that the prince was dead. Jacob listened gravely as the king went on to speak about the tragedy, doing his best to pay attention without compromising his focus on the audience and the surrounding streets. After the heir to the throne had been abducted and killed, he and the rest of the team didn’t want to take any chances. They had patched the hole in their security by replacing the soldier who had failed in his duty to watch the forested border of the capital, but it was possible that there was more than one weak point. If any other rebels had gotten inside the city, a public memorial was a perfect opportunity for them to make an attempt on the monarch’s life.

He rested a hand idly over the holster of his gun, his dark eyes sweeping slowly over the faces in the crowd while Atlas continued on about his memories with Caspian, his high hopes about his ability to take over as the next king, how tragic it was that he’d been murdered at the young age of twenty-four, and how no father should ever have to receive the news that his son was dead. Like every other speech His Majesty performed, it was moving, and Jacob could see some high borns in the audience tearing up. Even he found it touching that Atlas had such exceptional things to say about the late prince, but the effect of the powerful words was slightly dulled by the knowledge that he was hearing all of it for the very first time that evening.

[i]He never said that he believed Prince Caspian had potential while he was still alive,[/i] he thought, unable to help but wonder if the praise was genuine or if it was all part of an act. He believed Atlas was a great king, but he was also close enough to him to know that the face he presented to the people was not the same face he wore behind closed doors. There was no question that the information they’d tortured out of Regis had been harrowing for the monarch to hear—he’d been at the king’s side when he’d wept on the floor—but a part of him that he would never voice out loud was unsure if Atlas was distraught about the fact that his son was gone or the fact that he no longer had a successor to continue his legacy. Even if he was affected by both, surely one of those two calamities outweighed the other, and it was impossible to tell which one was more prominent in his ruler’s mind.

Jacob knew his thoughts were treasonous, and he was smart enough not to ever whisper them to another living soul, but he couldn’t keep them out of his own head. Thus, he took Atlas’s emotional speech with a grain of salt, hoping for Caspian’s sake that it was all true but suspecting in his heart that the king was heartbroken for the wrong reasons.

When the service was finally over, Atlas limped back down from the stage to return to the palace, and the attendees resumed mingling with one another, although their demeanors were far more subdued than they had been at the start. If nothing else, Jacob supposed, they seemed to be taking the evening a little more seriously after hearing their king’s mourning words. [i]Good,[/i] he thought, silently pleased that the prince was getting at least some of the respect that he deserved.

Part of the security team escorted Atlas away from the square while another part remained to keep watch over the crowd until it eventually dispersed. Jacob stayed with the latter, supervising the area as people began to trickle out to the nearby parking garages and lots where they’d left their vehicles. Stifling a yawn, he folded his arms over his chest. Now that almost everyone was gone, he could let his guard down a little. There wasn’t much of a reason for a terrorist to attack when the event was over and less than a third of the spectators still remained. Deciding it was time for him to leave, he took a step back to go as well but then stopped when he saw that there were people approaching him.

Turning his head, he raised a brow at the sight of Prince Caspian’s two friends. “Did you need something?” he asked them bemusedly, unsure why they would seek him at all.

“Not really,” Miles shrugged, stopping a short distance away and fishing in his pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“We thought we’d offer you one,” Jay added as he took a cigarette from the box that his friend held out.

“Is there a particular reason why?” Jacob asked.

“Most of the people here don’t care about Cas,” Miles rolled his eyes.

“But we don’t have to tell you that,” Jay added, flourishing a hand in the direction of the chairs that had been set up. “You were watching the whole thing, weren’t you?”

“That’s why we wanted to have our own memorial for him,” Miles nodded sagely. “A real one away from all the people who’re just here for show. It was just gonna be the two of us, but we saw you standing over here, and we know you actually cared about him too, so now,” he held the carton out to the guard, “you’re invited.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Jacob’s mouth. He hadn’t smoked in years, but he liked the meaning behind the gesture, so he took one for himself. “Well then, give me a light.”

Jay grinned and used his own lighter to fix Jacob up, and the three lapsed into a moment of silence as they smoked away from the people who were conducting business deals at the foot of the stage. He was glad he’d stayed behind long enough to honor the prince properly before he went back to the palace for the night.