Every single bone has cracked; but in this life, you can't turn back.
There are reasons Jack drinks. Some nights he doesn't need reasons, he only needs warmth in his blood and euphoria around the edges, but tonight there are reasons. All week there have been reasons. Reasons to stay out all night, every night, and spend his days talking up palace guards in out-of-the-way corners. Reasons to dive into Shiloh's underworld with Hyde and drag poor Henry to the greatest heights of fashion. Reasons to invite Hasibe out dancing and Alexander out carousing and to draw every friend to him like the swirling eye of a storm draws breath. From his own world, he pushes off. But in the dark, in his wine, he cannot escape gravity.
A blood dynasty. Declared before all. Silas offered this gift, a promise on the day of his engagement to be delivered when his vows were sealed. Like hanging grapes, he imagined it, dangling only just out of reach. His if he wanted it. With all that I am, he told his father. For a moment he believed it could be so easy.
His sacrifices had not gone unnoticed. His father laid that statement upon him like the greatest complement. As if it was noble, what he had done. But here he would be rewarded for his obedience, not his cruelty, with words he had longed for in his bones since the world was dust.
King Jonathan of Gilboa.
His eyes would not leave his father's. Wide open and searching, hardly daring to cross the space between them but desperate to know the man's mind. He found sincerity, the mighty softness of a lion's paw, and Jack knew there could have been claws. There weren't. They stood, father and son with no bad blood between them, if only for now. Silas slipped away, and Jack wondered why it had taken so much to bring them together.
He wondered why it had taken so long.
Too long.
Dread crept in like a draft in a still room. He felt its tingling in his spine as he searched for his uncle. To tell him. To explain before another step was taken, before it was too late. They had a chance, a real chance to do this right, without bloodshed or betrayal- This is different, I'm different--
A slap ended his boyish dreaming.
His uncle explained in his cold, uncultured way, how things would be. Speaking to Jack like the child his naivety warranted, his words bit truth through the ether and revealed the cage. The wheels of treason do not halt for King Jonathan of Gilboa. But they will happily crush him if he stands in their way. Of course he won't. Of course he can't. And if he'll only play along a little longer, it will be no different in the end.
He will have what he wants. Everything he has left to want, strung up before him like a noose. Just dip your head like so. Close your eyes. Take a step. Never hit the ground.