Chapter Text
Cale Eckat didn't plan his escape.
That was the issue.
Later on, he would not have been able to answer someone’s question about why he left because there was simply nothing to take him away or to make him leave.
Only the sensation that if he remained, there would be something inside him that would slowly fall apart and never recover.
Therefore, he left.
It was late—late enough that the manor was into its natural silence, the kind that pressed against the walls and made you feel like you were being observed even when you were alone. Cale moved through the halls without a candle, his bare feet tracing paths he had walked since he was a boy. He didn’t take much with him. A pouch of money. A cloak. Enough coins to get by if he was frugal.
He didn’t look back at his room.
That hurt too much.
The gates were unlocked. They always were. Nobody would ever consider that a Duke’s son would be in need of keeping inside.
And just like that, Cale Eckat vanished into the night.
At dawn the Duke was informed.
It was a pale and shaking servant knelt in the study and reported it in a voice that barely held together. Missing room. Empty bed. No sign of struggle. No note.
The loudness of Duke Eckat was not raised.
He didn't throw anything.
He sat perfectly still behind his desk, fingers steepled, eyes unreadable.
“A runaway,” the servant finished weakly.
The Duke breathed once. Slowly.
He spoke in a neutral tone of voice, "No. My son is unwell."
The servant froze.
The Duke stood. Walked to the window. Looked out over his land like this was an inconvenience, not a personal betrayal.
“Summon the physician,” he went on. “Immediately.”
The physician came within the hour.
He was the Duke’s most trusted.
He was a discreet man, a loyal man, a well-paid man, a man who knew that truth was flexible when reputation was involved,
They met alone.
The Duke did not waste time.
“My youngest son has fled the estate,” he said. “This cannot be allowed to become a scandal.”
The physician inclined her head prudently. “Of course, Your Grace. But if the boy left of his own—”
“He did not,” the Duke interjected smoothly. “Not in any meaningful sense.”
The Duke turned, his eyes narrowed.
“Cale has always… been deficient. Withdrawn. Unreliable. Lacking sound judgment. And now, I fear, his condition has worsened."
The physician hesitated. “With respect, Your Grace, I’ve never diagnosed—”
"You will," the Duke said.
Complete silence.
The Duke stepped closer, voice lowering.
"I require documentation. Thorough. Convincing. Severe."
The physician swallowed.
“How severe?” he asked cautiously.
"As severe as necessary," the Duke said, his eyes unblinking. "I make one thing very clear: my son must not be allowed to make his own choices."
A pause.
“If certain symptoms must… be emphasized,” the Duke continued, “or interpreted generously, I leave that to your expertise.”
The physician understood. Completely.
“…And if the boy contradicts this?” he asked.
The Duke smiled faintly.
“That,” he said, “will only prove my point.”
At midday, the initial news reports were already being written.
All past behaviors came under review through a fresh pair of eyes.
Cales' silence
→ Withdrawal emotionally.
His preference for solitude?
→ Avoidant traits. Social Dysfunction.
His obedience?
→ Learned helplessness.
His confusion when questioned harshly?
→ Cognitive Instability under Stress.
Even his running away was rebranded. → Impulsive flight due to deteriorating mental state. → Inability to assess danger. → Delusional belief that leaving was necessary.
Before the ink was even dry on that promise, Cale Eckat was just another boy who ran. He was a risk.
That evening, the Duke wore mourning colors, though not black, something close to it that implies he is concerned without exciting sympathy.
He summoned the most importent people of high society.
This declaration came with a lot of regret.
“My youngest son is missing,” announced the Duke, his words laced with the control he maintained. “He had issues with his mental health, though we made it a point to keep matters like that discreet.”
Gasps. Murmurs. Concern
“He left the estate in a state of uncertainty,” the Duke continued. “But I fear he does not understand his actions entirely. He is not… well.”
The nobles looked at each other.
A mentally fragile Eckat heir. Alone. Untutored.
Unacceptable
“If you hear anything,” finished the Duke, “I beg of you to let us know. For his sake.”
They departed, worried.
They left convinced.
They were all prepared to look for him.
At night, Derrick got the call.
He stood in his father’s study, his posture straight, his expression controlled. The perfect heir. The reliable one.
The Duke handed him a thick folder.
“Read,” he said.
Derrick’s face scrunched up into a slight
While he read, something contracted in his chest.
Page after page. Medical terminology. Definitive statements.
Fluctuating
High risk of severe dependence.
Lack of ability to carry out tasks independently
Likely to be harmful if left alone.
Derrick's jaw clenched.
“…Why was I not told?” he asked quietly.
He sighed, and the sound was measured.
“Because I hoped we were wrong.”
Derrick looked up abruptly.
“This says,” he went on, speaking more slowly now, “that he should never be left to make big decisions by himself.”
The Duke looked at him.
“That is the physician’s recommendation.”
Derrick trusted the physician.
Derrick believed his father.
People didn't lie about things like that.
“…If he’s found,” Derrick said after a brief pause, “he won’t be able to live on his own.”
“No,” the Duke agreed.
A long silence.
Derrick closed the folder. “…Then,” he said, controlled but resolute, “until I inherit the title, he will remain under your authority. After that—”
He paused.
“I'll take responsibility for him,” Derrick said. “He won't be left alone again.”
The Duke nodded.
Satisfied
Well out of sight of the manor house, oblivious to the story being unfurled about him, Cale Eckat moved forward through the trees without realizing that his freedom had already been declared a symptom.
And that everyone was coming to bring him home.