Yeah, sure.
It was. Really.
It’s disgusting. He’s your brother.
Nothing is happening!
Really?
Really.
I don’t believe you.
Quit pushing the topic.
I scoff and step away, pretending to find interest in the arrangement of practice swords not too far away. “I’m thankful that I do not need to grace Queen Lairis’s quarters again for a long while. Pretending to find interest in her petty squabbles with the court can be terribly exhausting. Perhaps next week, we will have time to take the horses out for a ride.”
“You’re wanting to try and find where the Wild Hunt stays again? Aren’t you? You know they can’t be seen unless the veil is lifted,” Bramwell scolds.
“I only want to check on her.”
Casimir hangs his shirt around his neck, pulling it to cover the mark. “And tell her that you’re going to marry her to Prince Dalziel? Whom she has not yet been properly introduced to?”
“Yeah, that too.” I shoot him another smile before making my way to our scoreboard. I pick up the blade that’s folded into itself and open it. It grates against the board with a noise that makes my teeth throb with pain. “Three ahead... If you don’t win the next match, then you may never catch up.” My tongue clicks against the roof of my mouth, a noise mothers make when their children misbehave.
“Give me ten minutes, and I’ll happily beat your ass.”
“Not in that condition, you’re not,” I say softly. He didn’t have to do it. He didn’t have to take Violence’s punishment.
“Technically, that was Bramwell’s loss.” Casimir pouts.
From the hallway, a door slams shut. A blur of dark hair and ruffled clothing passes. Casimir sits up taller. I lower the blade.
“I’ll be right back,” I say in passing, hurrying from the room and down the hall to follow the rushed movements.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Casimir calls after me. His following laugh echoes down the hall, trailing me like a ghost.
It takes me a minute to catch up with my father, but when I do, I still have to keep my strides long as he moves so quickly. He glances over and his eyes look darker than normal, the bags under his eyes more prominent. Another shadowy day.
Swallowing down the lump of worry that gathers in my throat, I wait for him to acknowledge me. It doesn’t come. Does he even know I’m here? He’s all whispering fabrics and wide darting eyes, but it’s like he doesn’t even notice that I’ve caught up to him. That I’m right at his side.
“Father?”
His feet dig into the floor with a squeak of rubber against polished tile. He stops so abruptly, I take two steps past him.
“Merrick? How long have you been there?” There’s a roughness to his voice like he has been speaking nonstop and his throat has gone raw.
“Not long.”
“I’m a bit busy. Can I help you?” Those rushed steps pick back up.
“Yes, uh, yeah.” My sword pats against my thigh, matching the rhythm of my movements. “I had a few thoughts about our alliance with King Deonairdus. Prince Dalziel showed interest in Violence.”
He sputters a laugh, small droplets of spit visible under the lights. “Why would he have interest in her? She wrecks everything she touches.”
“Yes, well, that can be used to our advantage. Propose we give her away as his bride. She becomes their problem.” I hate that these words are even leaving my mouth. “I’ll reach out to them. Make the negotiations, of course. I would hate to bother you any further.”
We finally slow, the door to his study not far ahead.
