Brand cracked an eye open against the hammering pain bouncing around his skull, and beheld the Demon King of Straelon.
Lyriat stood at the head of their table with his arms crossed, an arrogant brow raised in censure. He cut an imposing figure in his long, sleeveless tunic—a rare sight, since the cocky bastard often ran around shirtless for the entertainment of it.
His own, of course.
White horns spiraled from high on his forehead, winding upwards from the copper waves of his waist-length hair. Rings of gold inlay glinted along their carved lengths and bands of rare, pearlescent stone circled his arms above powerful biceps—a permanent mark of his station and all that would be left on the pyre after his death.
Those that didn’t know him might have even been frightened, worried they’d offended the monarch. But Brand caught the mirth glittering in his friend’s moss-green eyes, the slight upward tilt of his lips.
“Please—and I say this with the utmost respect—fuck off.”
“Aye. What he said,” Magnus murmured.
Dishes clinked under the hum of conversation, Solyrian burning bright and spilling into the great hall through massive windows that ran floor to rafters along the walls. For some bloody reason, even the ceiling was glass, and the dust motes dancing innocently in the overwhelming light only served to highlight how dreadful he felt.
He was never drinking again.
His brother was staring at his plate of untouched food, head propped in his hands. Brand was fairly certain the chunks he was seeing in Mag’s snarled braids were sand and seaweed, though he had no idea how they’d gotten there.
“Ah, come now,” Lyriat said. “Young Thaddeus was just telling me what a lovely time you all had last night. Do you disagree?”
No bloody clue. He couldn’t remember a damned thing after Thad had wrapped a length of bunting around his horns whilecackling in his face. All Brand knew was that, if he looked even half as awful as Mag, then it was no wonder Lyriat was commenting on it.
Head swimming, he chanced a look around the hall and found his cousin among a group of warriors near the portal. His hands waved wildly about as he no doubt told some ridiculous story, beaming at every comment and guffaw, and clearly unaffected by the chaotic shenanigans of the evening before.
Youthful prat.
“The night was fine,” Magnus grumbled. “It’s the morning that’s being a right wee shite.”
Lyriat chuckled and pulled a chair out, plopping down and rubbing his hands together. “Well, I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving. Shall I have some eggs and toast? Or perhaps potatoes and greens.”
“Sisters spare me,” Brand whispered, his stomach turning.
“You know what? I think I’ll have the lot.”
A servant appeared to the sound of his and Mag’s groans, gently placing a platter in front of the king. Two glasses came next, set before him and his brother. The liquid—if it could be called such a thing—was gurgling, putting off a noxious odor that was possibly the most foul fuckery he’d ever smelled.
Of course, he thought that every time.
“Ach, not this rot again,” Magnus whined, swiping his up.
“It’s no more than you deserve for being an irresponsible reprobate,” Lyriat said cheerfully around a mouthful.
“Aye, I suppose there’s that. Little brother?”
Brand eyed the brew, already dreading the next couple minutes. The only thing that allowed him to palm his own cup was the knowledge that it would work, born from previous, unfortunate experience.
Magnus gave him a halfhearted smile before clinking their glasses together and tipping his back, downing the entire thing in one gulp.
Before he could talk himself out of it, Brand did the same. The gelatinous mix went down like fizzing mud—bubbles exploding in his mouth, bits gagging him—and his whole face twisted against his will.
“Weeping arseholes!” Mag bellowed, pounding the table with a fist. “Why does it have to be that fucking repulsive?”
“To deter… from… same asinine… over and over.”
Brand’s ears roared in time with the beat of his heart as the potion took hold, half of Lyriat’s words denied entry with every thump.
Tendrils of magic reached out from his center with long fingers and, just as he had the thought that his end was coming, the concoction settled and dissipated. Between one blink and the next, a cool dew lit upon his limbs, refreshing him. His body hummed, as if to sing and chirp with the morning birds. He was the shimmering dawn itself, shining bright after a long storm.
