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From the second he was born, Arawn Laroux carried the burden of being Lordach’s future king. He’d always known it, for they called himthe Chosen,while Kinlear, born just moments after him, was consideredthe Spare.
He never understood what it meant, to wear a crown, nor why it truly mattered...
Not until his fifth birthday.
The Year of the Gods,it was said, a special milestone to celebrate for every young Sacred.
But for Arawn there was no celebration, no family prayer of thanks to the Five for another year of life. There was no cinnamon roll tower – he’d been dreaming of one for his fifth birthday, for headoredthe fresh, sugary rolls that were born in the Citadel’s kitchens – and there was certainly not a present. Not like there was for the other Sacred.
There was, instead...another meeting.
One thatonlythe Crown Prince was allowed to attend.
“But it’s Kinlear’s birthday, too,” Arawn said, as his Mother’s servants dressed him in Sacred whites, and combedback his snow-white hair. It was growing longer, enough that he’d be able to have a warrior’s braid in a few more months. “We can’t just leave himalone.”
Kinlear was alone all the time. He was alwayssick.But it also meant he got to do as he wished, to lay in bed with his books and his treats and his dreams.
Not Arawn.
Never Arawn.
“My dear Crown Prince,”the Queen said, and frowned down at him, though there was no malice in her gaze. She saved the ire for Kinlear, whose illness frustrated her. Arawn didn’t need to be older to realize it. “Your gift is knowledge for the future, a lesson of utmost importance, and it is meantonlyfor you. Not him.”
He rocked back and forth on his toes, already certain what her answer would be. But...he still had to try.“Can Kinlear come with me? Just this once?”
They were born together, after all.
He didn’t understand why they couldn’t rule together, too.
The queen got down on a knee, until she was level with him. They were eye to eye, both of them boasting hair so pale it could have been ice.
“Your heart is soft, Arawn,” she said. She smiled, but it was always laced with sadness, as if the war had stolen her joy along with her people. “You must learn to strengthen it, to cage it with iron, for there are a great many things a prince must do alone. Even more, when he becomes a king.”
She gave him no chance for questions. Not that he would have asked again anyways, for he’d already pushed her limits.
Another little bit, and he’d have to pay penance for breaking one of the most important laws:honor.
Still, Arawn felt strangely sad, his footsteps heavy, as they left his room behind. His eyes lingered on Kinlear’s closed bedroom door. He wanted to sink behind it...to spend the evening with his brother, laughing and playing and dreaming of better days, when the two became war heroes, side by side.
When they set their kingdomfree.
Instead, he followed his mother down the stairwell and away...ever the loyal Sacred prince.
She led him deep into the Citadel, up and down twisting stairwells and courtyards covered in snow, past soldiers who inclined their heads at him in a show of respect, even though they were three times his size.
“Crown Prince,” they said, and Arawn held his head high as he was taught.
“Gods be with you,” he said, his little voice echoing across the courtyard. He rolled back his shoulders the way his mother expected him to. He walked like a boy twice his age...and despite himself, despite the longing in his bones to join them...he ignored the cluster of Sacred younglings playing in the snow.
Their laughter followed him like a ghost as he and his mother headed back into the Citadel’s embrace. She stopped before a room he’d never once been allowed to enter. Nobody but the Queen and the Masters could...for it was his father’s throne room.
A place for those that were highly favoredby the gods.
It was so private, there weretwodoors to go through to get to its center.
The first was guarded by Sacred Knights, men so towering that Arawn had to crane his neck back to gaze up at them.
