“I’m disappointed, Arawn,” the king said. It was so rare that he spoke his name. “And utterlyvexedat how my CrownPrince, a boy who has knelt before the Veil itself, would so easily spit in the face of his gods by rejecting the pure gift of his lineage. By daring to evenentertainthe fact that Kinlear, weak and disobedient as he is, would ever be able to bear the holy burden of a Sacred Crown?”
“I...” Arawn’s voice trailed off. “I only thought...perhaps it would befair?—”
“The gods are notfair,” his father growled. “They arejust. Their law says we haveoneruler.Onecrown, regardless of who happened to share the queen’s womb with you.” His gaze narrowed as he glared down at Arawn. “Do not tempt fate by daring to believe Kinlear willeveramount to as much as you. If he is chosen for anything, it will be for an early grave.”
Arawn sucked in a breath.
His father hated Kinlear.
Hated...as much as any Sacredcouldhate. As if he were a stain on their family’s bloodline. Or perhaps some sort of trick from the gods, sent to punish him. A child of penance.
But Arawn loved his twin. He’d be a monster if he didn’t.
“He’s just a boy, Arawn,” said the king. “And it is all he will ever be. You’d be wise to remember it.”
It was silent again. Painfully so.
If Arawn listened hard enough, he could hear the tiniest sound of snowflakes landing. Each one, as delicate as a kiss. It would have been peaceful, were it just him and the gods. But the king always insisted on being at his side, training him, honing him like a blade.
Arawn supposed he should be grateful.
Nobody else received such a gift.
...so why did he wish, every so often, that he could return it?
“King?” Arawn asked.
His father grunted in response, so he dared ask the question still burning on the tip of his tongue.
It was foolish, he knew.
But it would eat him alive if he did not ask it.
“What if...” He closed his eyes and let out a breath. “What if I want to bejust a boy?”
Hehated how small his voice sounded as the words tumbled away from him. But he had no one else to talk to. No one else to make sense of the thoughts that plagued his mind, when he watched the other younglings make friendships and laugh andplay...something he’d never dare try and do.
“What if, sometimes, Idowant to be like Kinlear?”
“Dying?” his father spat. “Cursed?”
Arawn flinched at his words.
“Free,”he said. “To do as I please with my days. To do as the other younglings do, or even as thenomagesdo, and?—"
Oh.
Oh,gods,that had been the wrong thing to say.
He could practically see the steam rising from his father’s shoulders as the anger swam through him. As his magic hissed and fizzled. Arawn’s shoulders dipped, and he had the urge to look away...until his father reached out and placed a burning fingertip under his chin, forcing their gazes to meet.
“You want to bejusta boy?” His father asked. “A peasant without a crown? I’ll show you what that looks like, Arawn Laroux.”
And with that, the king stood.
Snow tumbled from his enormous shoulders, which were shrouded in a fur-lined cloak. His footsteps left deep tracks in the snow as he motioned for Arawn to follow him out of the temple, though he gave no word as to where they were going.
He led him back into the Citadel’s halls, passed countless Sacred Knight and Scribes and servants who all dropped to a knee, bowing in reverence. He led them to the front courtyard, where they were back in the snow yetagain.They passed by the ancient, ice-encrusted tree, past the swords of the fallen...where someday, Draybor’s own sword would go, before Arawn had to face the Veil alone.
