A lecture from his father was different. Those conversations were deeper, and riddled with high standards, and tinged with a weight Dominic couldn’t muster, because this wasn’t his king lecturing him, but his father, and it meant something more.
Aidon wasn’t just his son, but the successor to the throne, and with that came the responsibility of sharpening him like a knife as he prepared Aidon for all that lay ahead of him.
One two. One two. One two.
These early hours in the furthest wood-paneled training room of the barracks were a special type of bliss, when the hiss of his breath and the rhythmic thud of his fists hitting the wood were the only sounds in the entire complex. Aidon loved a good time as much as the next person. He found joy in the nights in town with his friends, when Clyde and his husband, Lucas, often took him for all he was worth in cards. He loved sailing around the coves with Peter, or chartering the barge for those particularly raucous afternoons on the water, or even attempting to paint with Josie as she and Viviane laughed at his technique.
Yet true peace was found for Aidon not in total stillness, but in stolen quiet moments. Like the archery sessions in the woods, where the creak of his bow interrupted the murmured conversations with his father as they aimed at their targets.
It hadn’t always been this way between them. Of course, there’d always beensometension – the kind that typically followed fathers and their sons. There was a reason Aidon and Will had understood each other so thoroughly all those years ago; a reason Aidon had watched him with Gale and recognized the frustration that came with having a father that not only wanted the best for you but demanded it.
And Gale was worse, far worse, than Enzo would ever amount to.
But as the time of Aidon taking the throne loomed closer, his father grew more persistent.
One day, Aidon, you will rule …
As if he didn’t know. As if he hadn’t been reminded every day of his godsdamn life. As if he couldn’t tell that their hopes of a better ruler landed squarely on his shoulders.
A low cough interrupted his combination. Aya hovered inthe doorway, dressed in a set of sleeveless brown fighting leathers he was willing to bet Josie had borrowed for her.
‘Someone’s up early,’ he said, his bare chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He didn’t miss the way Aya’s face flushed slightly as he stepped around the beam, or how she tried to keep her eyes fixed firmly on his face.
‘I hope I’m not intruding.’
‘Of course not. I’m merely trying to keep up with the rest of my troops. I’m afraid they train harder than I do these days.’ She looked tired. As if she hadn’t slept at all. ‘Rough night?’
Aya glanced down at her leathers, her brows raised slightly in surprise. ‘Are you suggesting I look poorly, Your Highness?’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady.’
Aya snorted at the title, her arms folding across her chest as she strolled around the room. She stopped at a wood panel with tiny scratches marking its surface.
‘It’s our tally,’ Aidon explained from where he stood in the middle of the ring. ‘A tradition Josie and I have kept over the years. We keep score of who wins our duels.’
A faintAandJwere carved above lines of markings that were nearly evenly matched.
He loosed a breath. ‘Josie would much rather join my forces than spend another moment shaking hands on behalf of the Crown. But my uncle …’
Aya glanced over her shoulder. ‘He won’t allow it.’
‘She thinks he finds her weak.’
‘Does he?’
Aidon frowned. ‘Sometimes, I wonder if he finds weakness in everyone but himself.’ It was a bold confession to make, but harmless. Anyone who met Dominic could grasp the basics of his character. ‘But,’ Aidon sighed, giving his head a slight shake, ‘it’s about duty, not ability. He’s nothing if not committed to our roles in the kingdom.’
Duty.
Responsibility.
Loyalty.
We all make our sacrifices, his mother had once told him. He wondered if he imagined the longing on her face. If, like her daughter and son, she secretly despised the boxes thatdutyseemed keen to force them all into.
Aya tilted her head as she watched him. ‘Will you value the same? Duty above all? Will you keep people confined to their traditional roles?’
He jutted his chin toward the tally. ‘Afterthat? I’d be a fool. Though I expect it’s yet another reason my uncle fears me taking the throne.’
