If I were king…
You’re not king.
Everett thought I could be.
Thoughts like that will get you killed.
Why did he plant such thoughts if he wanted me to remain alive? Foresight sure would’ve been handy.
“I don’t know what to do,” I confess to Tristen. My breath is labored, my head dizzy. I slam the window shut.
“This isn’t bad.” Tristen rises from the creaky old chair in the corner and closes the gap between us. He claps my back as if his gesture were a cup of blood, giving me renewed hope and energy.
“It’s not good.” I stare at my boots. The leather is worn and dirty, but that’s what makes them comfortable. You have to break things before they bend for you.
Tristen flashes me his goofy smirk. I want to take that smile, bottle it up, keep it safe, and ensure it can smile again. “It’s great,” he counters.
Tristen is my life. My purpose.
Our parents were soldiers. They died in the same battle, leaving Tristen and me to the kingdom. Like other orphans, we were tossed into the army, housed and trained, taught to love it.
We do love it to an extent. It’s all we know.
Change is scary. That’s why so many warriors chose to die a familiar death in battle. Opposed to uncharted territories like old age, where we hold a lover instead of the sword that has kept us alive.
“Our definitions differ.” I turn and pace the small inn we rented for the night. I have a new room assignment, closer to Selene.
Tristen’s squadron—a team I should have been in charge of—has a month off duty. He’ll be reassigned. Maybe I can pull some strings and get him under Ryker?
“Stop being pissy. You need the queen’s help.” Tristen’s hands spread open. “You have it now.”
“Did you forget last night when she tried to kill me?” I retort.
“No.” He shrugs. “I call it the evening’s entertainment.”
I rest my palm on my sword.
He snorts a laugh and raises his hands high. “Joking. But seriously, use this to your advantage.”
“I see an uphill battle in front of me, Tris. No shortcuts.”
“So climb it,” he says, giving me a pointed look. “Obviously, Queen Selene cared about her brother. If not, she wouldn’t have tried to kill you. What do you think will happen when you tell her that her dear, sweet brother gave you his magic?”
I lick my lips and wipe the sweat off my brow.
“Remember,” Tristen stresses, “we can’t steal magic, Titus. Everett gave it to you.Gaveit. That has to mean something. That’s the weapon that will save you, so I suggest you figure out how to wield it and use it against Selene or Sable. We still haven’t met Sable.”
“Nothing makes sense now.” I hang my head and rub my neck.
“What do you mean?”
“You have another good idea; the world is coming to an end.”
I glance at my dirty boots in shame. “You don’t belong here,” I whisper to myself.
Selene’s wing of the castle is a separate tower. A gilded birdcage, Galen must admire as he peers at it through his window.
I advanced toward the tower’s base. It’s a skeleton-like structure. Like a rib cage holding a heart inside. The frame’s design mimics the vines from Galen’s famous roses. It wraps and weaves, enclosing the primary structure.
