He felt a strange tug in his chest— brief but powerful, almost painful— as she disappeared from view.
It was tradition for her to ride separately, as any stolenprisonershould. But for a moment, he wished he had insisted on doing away with that particular tradition—though it could have been worse; his ancestors had been far more barbaric about the matter. Princess Leanora was riding in her own separate carriage, yes, but a century ago that carriage would have had bars and shackles instead of plush cushions and velvet curtains.
Still, a cage was a cage, wasn’t it?
And it would have been nice to speak with her in private before they arrived at Solturne Hall. Not because he wanted to get to know her, but because he wanted to make sure she understood the rules of this game they were playing. He had enough to worry about without a difficult human girl making a mess of things.
Perhaps he could arrange a moment alone before all the dinners and parties and their other binding ceremonies got underway…
“Tarron?”
“Hm?”
“Still scheming to yourself, aren’t you?”
“I was just enjoying the scenery.”
Deven hesitated, and then he said, “You know, if I could change things, I would.”
“Change things?”
“If this marriage wasn’t so…necessary, I mean.”
“It’s fine.”
Deven looked unconvinced.
“Really,” Tarron insisted. “I don’t need true love or happily-ever-afters or anything of the sort. I’m not…well,you.”
Deven laughed. “And that’s probably for the better, really. Imagine if we were both annoying, sappy fools—what adisasterthat would be, eh?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No,” the king mused, “but I can easily imagine our subjects saying precisely those words.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Deven sighed a good-natured sigh, ran his fingers through his hair, and then settled back into his seat and closed his eyes.
Tarron watched him for a moment, until— just as it always did— any ire that he’d felt melted away. This was his brother, for better or worse, after all. The only family he had left.
“Anyway, I believe someone once told me…” Tarron began, his tone lighter “…that you should care less about what those subjects expect of you.”
Deven smiled without opening his eyes.
Tarron returned that smile this time, but he was glad that his brother wasn’t actually looking at him—because he doubted the expression came across as genuine.
He couldn’t remember the last genuine laugh or smile he’d had; they were few and far between since his brother’s ascension.
Deven’s rule had been unexpected, and a jarring departure from the king that had preceded him. Their father had ruled without fear or mercy, and their subjects had loved him for it.
But Deven was softer.
Weaker.
Some claimed that it was that weakness that had led to him getting sick, and to the other problems they’d been facing in recent years—such as the humans creeping ever closer to their sacred lands.
And now those subjects were uneasy at best. They were already planning for what cameafterDeven’s death.He isn’t strong enough to last, they said. The silver lining to losing their king, whispered the same voices, was that Prince Tarron would take his place.And perhaps this boy will be more like his father.
