4
Thorne
“You’re rather dull tonight, my dear friend,” Galen slurred from across his study as he threw his legs over the arm of the black velvet chair.
Scratching at my temple, I swirled the glass of amber liquid in my other hand. “Am I? Or are you perhaps drunker than usual, my dear king?” I mimicked his tone.
Galen laughed, the sound echoing off the light gray marble walls. Most definitely drunk. He tipped his glass to me. “Fair enough. I suppose the question is, why aren’t you drunk as well?”
And I supposed the answer wasbecause someone needs to keep the king in line.
Or my personal favorite,becauseI’m not the one hiding from my responsibility in the bottom of every bottle in Mysthelm.
“Don’t tempt me, Galen,” I said instead, giving him a smirk. “One of us has to be alert for the meeting in the morning, yes?”
He rolled his eyes, and a lock of normally well-kept hair fell onto his golden-brown forehead. “Another meeting. Don’t you ever get sick of all of them? One after another after another. They’re so incrediblyboring.”
Standing, I crossed to his chair and plucked the empty glass from his gloved hand. My boots padded against the thick black andgray rug. “Very. But considering you appointed me to be one of your advisors, I unfortunately still have to go. As do you.”
“Says who? I’m the king. I can do whatever I want.”
I bit down on my tongue. “Galen, I say this as your best friend. You’re an insufferable drunk.”
“Andyouused to be the fun one,” he responded. “What happened to Thorne Reaux, the man whose idea of a casual night out was to drink me under the table, get kicked out of at least two bars, and take home any girl he wanted?”
He grew up, I thought, but couldn’t help chuckling at the pout on Galen’s face. “I could still drink you under the table. Difference is,yourtable is now plated in gold and says ‘King of Mysthelm.’ Our lives changed, Galen. In more ways than one.”
He stared at me for a moment, then closed his eyes and leaned his head back. The glow from the fire crackling in the fireplace cast shadows over his dark features. “What I would give for just a moment of those old days again,” he said, the slur now more pronounced.
My chest tightened. As much as he might irritate me at times, I knew these nights and this behavior came from a place of sorrow. Galen Grimaldi had the world thrust onto his shoulders seemingly overnight—and my best friend had never been one to carry weight well.
We sat in silence for a moment, with only the sound of flames snapping and popping in a hypnotic trance. Galen’s study in the palace had become a safe haven of sorts. It wasn’t so much a “study” as it was a place for us to go and drink and get away from the world. Two plush black velvet chairs sat opposite each other across the large rug, with the fireplace to our right and a towering bookshelf to our left. Behind Galen’s chair stood his desk, which hadn’t been used in Fates knew how long. A potted tree sat in the corner next to it. The space was dark but cozy, and not many people were allowed in.
“How’s your mother doing?” I asked quietly.
He waved a hand in the air, eyes still closed. “Oh, you know.Same as always. The nurses try to play me for an idiot, but I see the bloody cloths. I hear her coughing at night.” He swallowed hard and kicked his feet against the side of the chair. “Sounds more and more like Father did.”
Before the disease took him, I finished in my head. The former King of Mysthelm, Orion Grimaldi, had been dead for eight months now. Even if he barely talked about it, I knew it tore at Galen. I didn’t want to imagine what he would turn into if his mother died of the same illness.
“I’m sure the healers will find a remedy soon,” I said.
“Oh, yes,” Galen burst out, jumping to his feet. He swayed for a moment, then righted himself. He began pacing the room on unsteady legs, almost stumbling over the low coffee table before the fireplace. “That’s what everyone says. Talking down to me like I’m a child. They think telling me the same thing over and over will make me answer all their littlequestions,” he drawled, then pitched his voice so it mocked those of his advisors.
“‘The coffers are running low, Your Majesty.’ And ‘The Mid Territory is asking if you’ll investigate the farmland fires.’ And ‘Please, King Grimaldi, we need you to sign off on the rehousing agreement from the floods.’” As he spoke, he took his frustration out on his gloves, tugging off the fingers one by one and throwing them on the ground to expose bare skin.
My spine stiffened when he paced closer to me, my eyes shifting to his hand. “Galen?—”
“Honestly, I don’t know how my father did it. But we always knew he was a better man than me. A betterking.” He drew nearer, holding out his ungloved hand to reach for the glass in mine.
“Galen, stop?—”
“I just need amomentof peace, Thorne. Don’t you understand? Is that too much to ask for?”
Heart hammering in my chest, I backed away and shouted, “Galen!”
He halted in his tracks. Cursing, he spun away, scrambling forthe gloves discarded on the floor. “I’m sorry, Thorne. I wasn’t thinking.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I blinked back the rush of adrenaline and let out a breath. “You’ve got to be more careful.”
