1
Sebastian
As the fine silk was fastened against my body, I let out a long, thin sigh through my nose. Standing still while the servants laced up my outfit was a daily pain. The members of his particular bunch were chosen for their deft fingers, but surely, they could bedefter.I made a mental note to add ‘servants who were aware that I did not enjoy pretending to be a statue’ to my list of suggestions to the royal palace.
When they were finished with my arms, I examined my sleeve in the mirror. Decent. I narrowed my eyes and fixed the lace hem that stuck just slightly out of place. It was a minor slip-up, but one I didn’t want the servants to get used to committing.
“You,” I said, speaking to the young beta woman who had laced my sleeves.
She lifted her head, instantly nervous. “Yes, Your Highness?”
“The hem is supposed to reach the bones of my wrist. You had it up to my thumb.”
She froze. The other servants paused for a moment before continuing their work, leaving her to fend for herself against me.
She bowed her head deeply. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. It won’t happen again.”
“Make sure that it doesn’t.”
The other servants finished their work in record time. Perhaps I should’ve taken to scolding them more often. I dismissed them and they scurried off. As I examined their handiwork in the mirror, I heard a small snicker from the hall. My younger brother Elian leaned on the white moulding of the doorway. He’d already been dressed by his own servants, but as usual, he’d rolled up his sleeves like a commoner.
“I do wish you wouldn’t do that,” I remarked.
“Do what?” He smirked and rode his sleeves even higher. “This?”
I knew Elian was only seventeen, but dear God of Fertility, he acted like a petulant child of five sometimes. At least it was comforting to know he wasn’t a threat to my inheriting the throne. Even if I’d somehow managed to never produce an heir while Elian did, there was no way our Father would leave the kingdom to an immature brat like him.
Not that I thought that would be an actual problem. For one thing, I was the only one of age out of the three of us. Elian was seventeen and Cecil was sixteen. At twenty-three, I was poised and ready for the throne.
The only thing standing in my way was a pregnancy.
“Can I help you with something, dear brother?” I asked as Elian continued watching me primp my clothes.
“Nope. I just think it’s funny how much time you spend looking at yourself in the mirror.”
“And why is that?” I asked absently without looking at him.
“Because it reminds me of the dumb peacocks in the garden.” Elian cackled. “They go ripshit if they see their own reflection.”
I sighed, then finished up and pried myself away from the mirror. “You know, you really should work on that vocabulary of yours.”
“Jealous that I use cooler words than you?”
Now it was my turn to cackle. “Please. You have a mouth on you like a dirty commoner.” When Elian stood in my way, I said, “Move.”
After a brief second’s hesitation, Elian stepped aside. He may have been a difficult teenager but even he knew his place. He must have known it was a bad idea to get on the eventual king-to-be’s bad side.
As I strode down the hall to the dining chamber, Elian strutted beside me. Sometimes he reminded me of the pampered palace lapdogs back when they were pups, always causing trouble just for the thrill of attention even if it was negative. Since Elian was on my heels instead of pestering Cecil, I assumed my youngest brother was still getting dressed. Perhaps he needed an upgrade in servant quality as well.
“Seb,” Elian said.
I’d never been a huge fan of his nickname for me, but I’d long since given up attempting to stop him from using it.
“Yes, Brother,” I said.
“What happens if you can’t get pregnant?”
I stopped and regarded him for a moment. It felt oddly like I was seeing him after a long absence, an absence during which he had changed. Had Elian always been so tall? I was used to him being an ankle-biter, a boy not yet grown into his full size. But the person in front of me was a young man, not a boy any longer.
