“I’m really glad you’re here,” is all he says.
3
COLDEN
The next morning, the complicated feelings I endured the night before have thankfully disappeared. I’m quite good at burying notions that require introspection. My most complex thought as I dress for the day is how I’m going to stop my stomach from grumbling.
To solve that dilemma, Alexus and I stroll downstairs, following the aroma of a hearty breakfast. The prince is in a meeting, or so we’re told, while we’re encouraged to dine to our hearts’ content.
It’s shocking that, in a residence of this size, so few people are actually here. The staff, yes. But outside of them, there are those three members of the Brotherhood we met last night and the prince—and Alexus and I, of course. But that’s all I’ve seen.
“In the past,” Alexus says quietly when I inquire about this oddity, “kings and queens used Shara as a summer home. Lots of hunting and time outdoors, trips to Orr Valley, and baby making, but little else. The rest of the year was typically spent at Min-Thuret.”
“Is it weird?” I ask, prowling around the walls he keeps so well erected. “Being here again?”
He shovels a bite of eggs into his mouth. “Weird enough. It mostly seems like I’ve never walked these halls. It’s been so long, and so much has changed.”
I know how he feels. Time has a way of eating memory. What I recall of the Western Drifts from three centuries ago seems like a vague and distant dream. Nothing about that time feels concrete anymore. Any familiarity is thanks to my recent visits to the archipelagos, as though my early years spent there never happened.
It isn’t long before we’re gathered from the dining hall by one of the staff and led to a grand office on the second floor. It’s just me and Alexus, for now.
Curiosity seizes me instantly once our guide is gone, so I stroll by the massive desk positioned in front of a floor-to-ceiling arched window and consider digging around in its drawers. I know I should probably behave, lest I get caught, but the temptation is so strong. There’s so much I want to know about the prince. Surely he hasn’t hidden the truth about who he is fromeveryone.
While I’m weighing my chances and discreetly shuffling papers for a better view at their text, Alexus drifts around the outer walls where several framed portraits hang side by side.
“Who is he?” I ask when I notice him pause, shove his fists into his pockets, and stare at one portrait in particular. The man in the painting looks strong, proud, and stern. Broad shouldered and barrel chested. He’s older, with short, graying hair, and by his attire, it appears he’s royalty. They all are.
“This would be the infamous King Gherahn,” Alexus says.
I stop my rifling, sensing the weight of the moment, and walk over to stand at his side. With a spiteful eye, I study the man who probably hated Colden Moeshka the Soldier as much as Neri did.
“Sothisis the bastard who made your life miserable and who probably wished me dead more than a few times,” I say.
“The one and only.”
Alexus’s expression is hard, his gaze distant, lost in an attempt at recollection, as it has often been since we arrived on the Eastland shores.
I open my mouth, to say what, I’m not sure. What is there to say to someone who’s staring into the eyes of a villain from their past? A villain who ripped them from their family and changed the course of their entire life, memorialized in portrait, like a regal, just leader?
Before I can think of any words to utter to my friend, the prince enters the room, followed by his threeadvisors.Dressed in riding gear and another fine, green jacket, he looks a little tense, his hand wrapped tightly around a scroll sheathed in a bronze casement.
He pauses and inclines his head in our direction, glancing quickly at Gherahn’s painting. “Good morning, Colden. Alexus. I hope you both rested well.” He holds up the casement. “I have King Regner’s original treaty. As I told Colden last night, I’ll sign the agreement just like my predecessor. I simply wanted the pair of you to witness the occasion.”
Alexus and I share a glance. This is what we crossed the Malorian Sea for, the assurance that this treaty, which has protected our land for so long, will remain.
It’s over and done within minutes, much to my satisfaction. It is indeed the same document I signed so many years ago. I do, however, find it interesting and more than usual that the prince’s signature, though written with the most elegant penmanship, reads:The Prince of the East.
The prince re-rolls the parchment and slips it back inside the casement before handing it over to one of the men from the Brotherhood. Then, his attention falls solely on me.
I think back to when I exited the carriage and realize this is something about him I think I love. The way he can make me feel like the only other person in existence.
No one ever looks at me that way.
“I thought you might enjoy a ride through the countryside,” he says, his face bright, any previous tension having vanished. “I’ve already had the groomsmen prepare the horses, if so.”
Alexus rests his meaty arm across my shoulders and displays a rare grin. “We’d love that, actually. We’ll change into our riding boots.”
Disappointment freezes the prince’s smile. I feel it, too, having thought for a brief moment that we might have more time alone, excited at the prospect, though also a bit uneasy after all thosefeelingslast night.
