“Men become boys at heart when with the woman they love.”
Aziel remembered when Thorn said it to him for the first time. They’d taken Raven and Raina to a refugee camp near Alvaros and the giant mass of a man decided to grant Raina a dance. He’d smiled in a way that Thorn never smiled, laughed in a way he’d never laughed.
That sort of softness was one that Aziel had reserved for no one.
“Are you listening to a word I’m saying or would I have better luck conversing with the plants?” Oran asked.
Aziel’s head snapped up in his brother’s direction, his brow furrowing. “Apologies. I seem to be rather distracted today.” He sighed, returning to his chair.
“I’d say.” Oran huffed. “Iaskedif I should request for Fiernan to comehere. I also just insinuated that I could be involved in helping overthrow our father, if need be. He’s still intent on me being the heir to the throne. He believes I’ve beenkidnapped.” He leaned forward, pulling more papers from his pockets and placing them in front of Aziel. The ink had been washed away by water in some places, but it was still legible.
He plucked the papers up, eyes scanning over each sentence with a smile. “You should have started with this.” Aziel hummed, his gloved fingers coming up to his jaw. “And you think that Ovella is a reliable source?”
Oran nodded, combing back the messy brown locks on the top of his head with his fingers. “Ovella was Mother’s lady’s maid. I tried convincing her to come here when the war started, but sherefused. Her daughter, Clova, is a courtesan. She refused to leave her there, but said she would write as often as possible.”
“Has she written anything else?” Aziel asked.
His brother shook his head. “This was the first one. Blasted gnome jumped out from behind a tree and handed it to me when I crossed into The Divide outside of O’Shea. Scared the hell out of me.”
Aziel snorted and placed the pages onto his desk. “Why do you want Fiernanhereinstead of in her own kingdom?”
“She’d be safer with you. If I trusted anyone to keep the woman I love safe, it would be a god. Luckily, I knowtwoof them.” He smirked.
He wouldn’t deny him that. If he was determined to have Fiernan close and protected, Aziel would provide that. “So you intend on going back to Yaar and playing the perfect prince to win our father’s trust again. What happens after that?”
Oran was silent. Though Aziel was certain that his brother had contemplated this a thousand times in his head, he also knew that Oran was not a killer. Perhaps he’d dreamed of ending their father’s life, but there were hundreds, if not thousands, who had also dreamed that very same dream and never thought to attempt it. It was a risky plan, considering the people that Dorid surrounded himself with. Their father only found Mystics to be beneficial to society when they benefittedhim. And from what Aziel had heard, the moment the sounds of pounding boots and blood filled the streets of Yaar, those who were terrified of Dorid’s wrath saddled up to him rather quickly.
“Do you want to be the one to kill him?” Aziel asked gently.
“That would be the perfect ending, wouldn’t it?” Oran asked with a solemn laugh. “The golden child killing the monster that created him.”
Aziel glanced at the window, noting the height of the sun. “I’ve seen that ending before. And it doesn’t always erase what hasbeen done. The stories always tell about the victory, but never the devastation that the villains leave behind.” When he looked at Oran again, Aziel realized just how much they looked alike. Perhaps not by the shape of their noses or the form of their mouths, but they had the same eyes.
Their father’s eyes.
“Should we do it together?” Oran offered. “He killed your mother, too.”
Yes. Aziel would never be able to outrun that nightmare of memory. Not when he bore the scars of his terror.
He and Oran spent the majority of their childhoods separated by station. The Heir and the Bastard. Never the Spare. Always the errand boy, the assassin, the stain on the bloodline. And Oran, though paraded around in finery and gifted with everything a young prince could ever want, also had his fair share of grievances.
They’d only been fifteen when Oran was caught with the young Mystic servant—forced to watch her be stoned to death in the middle of the city, her brutalized body burned to ash.
Seven years. It took seven years for Oran to be able to hope for a connection with someone. Whether it was conversation or simply fucking, it’d takenthatlong. Even now, it was still hard for the man to even say her name. It was no wonder why he wanted Fiernan protected in all of this. Their father knew that the women his sons loved were the very things that could be their ruin.
Looking at their lives now, Aziel did not see that there was much of a difference between the two of them at all.
The palace was eerily quiet when he returned. He wasn’t sure what he expected to hear when he walked through that door,but he’d hoped that he would hear the patter of Nymiria’s feet against the stone flooring. Or birds chirping. Or Hilla chastising Trio for carrying in dirt from his boots.
But it was silent.
Aziel’s body tensed as he climbed the stairs, every sense in his body telling him that something was not right. He continued on towards his rooms, glancing towards the opposite end of the hall, eyes roving over Nymiria’s closed door before turning towards the one they shared. It was open just a crack, no sounds of life coming from within, and when he walked inside, there was a sort of chill in the air that had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on-end.
There, on the dining table, was a note.
I won’t offer myself to them. But I need to make things right. I want to create my own legacy. One that I can be proud of. One that the people of Eadyn can respect.
Yours,
