53
Gone
Something didn’t feel right, and not just because Cason still hadn’t shown up.
For the last three hours, Serill had listened to conversations that went absolutely nowhere. Some of his father’s advisers complained about the cost of war, others complained about the state of the army, but it always ended with the King tabling all talks until they were back in Aelstow with the rest of his council.
Useless. These men were useless. No one cared to warn the remaining kingdoms. No one even considered trying tostopAnfroy. And, to no surprise, no one cared about Brela’s people being experimented on.
Some men poured over the documents Brela and Cason had stolen, discussing how to alter their forging processes to accommodate hellthorn. Then, tried to figure out how to obtain enough hellthorn to stop the shadow-cursed.
Serill hated all of it. His suggestions were ignored. His arguments were dismissed with a wave of a hand.
Too young. Too inexperienced. Too naïve.
It had always been this way. His younger brother Colyne was the favored—the skilled swordsman with a cunning mind. The son that should have had the title of Crown Prince. Hells, even his middle sister Aucia had developed a keen tongue for manipulating and getting her way. She was loved in court.
Not to mention those two took after their parents’s lightning magic.
Not Serill. No, he was the one ‘unfortunate’ enough to only have healing magic. Forget that it was stronger than his mother’s skill, it wasn’t a useful talent in politics. It wasn’t a strength. No onefearedthat power. Even Linyive, his youngest sister, wasn’t ignored like him because of that little spark of lightning she possessed. At least she was fierce enough to stand up and defend herweakergift—the one that was even stronger than Serill’s magic.
Sick of listening to the same roundabout talks that had slowly derailed into at least three side conversations, Serill slid out of his seat and moved toward the table of food near the doors of the office. He was pretty sure no one even noticed him leave.
Why was he even sitting here when they were getting nothing done? When no one was paying attention to him anyway?
He’d spent the last few weeks having wonderful conversations with friends. With Farrah specifically. She’d respected him, even when they argued. She’d listened to him and let him explain his side of things. She’d challenged him to think differently.
Serill smiled to himself as he thought about the morning in Xodrith. Farrah had slept next to him that night, the first time he’d slept next to someone in ages. He’d never forget the smile on her face—the brightness in her blue eyes—when he rolled over to her.
“How would you like to get back at Lyle and do some thieving with me?” she’d asked.
How could he say no to that wicked grin?
She’d given him some quick instructions on staying silent, then slid her hand in his and dragged him through the tents. Weaving, slinking, and sneaking. His heart had never raced so quickly, his smile had never been so wide. Farrah guided him along, offering hand signals to help him out. Not once did the fear of being caught slow him down.
No, he wasn’t going to pick up thieving as a hobby, but it was nice to be included. To be recognized for his talents and not sheltered like a helpless prince. To have friends who didn’t care about his title and just liked him as a person.
He could be celebrating with them. Brela had just gotten her freedom, and she’d wanted him to join them. He’d much rather be spending a little more time with them laughing than being ignored here.
Serill looked to the office doors, slightly ajar. Just wide enough for a person to slip through.
His eyes swept around the room. No one around his father paid any attention to him. Even the guards stationed around the other corners of the room were bored, looking elsewhere since Cason wasn’t there to snap at them and Boelyn was busy in a conversation with the king.
Serill looked back to the door. He could do it. No one would know. No one would care.
The soldier stationed next to the open door glanced at him, brow raised as he saw Serill eyeing the exit. The prince shrugged—the gods-damned shrugging habit he’d developed with Cason and Brela—and he could have sworn the soldier’s lips twitched into a grin.
And then he turned his head, feigning distraction elsewhere.
Brela was right. Maybe he really had gained some respect with them.
With a quick nod of thanks, Serill slid out of the door and left the townhouse.
* * *
Farrah collapsedonto the steps of the house, watching the kids run around with Elias. Jyva was perched on his shoulders, squealing wildly as he spun around. The boys darted between his legs, dodging his swipes or clinging to his legs as he stomped, gently kicking them off to roll in the soft grass.
Oh, those stains would be a nightmare to clean, but Farrah didn’t care. It was just nice to be back.
