On his ass and tangled in seaweed, he’d barely registered Chthamalus’s concern. All he could hear were the crier’s echoing words that repeated his news as he’d swum farther away to tell others. “King Daven is dead! Felled in battle! Long live King Varice!”
Chthamalus had stroked his cheek with one tentacle while he tended Kalder’s wound with two more and rubbed his back with afourth. It was only then that Kalder had realized he was sobbing in the seawater.
“Me father’s dead, Tally.” He hadn’t even recognized the hollow tone of his voice.
“Aye, my lord. I’m so sorry. He was a good…” Tally had paused as if searching for a word that wouldn’t offend him or be a blatant lie. “… warrior.”
Kalder had nodded, knowing that was about all one could say in honesty. Yet even so, he’d loved him. Brash and brutal though he was, he’d been his father. All he’d known as such. Daven had been the one who’d taught him to hold a sword. Taught him to drink and prank.
Taught him how to take a blow and not cry from the pain of it.
Except for today. His father would be furious to see him blubbering like this over something as natural as death. He’d be the first to backhand him for giving in to grief, and letting others know that he had a weakness.
Are you a man or a child needing a tit to suckle for comfort? Should I be sending for a wet nurse to burp you?
Kalder swore he could hear his father’s angry roar even now. Feel his fist striking his chest as he shoved him back in fury that he’d dare show anything other than utter and complete strength at all times.
Never let anyone see weakness, boy! Ever!
Sucking his sobs in with a ragged breath, he’d forced his tears away as he disentangled himself from the weeds, and stood in spite of the pain. Physical and mental. That was what Duprees did. No matter the maelstrom. No matter the turmoil and pain.
Strength through adversity.
Then he’d taken the sticky cloth from Chthamalus’s tentacle and pressed it to his neck to stanch the flow of blood. Be damned if he’d shame his father, even in death.
Or himself, even in grief.
“That’ll need stitching, Highness. It barely missed your jugular.”
Knowing his mentor was right, Kalder had gone to have it done, before he sought out his mother and brother. His thoughts being to pay respect to his mother and swear loyalty to his brother for his new regime. Standard Myrcian practice. It would be expected of a prince of their empire.
Nothing more. At least that was what he’d told himself.
Yet the moment they saw him in the palace throne room, they’d gone on the attack like sharks after freshly chummed water.
“What do you want?” His mother had raked him with a glare so foul that it’d practically seared his flesh with its causticity. No concern or question whatsoever about the stitched wound on his neck, or the blood on his clothes. For all they knew, he’d been under attack. Yet not an ounce of concern for his well-being.
And all he’d really wanted had been a hug. Someone to hold him and tell him that everything would be all right.
A single word of kindness in his hour of grief.
But it was apparentthatwouldn’t be found here. Not withhisfamily. And why should he expect it fromthem? They’d never given him any such kindness before. He should have known better than to ever start expecting anything comforting from them now.
Perhaps Chthamalus had given him a head injury during their training. It would explain his stupidity for thinking even for an instant that they might actually give a shit where he was concerned.
“I came to pay me respects and wish Varice the best for his reign.”
“Or are you here to challenge his right for kingship?”
Those words had struck him like a blow. “Why would I do such?”
She’d scoffed in his face. “Are you telling me that you have no desire to be king of your people?”
Was she serious? He barely felt weaned most days. While they considered him a man, it wasn’t a label he embraced willingly, and he certainly didn’t feel ready to cross that full threshold yet. There were still a lot of “manly” things he had yet to experience. His first beheading.
His first child.
He barely wanted to get out of bed most days. He damn sure didn’t feel ready to take on the responsibilities of governing his people.
