At night he avoided sleep, instead moving to the window and staring longingly at the waxing twin moons overhead. Silver-gold wrapped around him, a sad mockery of that light he ached for so much.
A light he could never let himself know again.
On the third night, the army started to gather.
At first it was just more noise—horses neighing in the stables, soldiers lounging in the gardens, forges firing and hammers ringing against steel. It grew until fires dotted the southern landscape, illuminating pitched tents and banners flapping in the breeze.
The Royals had finally summoned their hosts to Khento. Each family had a free-standing army independent from the Royal Infantry, though they varied widely in size and skill.
Shawth’s force was the most formidable. Most of the banners bore the deep maroon of his house. Beauchamp and Cordaroalso had sizable militias, and a few of Hareth’s banners flickered in the moonlight.
Andrian had yet to see any signs of Laurent gold, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
The last thing he wanted was for his little brother to cave, to get wrapped up in this budding war. To end up on the opposite side of a battlefield from Andrian one day.
He also wanted Gabriel to stay safe. To do what he needed to do to keep his new wife and son safe and free from Kol’s wrath.
Andrian stood at the window beneath the moons, scowling at the gathering force—an army to win Kol the continent—when he heard the knock.
It was so soft he didn’t immediately turn, convinced for a moment that it was some creation of his rampant imagination. He hadn’t felt Kol’s presence in his mind since that day in the great hall, but who knew. He’d fallen for it so easily before. He didn’t trust himself to ever know the signs again—much less resist them.
Then the knock came again, and this time it wasn’t alone.
“Andrian? I know you’re in there; open up.”
Andrian whirled at the murmured voice, concern and fear hammering through him. His heart lurched into his throat as he strode to the door, shadows whirling in agitation down his arms. He swung open the door and was greeted by Gabriel’s golden irises, brows knitted together in concern.
“What are you doing here, Gabriel?”
His brother swung his head over his shoulder, checking down the hall. He pushed a hand through his golden hair. “We need to talk.”
Andrian let out a low, frustrated growl. “I don’t want to talk.” He made to close the door, but Gabriel’s foot wedged itself between the wood and the frame.
“Andrian,” Gabriel pleaded softly. “Please.” Then, quieter, “For Mother.”
Well,thatwasn’t fucking fair. Andrian yanked the door back open with a snarl, some biting comment on the tip of his tongue. Gabriel ignored him, shouldering his way into the room.
“Close the door,” his younger brother said. “Trust me.”
Andrian stared at Gabriel, his moment of lashing anger forgotten. This wasn’t a boy—wasn’t the little brother he’d left behind all those years ago. He wondered, not for the first time, when Gabriel had become a man.
Maybe it was when he saw his older brother gut his father in front of the kingdom’s entire ruling class while a vengeful god from the earliest days of the world watched on with glee.
Andrian swallowed and slowly closed the door. Shadows still danced down his arms, and he didn’t miss the flicker of wariness in Gabriel’s eyes.
But Andrian had spent his whole life around people who’d watched him with that very same expression. Had learned long ago to expect it, anticipate it. To swallow the sting of it the same way they would swallow their unease at the truth of his existence.
“What are you doing here, Gabriel?” Andrian crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t bother pulling back his shadows.
He was too exhausted to do so, anyway.
Gabriel swallowed. He slowly raised his gaze to meet Andrian’s, and a strange, muted expression wrote itself across the tightness of his golden brow.
“Was that really you?”
The world fell away from Andrian.
He knew what Gabriel was asking. It was a question he’d expected, and yet still one he didn’t want to answer. Had it really been him back in the great hall? Had he really been the one tolook their father, the man who’d raised them, in the eye and plunge a blade into his heart?
