It had been real anger and real pain from both of them.
Anger and pain that still lingered.
He’d prefer the punch to be honest.
Killian’s knuckles turned white around the glass in his hand, the hurt in his chest festering like an open wound. He didn’t blame Kade. He couldn’t. Killian understood what it looked like, how in Kade’s eyes it looked like ownership; complete domination over another. And in turn, to some—to Kade—it was a fate worse than death.
Kade would never understand, because Killian and Fyar were more than just master and servant. They were built on the back of the very kingdom Fyar ruled. He had been there when Fyar had made the ultimate sacrifice for the good of the kingdom. A sacrifice no other elf, aside from Killian, would ever understand or condone.
Their trust and loyalty and friendship was built on years spent planning and talking and training. Killian’senilwas simply evidence of a secret they shared. One Fyar could never risk getting out, even if it meant using his magic to silence onehe considered a friend.
Over time, the oath and Killian’senilfaded into the background, hardly ever mentioned or used except in teasing. Killian now walked freely over every inch of the palace grounds and the capital, with a duty and a position he never could have dreamed of before Fyar.
Killian owed his king more than just his life. And he could never explain that to Kade. He could never make Kade understand.
Killian truly believed that Fyar had been born to rule Netyere, and no one, not even Kade could change his mind.
Nearly a quarter through the bottle, enough to give him a pleasant buzz though not enough to ease his mind, someone cleared their throat just behind Killian’s shoulder. If he didn’t acknowledge them, would they change their mind and go away?
They cleared their throat again. Then, they spoke. “Can I sit?”
Killian froze with his glass at his lips and glanced over his shoulder, knowing exactly who he would see.
Kade stood there, in new clothes, dark trousers and a light, fitted tunic. His hair fell loosely over his shoulders. He wrung his hands nervously in front of him.
Killian turned back towards the counter. “If you must.”
Kade brushed against him as he slid onto the stool next to Killian. He let out a long, slow breath. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No. Truly. I didn’t.” Kade shifted so he was turned in his seat, staring at the side of Killian’s head. “I don’t know why I said that. There’s no world where I’d rather you be dead. I’msorry, Killi. Please, believe me. I was angry and tired and upset and I took it out on you.” He lowered his head. Ashamed. “I just—I get so angry. I always lose my head when it comes tothem.”
Killian nodded. Anger is quick like that, one moment, one action, one wrong move and everything has gone up in flames. He swiped the bottle of whiskey and an extra glass, then moved to pour for his new companion.
“No need,” said Kade quickly, covering the top with a hand. “I don’t drink.”
“Oh. That’s probably smart of you. Seeing as you don’t have the best family history with it. You know, with your father being an alcoholic and all.”
Kade narrowed his eyes. “He was your father, too.”
“No, he wasn’t.” Killian smirked. “Lucky me.”
“Lucky you? Both your parents are dead.”
Killian leaned in and whispered. “So are yours.”
Kade let out a short barking laugh. “Huh. I guess you’re right.” There was a pause. “So that means you’ve been through not one, but two sets of parents. Maybe you’re the problem.”
“I certainly was for one of them.”
“Oh, we’re joking about it now, are we?” Kade turned away and tried to hide his growing smile.
Mustering a bit of courage, Killian reached over and put his hand on top of Kade’s. He squeezed lightly. “There’s nothing to forgive. It’s already forgotten.” Kade clicked his tongue. “But in the future, can I suggest that if you’re going to point fingers at least point them at those who deserve it.”
“You really think he doesn’t?”
Killian sighed. “We’re not starting this again. Not here.”
