Sei gives Marek a minute. Then he waits until enough big, burly dragonriders move away from the kegamid to let Sei pour himself a mug. Sei gives Marek another minute as he sips.
The ale isn’t as good as the wine at the Tipsy Tree.
One more minute. On Sei’s next sip, sourness creeps through his heart. He tries to muster his usual certainty, but his sense of purpose wavers just out of reach.
Is this what the rest of his life will look like?
Trying and trying to be good, while Marek Stormrider keeps walking away from him?
Clutching his mug, Sei eyes the exits. He should take the stairs back up to Marek’s chambers, where he can bury his face in Osric’s fur and cry. But part of him wants to escape into the rest of the garrison. To sneak out of Ostomar and lose himself in the city or canyon or forest. Anywhere except this stupid arranged betrothal.
Before he can escape, Prince Kazia appears at Sei’s elbow.
“Follow me,” Kazia says, beckoning like he’s calling a dog.
Sei hesitates. But Kazia doesn’t have any salad bowls to wield, and there are no delicate enchantments to destroy. So, when Kazia pauses to glare over his shoulder, Sei hurries after him.
They slip into a wide hallway, then an empty workroom. Leather scraps cover the tables, and repair tools and boxes sit neatly on the shelves. Kazia perches on the edge of the table and waves at a bench. “Sit.”
Sei sits with perfect posture, except for clutching his half-empty mug. Last time he was in a room alone with Kazia, the young prince tricked Sei into breaking Radovan’s experiment, then left him to take the blame. Nonetheless, Sei finds himself relaxing now.
His heartbeat is less frantic, his attention less scattered in the quieter room. The door muffles the laughter and lutesong. Whatever Kazia’s intentions, Sei is glad to be here instead of there.
Unless…
Kazia’s intentions can’t be to rescue Sei from the overwhelming party, right? Sei has never sensed anything besides animosity from Kazia. Maybe a kinder soul hides deep beneath Kazia’s abrasive personality.
“Stop that,” Kazia says sharply.
Sei jolts upright. “Stop what, Your Highness?”
“Whatever you’re thinking. I can tell it’s stupid.” Kazia pulls a flask from his brocade and leather jacket. He grimaces at the taste but takes a second sip.
How much of that too is posturing? The insults, leather, and liquor? Prince Kazia is only eighteen. That’s four years younger than Sei, as of today. Yet everyone treats Kazia like such a dangerous person.
Sei sips his own ale, which tastes better now that he’s getting used to it. Still not as good as the sweet wine. “Why did you bring me here, Your Highness?”
“To fuck with my brother,” Kazia answers. “Marek will assume I’m up to something nefarious.”
“And are you?”
Kazia shrugs. “Usually.”
“I see.”
They fall silent until Kazia groans and flops back on the table. All that’s visible of Kazia are his knee-high boots as he addresses the ceiling: “You are infuriating, you know that?”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness?”
“That!” Kazia gestures with both arms. “That right there.”
Sei hesitates. “I still don’t understand.”
“You’re so fucking agreeable. It’s repulsive.”
Sei doesn’t know how to respond. The accusation is preposterous. No, actually the accusation is correct. Sei is agreeable. How can that be repulsive? Sei is supposed to be agreeable. He’s supposed to get along with his mage and his mage’s associates, so he can be helpful. So he doesn’t get in the way.
Except it isn’t fucking working.
