Page 1 of His Eternal Claim

Prologue

THE MAESTRO | 9 Years Old | Past

Papa is yelling again.

I hear it before I see it, like always. It reminds me of storms and thunder. It’s loud and mean. Nanny’s hand tightens around my shoulder and tries to turn me away, but I shrug her off. I’m not a baby. I’m nine. I can look and understand that whatever Papa is doing is bad.

Mama is already sitting on the bench beside me, her hair brushed so neatly it shines under the sun, like she’s trying to pretend everything is normal. Like me. Like everyone else in this house. She’s cradling Corvin, but her hands are trembling. They always tremble when Papa is shouting. She says it makes her scared.

I look across the grass.

Papa is on top of the guard, fists moving fast. There’s blood on the guard’s face, on Papa’s knuckles and the stones.

“Papa has gone mad again,” I whisper.

No one answers me, so the words stay in the air like always, like the smoke this house is covered in most of the time.

He was supposed to visit my room tonight. He promised. He said he would teach me how to tie a proper knot, not the childish one Nanny teaches me.

I swallow.

Will Papa not visit me in my room tonight?

I look at Mama to ask her, but she’s staring at Papa the way she always does.

She’s frozen.

Her eyes don’t blink and her breath is too slow.

I hate this look.

“Mama,” I whisper. “Mama, stop looking at him like that.” Or he will get angrier and will make you cry more. I don’t want to see you cry.

She doesn’t hear me, like always.

I grab her arm to pull her back to me, and the sleeve slips a little. That’s when I see the blue flowers on her skin.

She calls them flowers, but I know they’re called bruises; I heard Nanny saying. They’re deep and blue. I know because yesterday there were only faint marks, but they’re new today.

I rub the biggest blue flower with my thumb, and she flinches.

“Mama,” I ask quietly. “Why do you have them… and not me?”

Because I’m the one who should have them. I’m the boy. I’m supposed to take this. I’m supposed to protect her. Papa says men protect women, but he hits Mama. So, I don’t understand. None of the rules make sense. Her lips part, but her voice is lost.

Nanny tries to pull my hand away.

“Master Zagreus…”

“Don’t,” I snap, and she goes silent.

Papa finally stands, fixing his clothes, and the guard isn’t moving. My stomach twists, but I force myself to stare.

Men don’t look away.

Men endure.

Men don’t cry.