Reiva met him at the temple and walked with him back to the palace. He was tempted to get Sefalus and go all the way back to his army. From there, he wasn’t sure if he would lay siege to the capital or ride all the way back to Fort Camulan.

  But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t leave his mother, Egne, and Filliya to his brother’s whims. He had to take them all back to Fort Camulan with him. Especially Filliya. He just prayed that the mage corps could do something to help his sister.

  He didn’t feel like talking, and Reiva didn’t try to make him. His emotions were a raw bundle of anger, sadness, and confusion. He wasn’t sure what would come out of his mouth right now, and he didn’t want to say anything that he might regret. Especially to her.

  They walked the whole way back to the palace, through the streets of the Upper Quarter. Despite the fact that the sun hadn’t set yet, they were nearly absent of traffic, and those who recognized him gave him his space. A few cried out there blessings, or offered condolences, but not many.

  His troop of guards met him at the gates to the palace. Fuldan, their captain, was not pleased that he and Reiva had gone to the Temple of Laryn without their escort.

  “How am I supposed to protect the general if I’m not allowed to accompany him?” Fuldan complained when they reached the group.

  Aeolwyn said nothing. He didn’t even acknowledge the captain had said anything. It was bad for morale, and he knew Captain Fuldan was right to complain, but he didn’t have it in his heart to make conversation, even if it was to acknowledge the captain’s comment.

  Reiva shook her head when Fuldan tried to keep talking. Thankfully, he got the message, and just stepped in behind Aeolwyn and Reiva with his men, giving the two of them space. It got crowded as they entered the palace—the hallways weren’t large enough to accommodate the dozen soldiers, their captain, and Aeolwyn. The servants gave them dirty looks when they had to back out of the hallway to allow the group to pass.

  Without any directions to where to go, Aeolwyn made his way to his old room. He had expected Lord Smyton to find rooms for him, Egne, and Reiva, but he made no mention of it. Perhaps the lord chamberlain had assumed Aeolwyn would just be taking up in his boyhood room. That suited him fine.

  Like everything else in the palace, his rooms were smaller than he remembered. Of course, the palace hadn’t shrunk—he’d just grown. The room hadn’t changed since his departure. His bed was in the same place, the chairs hadn’t been moved, even the box he’d kept his toys in was still there.

  On a whim, he opened the box and pulled out the last toy he’d played with: A toy king. He held it out to Reiva.

  “What’s that?” She asked.

  “Alfyn,” he said. “At least, that’s who it was the last time I played with it.” He reached into the box and pulled out another one. This time, it was a soldier. It was old and worn, and the sword that it had been carved with had broken off many years before.

  “And this one was me,” he continued, holding the two carved figures together. “They were best friends, going on adventures, fighting dragons and conquering their enemies.”

  He tossed them back into the toy box. “And look at us now.”

  “Life never goes the way you expect it will,” Reiva said, sadly. The tone in her voice suggests that she was talking about herself, and not about Aeolwyn.

  He closed the toy box and sat down on it. He wished he had some wine to drink. After the grueling day he’d had, a cup of red would be a welcome diversion.

  “I used to look up to him. He was my oldest brother, and he seemed so worldly and wise. Now, all I see is a hateful, spiteful man. What happened?”

  “You grew up,” she said. “You saw him for who he is.”

  “I really don’t want to go to the ball. Alfyn will be there gloating, and all the nobles will be fighting to be the first in line to lick his boots.”

  “The ball?” Reiva asked. Her back was to the window, and the setting sun gave her entire body a glowing aura. Aeolwyn wished he could smile. It looked nice. It made her look ethereal and otherworldly.

  “The King’s Ball,” he said. “It’s part of the mourning process when the king dies. It’s a tradition to celebrate the deceased king’s legacy. All the nobles will be there jockeying for position in the new court, and Alfyn will be sucking up every moment of it.”

  “Sounds stupid,” she answered. “Why go, then?”

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  He walked over to the window he’d stared out of a million times. He’d watched this same sunset over and over, fantasizing about what it would be like to sail the sea and see what was out there. Whenever he’d asked his father, the only answer the king would give was, “The Shield.”

  “I’m a prince. It’s expected of me.”

  “Aeolwyn, just because you’re a prince, doesn’t mean you have to follow their rules.”

  He frowned. He wished that were true. If it were, he’d already be on his way back to Fort Camulan. But he couldn’t. There were people who depended on him.

  “I have to go. My mother will be there. Egne will be there. Maybe even Filliya. I have to protect them. If I’m not there, my brother might try something.”

  She came up behind him, and wrapped her arms around his chest, holding him tightly. They’d hugged plenty of times, but she hadn’t ever done this before. He was glad she did. Her arms around him gave him strength.

  “Then we’ll go together,” she said quietly into his ear. The closeness of her lips to his ear sent unexpected shockwaves through his body, from his head, all the way down to his toes. He didn’t move though. He didn’t want the moment to end.

  Outside, the bells started to ring. Another tradition when a king died. Bells rang all over the kingdom in mourning, but the day of the funeral, they all went silent, and stayed silent until sunset. When the sun started to touch the horizon, they began again and would continue to ring until the sun had completely passed under the sea.

  It was a sad farewell to someone leaving on a long voyage—in this case the afterlife. It was meant to send a message to the king as he made his final journey—that he would be missed.

  “I didn’t cry once today,” he said.

  “So?”

  “I bawled like a little baby when we first got the news. But this time I just couldn’t. I wanted to, but the tears wouldn’t come. I feel like I let my father down when he needed me the most.”

  “Everyone grieves in their own way, Aeolwyn. How you mourn your father is no one’s business but yours. Whether you cried or not doesn’t matter.”

  He put his hands on her arms and squeezed. She was kind to him. He hoped that he could repay that kindness someday. He tried to remember that she had once tried to kill him, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. That Reiva was a different person.

  “It’s been nearly a decade since my father died,” she said. “I still haven’t been able to grieve.”

  Her father? Aeolwyn wondered who he was. Someone of the Spires, of course, whatever that meant. He had let her keep her secrets until she was ready to tell him. Perhaps she was finally willing to trust him with the knowledge of her past?

  He turned his head to look at her, but he couldn’t without losing her embrace. He shifted his shoulders, and she pulled away slightly. Her face was so close to his, he could feel her breath. She made no effort to pull it back from his.

  His heart started pumping. She was so beautiful and kind. She knew exactly what to say to him when he was at his worst. He was thankful that he had someone like her in his life. He leaned forward.

  She smiled, and also moved her head forward. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears now. He had a strange fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he could feel his hands start to shake. He had never kissed a woman before. Not in a romantic way at least.

  She leaned in close. Their lips were almost touching.

  Then the door to the room banged open. She yelped and broke the embrace. She quickly cartwheeled away; two daggers appeared in her hands in a flash. Aeolwyn suddenly felt foolish. He had neither sword nor dagger on him. They both lay on the bed, too far away to be of use.

  A servant walked in with a large tray of food. Until he smelled it, he hadn’t realized that he was even hungry. Two of his guards followed the servant in, a little too closely for the servant’s own good.

  “Taste it,” one of the guards ordered.

  The guard had to wipe the shocked look from his face. “Sir, I assure you that there is nothing poisonous in this food.”

  “Then taste it,” the other guard said.

  This was a grievous insult to the palace staff. Aeolwyn was ready to tell the guards to leave, and to expect punishment when they returned to Fort Camulan. How could they even think that the food could be poisoned?

  “Step back,” Aeolwyn said, embarrassed that he didn’t know these two guards’ names. A general was supposed to learn everyone’s names, especially ones who Fuldan said were the most loyal to him. He started to step forward to take the tray of food from the servant, but Reiva stepped in front of him and put her arm out. She had already returned her daggers to their hidden sheaths.

  “No Aeolwyn, Stollin and Pol are right. This isn’t the same palace that you left.”

  The servant let out an exasperated sigh. He took the lid off the tray, pulled a leg from the cooked chicken, and took a large bite out of it. The guards stood menacingly as they watched him chew the meat and made sure he swallowed it.

  They watched the servant for ten minutes before letting him leave the room. Once he was gone, the two guards left the room and closed the door, but not before giving Aeolwyn a wink and a knowing glance.

  Reiva walked over to the food, grabbed another leg from the chicken and began eating, making no effort at propriety. Had the woman never heard of manners? This wasn’t some soldier’s camp on a patrol. They were in the palace!

  “We need to talk about finding food tasters for you, Aeolwyn,” she said around mouthfuls of food.

  “That’s ridiculous,” he said as he sat at the table and began cutting at the remaining chicken. Why would he need food testers? He wasn’t king.

  “It’s not ridiculous, and I insist.” She set her chicken down and leaned forward. “Your brother is king, and rumors are flying around everywhere that he poisoned your father. I won’t take that risk with you. No one kills you but me.”

  After saying her peace, she grabbed the leg and continued eating. He hated to admit it, but she was right. He had more enemies than just his brother. Somewhere out there, Lord Longinus was probably plotting against him. And there were the Fenns to think about, too. He’d beaten them twice—in the battle at Lannic Outpost, and the skirmish before. They would want revenge, and the fact they hadn’t tried yet wasn’t an indication that they wouldn’t.

  “Fine,” he said. “You can find me tasters.”

  She smiled, and her face lit up the room, even though it was starting to get too dark to see now that the sun had sunk under the horizon. They had nearly kissed, and he wanted to finish what they’d started. But the moment was gone, and unlikely to appear again.