“I will not apologize for my birthright,” Darren said stiffly. He narrowed his eyes and added callously, “I am tired of trying to explain myself to everyone that questions my right to be here. Especially people like you.”
I glared right back. “I may not be as well-off, but even if I was, I wouldn’t use bloodlines as a means to demean everyone else.”
“I wasn’t referring to your trivial heritage.” He looked at me contemptuously. “I care little enough whether you grew up in the fields or a damned palace.” He took a step closer and looked down at me, speaking the next few words slowly. “When I say ‘people like you’ I am referring to the ones that so clearly have no real magic or potential of any kind.”
I clenched my fists until I could no longer feel, fire burning in my veins. Prince or not, I had never come to this close to hitting someone.
“You.” I couldn’t even come up with the rest. I was livid.
Darren continued, unaware of how dangerously he was treading. “Really, it’s unthinkable that the masters could even consider the possibility of denying me in favor of someone like you who plainly has no purpose attempting the robes in the first place.”
My nails dug into my palm, and I was vaguely aware of the warm trickle of blood filling my fist. Heat clouded my vision, and Darren’s smug face filled my mind. When I say people like you. His words were like fire, singeing my skin every place they hit.
“What are you—stop! STOP!”
My vision cleared, and I saw Darren madly shaking the sleeves of his tunic, flames spouting from its edges. The flames were getting bigger every second and perilously close to his arms.
“Don’t just stand there!” he shouted. “Make it stop!”
I looked down at my hands, which had since unclasped. There was no more pressure or pain. The fire should have snuffed out on its own like it had that time with the moss.
Only it hadn’t. Just like that other time, with the bandit. What was wrong with me?
“I can’t,” I exclaimed, panicked.
“Well, I can’t get it to either!” he shot back. “My magic isn’t—” He cut off mid-sentence and swore as a flame nicked his skin.
“RYIAH!”
I raced over and bit back a cry of pain as I helped hold his sleeves while he pulled his arms out one by one. As soon as he finished, I hurriedly lifted the tunic off and tossed it to the floor, stomping out the remaining flames against the black marble.
“You fool!” Darren declared as soon as the fire was extinguished. The sleeves of his thin undershirt were scorched in several places, revealing painful red swells on both wrists and part of his forearm.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Of course, you didn’t mean to!” the prince snapped. “You have no control over your own magic!”
I winced. “Is there anything I can do?”
Darren lifted one arm at a time, testing the extent of his injury.
“Do you want me to help you back to your quarters?” He needed to soak those burns before they started to blister. I didn’t have to be my brother to understand that much.
Darren laughed hoarsely. “I’m staying right where I am. I didn’t come all this way just to turn back.”
I gaped at him. “You can’t be serious. Your arms…”
“I’ve experienced far worse than this.” The prince picked up his books and paper and carried them over to his usual chaise. He noticed my stare and added wryly, “You don’t become the best if you aren’t willing to stick your hand in the fire.”
“I always thought that was an expression.”
The corner of his lip twitched, and for a moment I thought Darren was about to smile. “I think it was… until tonight.”
For the rest of the evening I remained on the first floor of the library with the newly-injured non-heir. I could have retired to my alcove, but there was a certain amount of guilt—and curiosity—that prevented me from leaving. Whatever I thought of Darren, he was never what I expected.
I wondered what he had meant by experiencing “far worse than this.” Darren was a prince. How much suffering could a child of the Crown have had? I bit my lip. He must have been jesting, trying to appear valiant, though he was wasting his efforts on me. I was hardly the one he needed to impress.
Still, he hadn’t sounded like a braggart or appeared remotely interested in my reaction. If anything, there had been an edge of bitterness to his tone. It was unsettling.
What did a prince have to be bitter about?
“Are you done staring?”
Dropping my quill in surprise, I flushed and met Darren’s amused gaze.
“I-I didn’t realize I was,” I mumbled.
He fingered his burnt tunic. “You know, I was wrong about you earlier.”
I gaped at him. Was Darren apologizing?
“But I hope you understand why I wasn’t wrong to assume it.”
I bristled. “What are you talking about?”
Darren pointed to the book in my lap. “We’ve been down here for thirty minutes, and you have yet to turn the page. For someone so bent on Combat, you sure are making a lot of mistakes.”
“How did you know I was going to pick Comb—”