“Kell,” said Rhy, giving his brother a short, gentle nudge toward the door. “Go on. I’ll be here when you get back.”
Kell’s arms were a sudden circle around Rhy’s shoulders, and then, just as quickly, they were gone, and Rhy was left dizzy from their weight, and then the loss of it. A flutter of black fabric, and the door was swinging shut behind Kell. A strange, irrational panic rose in Rhy’s throat, and he had to fight the urge to call his brother back or run after him. He held his ground.
Alucard was watching the place where Kell had been as if the Antari had left his shadow behind. Some visible trace now lingering between them.
“I always hated how close you two were,” he murmured. “Now I suppose I should be thankful for it.”
Rhy swallowed, dragging his gaze from the door. “I suppose I should be, too.” His attention fell on the captain. For all their time together in the last few days, they’d hardly spoken. There was Alucard’s delirium aboard the ship, and the flickering memories of Alucard’s hand, his voice a tether in the dark. The Essen Tasch had been a flurry of witty quips and stolen looks, but the last time they’d been together in this room, alone in this room, Rhy’s back had been up against the mirror, the captain’s lips against his throat. And before that … before that …
“Rhy—”
“Leaving?” he cut in, straining to keep the words light. “At least this time you came to say good-bye.”
Alucard winced at the jab, but didn’t retreat. Instead, he closed the gap between them, Rhy fighting back a shiver as the captain’s fingers found his skin. “You were with me, in the dark.”
“I was returning a favor.” Rhy held his gaze. “I believe we’re even now.”
Alucard’s eyes were searching his face, and Rhy felt himself flush, his body singing with the urge to pull Alucard’s mouth to his, to let the world beyond this room disappear.
“You’d better go,” he said breathlessly.
But Alucard didn’t pull away. A shadow had crossed the captain’s face, something like sadness in his eyes. “You haven’t asked me.”
The words sank like a stone in Rhy’s chest, and he staggered under the weight. A too-heavy reminder of what had happened three summers ago. Of going to bed in Alucard’s arms, and waking up alone. Alucard gone from the palace, from the city, from his life.
“What?” he said, his voice cool, but his face burning. “You want me to ask you why you left? Why you chose the open sea over my bed? A criminal’s brand over my touch? I didn’t ask you, Alucard, because I don’t want to hear them.”
“Hear what?” asked Alucard, cupping Rhy’s cheek.
He knocked the hand away. “The excuses.” Alucard drew breath to speak, but Rhy cut him off. “I know what I was to you—a piece of fruit to be picked, a summer fling.”
“You were more than that. You are—”
“It was only a season.”
“That’s not—”
“Stop,” said Rhy with all the quiet force of a royal. “Just. Stop. I’ve never cared for liars, Luc, and I care even less for fools, so don’t make me feel like more of one. You caught me off guard on the Banner Night. What happened between us, happened …” Rhy tried to steady his breathing, then sliced a hand through the air dismissively. “But now it’s done.”
Alucard caught Rhy’s wrist, head bowed to hide those storm blue eyes as he said, under his breath, “What if I don’t want it to be done?”
The words landed like a blow, the air leaving his lungs in a jagged exhale. Something burned through him, and it took Rhy a moment to realize what it was. Anger.
“What right have you,” he said softly, imperiously, “to want anything of me?”
His hand splayed across Alucard’s chest, a touch once warm, now full of force as he pushed Alucard away. The captain caught himself and looked up, startled, but made no motion to advance. Alucard was standing on the wrong side of the line. He might have been a noble, but Rhy was a prince, untouchable unless he wanted to be touched, and he’d just made it clear that he didn’t.
“Rhy,” Alucard said, clenching his fists, all playfulness gone. “I didn’t want to leave.”
“But you did.”
“If you would only listen—”
“No.” Rhy was fighting back another deep, internal tremor. The tension between love and loss, holding on and letting go. “I am not a toy anymore. I am not a foolish youth.” He forced the waver from his words. “I am the crown prince of Arnes. The future king of this empire. And if you want another audience with me, a chance to explain yourself, then you must earn it. Go. Bring me back this Inheritor. Help me save my city. Then, Master Emery, I will consider your request.”
Alucard blinked rapidly, obviously stricken. But after a long moment, he drew himself up to his full height. “Yes, Your Highness.” He turned and crossed the room with steady strides, his boots echoing Rhy’s heart as it pounded in his chest. For the second time, he watched someone precious walk away. For the second time, he held his ground. But he could not help the urge to soften the blow. For both of them.
“And, Alucard,” he called, when the captain had reached the door. Alucard glanced back, his features pale but set as Rhy said, “Do try not to kill my brother.”
A small, defiant smile flickered across the captain’s face. Laced with humor, with hope.
“I’ll do my best.”
I
No wonder Lila hated good-byes, thought Kell. It would have been so much easier to simply go. His brother’s heart still echoed in his chest as he descended the inner palace stairs, but the threads between them slackened a little with every step. What would it feel like when they were cities apart? When days and leagues stretched between them? Would he still know Rhy’s heart?
The air went suddenly cold around him, and Kell looked up to find Emira Maresh barring his path. Of course, it had been too simple. After all this, the king would grant him leave, but the queen would not.
“Your Majesty,” he said, expecting accusations, a rebuke. Instead, the queen’s gaze fell on him, not a glancing blow, but something soft, solid. They were a cyclone of green and gold, those eyes, like leaves caught in a fall breeze. Eyes that had not held his in weeks.
“You are leaving, then,” she said, the words caught between question and observation.
Kell held his ground. “I am, for now. The king has given me permission—”
Emira was already shaking her head, an inward gesture as if trying to clear her own mind. There was something in her hands, a piece of fabric twisted in her grip. “It is poor luck,” she said, holding out the cloth, “to leave without a piece of home.”
Kell stared at the offering. It was a square of crimson, the kind stitched to children’s tunics, embroidered with two letters: KM.
Kell Maresh.
He’d never seen it before, and he frowned, confused by that second initial. He’d never considered himself a Maresh. Rhy’s brother, yes, and once upon a time, their adopted son, but never this. Never family.
He wondered if it was some kind of peace offering, newly fashioned, but the fabric looked old, worn by someone else’s touch.
“I had it made,” said Emira, fumbling in a way she rarely did, “when you first came to the palace, but then I couldn’t … I didn’t think it was …” She trailed off, and tried again. “People break so easily, Kell,” she said. “A hundred different ways, and I was afraid … but you have to understand that you are … have always been …”
This time, when she trailed off, she didn’t have the strength to start again, only stood there, staring down at the swatch of cloth, thumb brushing back and forth across the letters, and he knew this was the moment to reach out, or walk away. It was his choice.
And it wasn’t fair—he shouldn’t have to choose—she should have come to him a dozen times, should have listened, should have, should have, but he was tired, and she was sorry, and in that moment, it was enough.