The prince sank into the cushions and cast off his hat. His black curls shone, and even without the usual circlet of gold in his hair, everything about him—his posture, his perfect smile, his self-possession—registered as regal. Kell knew he couldn’t mimic any of those things; he’d tried. Rhy tossed his hat onto the table. Kell hesitated, fingering the brim of his own, but kept it on, his only armor against prying eyes.
He sipped his drink and, having little interest in the rest of Splendor, considered his brother. He still didn’t understand Rhy’s half-hearted disguise. Splendor was a haunt for the elite, and the elite knew the prince’s company better than anyone in the city. They spent months learning the royal tongue just so they could talk their way into his graces (even though Kell knew Rhy found that habit uncomfortable and unnecessary). But the clothes weren’t the only thing that bothered him. Everything about the prince was in its place, and yet …
“Am I really that good-looking?” asked Rhy without meeting his gaze, while glassy laughter chimed through the room.
“You know you are,” answered Kell, dragging his attention to the carpet of grass beneath their feet.
No one approached their couch save for an attendant, a young woman in a white dress, who asked if there was anything she could do to make their evening more enjoyable. Rhy flashed his smile and sent her in search of stronger drink and a flower.
Kell watched as the prince stretched his arms along the back of the sofa, his pale gold eyes glittering as he surveyed the room. This was Rhy at his most understated, and it was still dreadfully conspicuous.
The attendant returned holding a decanter of ruby liquor and a single dark blue blossom; Rhy accepted the drink and tucked the flower behind her ear with a smile. Kell rolled his eyes. Some things didn’t change.
As Rhy filled his glass, Kell caught a swell of whispers as more eyes wandered their way. He felt the inevitable weight as the collective gaze shifted from the prince to his companion. Kell’s skin crawled under the attention, but instead of ducking his head, he forced himself to meet their eyes.
“This would be a good deal more fun,” observed Rhy, “if you’d stop scowling at everyone.”
Kell gave him a withering look. “They fear me.”
“They worship you,” said Rhy with a wave of his hand. “The majority of this city thinks you’re a god.”
Kell cringed at the word. Antari magicians were rare—so rare that they were seen by some as divine, chosen. “And the rest think I’m a devil.”
Rhy sat forward. “Did you know that in Vesk, they believe you turn the seasons and control the tide, and bless the empire?”
“If you’re appealing to my ego—”
“I’m simply reminding you that you will always be singular.”
Kell stilled, thinking of Holland. He told himself that a new Antari would be born, or found, eventually, but he wasn’t sure if he believed it. He and Holland had been two of a disappearing kind. They had always been rare, but they were rapidly approaching extinct. What if he really was the last one?
Kell frowned. “I would rather be normal.”
Now it was Rhy’s turn to wear the withering look. “Poor thing. I wonder what it feels like, to be put on a pedestal.”
“The difference,” said Kell, “is that the people love you.”
“For every ten who love me,” said Rhy, gesturing at the sprawling room, “one would like to see me dead.”
A memory surfaced, of the Shadows, the men and women who had tried to take Rhy’s life six years before, simply to send a message to the crown that they were wasting precious resources on frivolous affairs, ignoring the needs of their people. Thinking of Splendor, Kell could almost understand.
“My point,” continued Rhy, “is that for every ten who worship you, one wants to see you burn. Those are simply the odds when it comes to people like us.”
Kell poured himself a drink. “This place is horrible,” he mused.
“Well …” said Rhy, emptying his own glass in one swallow and setting it down with a click on the table, “we could always leave.”
And there it was, in Rhy’s eye, that glint, and Kell suddenly understood the prince’s outfit. Rhy wasn’t dressed for Splendor because it wasn’t his true destination. “You chose this place on purpose.”
A languorous smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You chose it because you knew I would be miserable here and more likely to cave when you offered to take me someplace else.”
“And?”
“And you greatly underestimate my capacity for suffering.”
“Suit yourself,” said the prince, rising to his feet with his usual lazy grace. “I’m going to take a turn around the room.”
Kell glowered but did not rise. He watched Rhy go, trying to emulate the prince’s practiced nonchalance as he sat back with his glass.