As if he were carrying a sack of wheat, and not the royal prince of Arnes.
Rhy’s guards looked pale with anger and worry, but neither stepped forward.
“Staff, Hastra?” he said, appealing to his own men. He was met with stony silence. “Fine, get out of the way, I’ll carry him myself.”
He pushed past the guards.
“Is that the prince’s blood?” asked Vis, pointing at Kell’s sleeve, which he’d used to wipe Rhy’s face clean.
“No,” he lied. “Only mine.”
Rhy’s men relaxed considerably at that, which Kell found disconcerting. Vis was a nervous sort, hackles always raised, and Tolners was utterly humorless, with the set jaw of an officer. They had both served King Maxim himself before being assigned to guard the young royal, and they took the prince’s defiance with far less nonchalance than Rhy’s previous men. As for Kell’s own guards, Hastra was young and eager, but Staff hardly ever said a word, either to Kell’s face or in his company. For the first month, Kell hadn’t been sure if the guard hated him, or feared him, or both. Then Rhy told him the truth—that Staff’s sister had died in the Black Night—so Kell knew that it was likely both.
“He’s a good guard,” said Rhy when Kell asked why they would assign him such a man. And then added grimly, “It was Father’s choice.”
Now, as the party reached the royal hall the brothers shared, Tolners produced a note and held it up for Kell to read. “This isn’t funny.” Apparently Rhy had had the grace to pin the note to his door, in case anyone in the palace should worry.
Not kidnapped.
Out for a drink with Kell.
Sit tight.
Rhy’s room was at the end of the hall, marked by two ornate doors. Kell kicked them open.
“Too loud,” muttered Rhy.
“Master Kell,” warned Vis, following him in. “I must insist you cease these—”
“I didn’t force him out.”
“But you allowed—”
“I’m his brother, not his guard,” snapped Kell. He knew he’d been raised as Rhy’s protection as much as his companion, but it was proving no small task, and besides, hadn’t he done enough?
Tolners scowled. “The king and queen—”
“Go away,” said Rhy, rousing himself. “Giving me a headache.”
“Your Highness,” started Vis, reaching for Rhy’s arm.
“Out,” snapped the prince with sudden heat. The guards shied away, then looked uncertainly at Kell.
“You heard the prince,” he grumbled. “Get out.” His gaze went to his own men. “All of you.”
As the doors closed behind him, Kell half guided, half dragged Rhy into his bed. “I think I’m growing on them,” he muttered.
Rhy rolled groggily onto his back, an arm cast over his eyes.
“I’m sorry … sorry …” he said softly, and Kell shuddered, remembering that horrific night, the prince bleeding to death as he and Lila tried to drag him to safety, the soft I’m sorrys fading horribly into silence and stillness and—
“… all my fault …” Rhy’s voice dragged him back.
“Hush,” said Kell, sinking into a chair beside the bed.
“I just wanted … like it was before.”
“I know,” said Kell, rubbing his eyes. “I know.”
He sat there until Rhy fell quiet, safely wrapped in sleep, and then pushed himself back to his feet. The room rocked faintly, and Kell steadied himself for a moment on the carved bedpost before making his way back to his own rooms. Not via the hall and its contingent of guards, but the hidden corridor that ran between their chambers. The lanterns burned to life as Kell entered, the magic easy, effortless, but the light didn’t make the room feel more like home. The space had always felt strangely foreign. Stiff, like an ill-fitting suit.
It was a room for a royal. The ceiling was lined with billowing fabric, the colors of night, and an elegant desk hugged one wall. A sofa and chairs huddled around a silver tea set, and a pair of glass doors led onto a balcony now coated with a thin layer of snow. Kell shrugged off his coat and turned it inside out a few times, returning it to its royal red before draping it over an ottoman.
Kell missed his little room at the top of the stairs in the Ruby Fields, with its rough walls and its stiff cot and its constant noise, but the room and the inn and the woman who ran it had all been burned to nothing by Holland months before, and Kell could not bring himself to seek out another. The room had been a secret, and Kell had promised the crown—and Rhy—that he would stop keeping secrets.
He missed the room, and the privacy that came with it, but there was something to the missing. He supposed he deserved it. Others had lost far more because of him.
So Kell remained in the royal chambers.