The monster’s voice rang out, and the temperature dropped in an instant. The older boy froze. The younger shoved his trembling hands under the blanket so the king wouldn’t see. Princes don’t show fear. He told himself to breathe.
Then he let the air out through his nose.
There were two healers on the other side of the room. They were treating a soldier with a missing arm. The monster would never emerge when an audience was present. That was another rule.
The king obeyed his own rules.
The man strolled down the narrow aisle to their row and paused at the edge of Darren’s cot. He studied each son, taking in their recovery. Darren could never tell whether their father was pleased or disappointed their scars were able to fade.
The boy got the impression his father would rather they stay.
The man’s face was hard and lean. Although still in his prime, his skin was weathered and lined. His eyes were two shards of ice, shrewd and calculating. Darren’s own were garnet—an uncommon, deep shade of red, easily mistaken for brown unless he was standing in just the right light. It was the one trait he shared with his mother. Lucius’s hair was clipped short like Darren’s brother, and all three shared the coal black locks so unlike the warm yellow of their mother.
The king tilted his head as he examined his youngest, ignoring the fact that his heir was still standing, quivering from head to toe.
“Starting tomorrow, you will be training with Sir Audric at dawn in the barracks,” the man said. “He is the best of Commander Salvador’s men.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “When you are done with your training, you will bathe, take your meal, and report to the library with your brother and your tutors. Understood?”
“Yes, Father.” The boy was confused. He repeated his brother’s earlier question. “Why?”
His father folded his arms and gave Darren an unsettling smile. “Because, my son, you have finally done something right. You put your brother before yourself. And as distasteful as I found your actions at the time—and there will be no repeats—I was impressed.” He cleared his throat. “The scholars were grooming you to be your brother’s advisor, but after last night… well, I can see the error of their ways. Commander of the Crown’s Army would be a much better title. Who better to protect the first-born than the second?”
Darren’s jaw dropped. He wasn’t being punished. This was a reward. He’d been tested by the monster, and he had passed.
He waited for the next words to come, but his father had already turned heel, his cape flapping as he strode toward the door.
“Father,” Blayne wrung his hands together. Even though his voice quivered, the older boy held strong. “What about me?”
“You will be spending your mornings with me. It is clear you have much to learn in the way of kings.”
The next morning, the boy arrived at the palace training grounds well before the rising sun. His father always said a king was on time, and since he would never be king, Darren hadn’t paid the words any heed. But now he did.
A knight was a hero, someone they wove into tapestries adorning the palace walls. Always golden, respected, wanted. He’d spied on the soldiers for ages, and for the first time, he would have the chance to join them. He wanted to impress this man.
“Your highness.” A man approached. His coarse red hair matched the heavy beard framing his jaw. He was a giant, larger than the boy’s father, and his legs were as wide as the boy’s head.
Darren tucked his hands behind his back. “Sir.”
“Your father tells me he wants to make you a knight. Do you agree?”
“Yessir.” The two words slipped out as one. The boy was trying so hard to hold his breath and not run up and hug the man who was bringing him freedom.
“It will not be easy.” Sir Audric furrowed his brows. “And you are only six years of age. You will not cry.”
“Yes—” the boy let the air out from his lungs, slowly “—sir.”
“I’ve heard you are a troublemaker. Defiant. That you like to bully the other children. That stops today. One word from the servants and I send you straight back to your father.”
The boy nodded earnestly. He wouldn’t need to pick fights, not if he was sparring with a knight.
“Good.” The man seemed satisfied. “Now, the first thing to take care of is your clothes. Have you a pair of training breeches and a light shirt?”
Darren shook his head. The Crown tailor only liked Borean silk and brocade. The stuffy, fancy fabrics were befitting a prince who was supposed to spend all his time indoors. The boy used to delight in making them rip, if only for the man’s horrified shriek.
“Well, then. You can report to the regiment tailor after our training. I’m sure he can whip you up a couple of pairs. In the meantime, you will wear these.”
The knight had been carrying a brown and tan bundle in his arms. Now he dumped it on the grass. A small tuft of dirt swelled up when it hit the ground.
“Thank you, sir.” Darren ran forward to gather the bundle like it was the most precious thing he owned. He proceeded to change in a nearby stall, and when he emerged, the man gave a low whistle.
“Looks like I was right. You are the same size as my daughter after all.”
“Your daughter?”
“Eve.” The corner of the knight’s lip twitched. “Surely you remember her? You picked a brawl and lost to a little girl in the gardens.”
The boy’s memory returned and he scowled. “She broke my arm. It hurt for weeks.”
“My Eve. She’s got the looks of her mother and the spirit of her father, what can I say?
What do I have? The boy wondered. Aloud he said nothing.
“Now grab one of those staffs lining the wall. We are going to start with your basic stance. The soldiers say they’ve seen you practicing with a stick outside their drills. Let’s see where your instincts are wrong.”