“That she was,” Caius said softly.
One of the young Drakharin inched closer to Helena, wide blue eyes fixed on Caius, as if unsure whether approaching was a wise strategy. He winked at the child and tossed her his bread. She caught it with dirt-smudged hands and smiled, two dimples forming in her cheeks. She buried her face in Helena’s skirt as she chewed, her eyes never leaving Caius.
“You weren’t perfect,” Helena said. “No prince is. I’ve lived long enough to see more than one rise and fall, but you”—she poked him with her spoon—“you cared. About us. About all the people who didn’t matter.”
“Of course you matter,” Caius said with a frown.
“That attitude is what sets you apart,” Helena said, pleased that Caius had seen fit to prove her point immediately after she’d made it. “That’s what we need. Not some tyrant who grabs at power for the sake of having it.”
Caius looked around at the group of weary Drakharin. They had given up the pretense of polite disinterest and were now staring at him openly, waiting to hear what he would say. A great deal hung on his next words. Their anticipation coiled around him, an insistent pressure that would not be relieved until he found just the right assortment of words to reassure them.
The little girl noisily chewed the hunk of bread, blinking up at Caius with wide eyes. When he caught her gaze, she pulled at Helena’s skirt to hide her face. They had traveled so far from their homes. His people were an insular lot. For them to have sacrificed so much, to have wandered away from the only safety they had ever experienced into the unknown, was nothing short of astonishing. It spoke to their need for change.
“I lost my title,” Caius said. He would not lie to them or pretend to be anything other than what he was, no matter how badly they wanted him to be their savior. “It was not taken from me. I let it go because I was not strong enough to keep it.”
Helena hummed in consideration. “I suppose that is the way of it,” she said with a tired sigh. There was defeat in her voice and, even worse, disappointment. That, Caius could not stand. These people had been through much, but they were not broken. And neither was he.
“I was not strong enough to keep it,” Caius repeated. He met each of their gazes in turn and saw the steel in his own eyes reflected in theirs. “But I can promise you that I will be strong enough to take it back.”
—
Caius left the Drakharin to their meal. He was still exhausted, and he could practically feel the softness of a bed beneath him, so powerful was his desire for sleep. As he was walking back to his quarters, he spotted the familiar head of silver hair, half hidden by a column near the courtyard entrance.
Dorian was leaning against the column, waiting for him. His hair had grown longer than he normally kept it, and stray strands fluttered against his cheeks in the breeze. He had a long, cloth-wrapped parcel tucked under one arm. “The Ala is confident we can finish the map by dawn,” he said. “We leave for the first seal tomorrow.”
Caius nodded. His head felt heavy, as if it weighed too much for his neck to support. The thought that they would be departing come morning was enough to make him weep. He wouldn’t. But he wanted to. “No rest for the wicked, I suppose.”
Dorian responded with a noncommittal noise. After a moment, he said, “I was watching you just now. You were good with them.”
“Was I?” Caius leaned against the column next to Dorian. It wasn’t quite wide enough for both of them, but Caius found a certain comfort in the feel of Dorian’s shoulder pressed against his. Dorian was a constant in his life. A welcome reprieve after the brutal solitude of Tanith’s care. Dorian was home.
“You were,” said Dorian. “But what’s all this about taking back the throne? I thought you were done with that.”
Caius let his head fall back against the cool stone. His eyes drifted shut. “I thought I was. No Dragon Prince has ever lost his crown and lived to win it back. But I cannot leave them at my sister’s mercy. I owe them to at least try.”
He felt Dorian shift his weight from one foot to the other. Dorian sometimes fidgeted when he was nervous or treading into territory of which he felt unsure. Caius wasn’t sure his friend even realized he did it. Everyone had their tells, even his stalwart guard.
“Do you think you can?” Dorian asked.
It was a good question, and not one to which Caius had a satisfactory answer. Helena might have put her faith in him, but there were others who would not look so kindly on a lost prince’s return. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I have to try.”
Somewhere in the distance, a bird sang a warbling lullaby. The sun continued its westward dip below the horizon. A voice called out, beckoning the children to come in for their supper. Life went on for all these people, no matter how many disasters befell them.
Dorian was silent, giving Caius the space he needed to form his thoughts into something resembling coherence.
“We have always been ruled by the will of the people,” he said. “We have forgotten that, especially among the noble classes. But it wasn’t always the nobility that elected the Dragon Prince. Once, the leader of our people was chosen by the people, not an insular sect that deemed themselves superior to the common man. One had to earn the respect, the love, and even the fear, of the people he was to rule before he was allowed to call himself the ruler.”
Dorian inclined his head in the direction of the small group of refugees. They seemed less huddled on themselves now than they had moments ago. “Is that what happened just now?”
“I suppose so.” The weight of that responsibility was settling gradually on Caius’s shoulders, but it was not an unwelcome weight. It was one he would bear gladly. And hopefully he would do so with more wisdom this time than he had displayed during his reign.
A furrow formed between Dorian’s brows as he considered the implications of what he had witnessed. Abruptly he asked, “Did you just start a civil war?”
“Yes.”
Dorian seemed to consider this information, then shrugged. “All right, then. I just thought I’d check before I gave you this.” He hefted the package in his arms and presented it to Caius.
“What’s this?” Caius asked. The bundle was heavier than it looked.
“Just open it.”
Caius unwrapped the parcel, revealing the loveliest set of long knives he had ever seen. The hilts were wrapped in soft leather, easily molded to the hands, and the pommels studded with jade. The bronze wrist guards gleamed in the light of the setting sun. The blades shone so brightly that Caius was sure he’d be able to see his reflection in them.
“Jasper helped me acquire them,” Dorian said. “Can’t have you heading into battle unarmed.”
“No, we cannot.” Caius reverently examined the knives in his hands. They were perfectly balanced. “They’re incredible.”