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Chapter 14

VALE

Tension riddled my neck, tightening the muscles and quickening my gait as I sought an audience with my father.

I’d left Neve in my suite, guarded by Sir Arvid. Again, I wished Caelo or Qildor were present and able. Their watch over Neve would have been far preferable, but it wasn’t to be. Sir Arvid was what I had.

Him and an inquisitive new wife.

Upon leaving Saga’s rooms, Neve had questioned me not once, not twice, but three times about my brother. Not about why I’d batted his ungloved hand away, but rather why my mother had intervened.

I swallowed. The debate over whether to tell Neve the truth about Rhistel warred inside me.

On one hand, my brother’s secret held the power to destroy him, destroyour family—and no matter how furious I was with half of my family at the moment, I loved them,even my mercurial twin and increasingly cruel father. Perhaps that was foolish, but to say I didn’t care would be a lie.

At the same time, my desire to keep Neve safe grew by the day. If she knew about Rhistel’s magic, surely, she’d take more care to avoid him.

But no one outside my family knew. Only Father, my grandfather, and, of course, Mother knew. Mother hadn’t even thought it was prudent to tell her brother, Captain Eirwen, and he was around the palace often. The information was too dangerous.

And yet, I wanted to tell Neve.

I trusted her. Possibly because she had trusted me with her secret. Perhaps it wasn’t one that would break apart a kingdom, but if my father learned of her past, hewouldsend her back to the Blood Court. It would destroy her life, just when she’d achieved some semblance of freedom.

Though my past was nothing like hers, I understood her fierce desire to run and build a new life. To be free. Royals were never completely free to do as they wished, either.

But one day, Neve would be. I’d see to it.

I rounded a corner, and the door to Father’s personal library came into view. Before I could stop them, my fists clenched. I loosened them.

Though I wished to rail and storm against the king, I’d try to fix this mess without angering him and save Neve from more pain. A long, heated exhale parted my lips as I approached the door.

“My prince,” said Sir Lars, the Clawsguard standing in front of the dark wood door with a golden bear’s claw inlaid in the center. He bowed and his long black hair fell in a curtain around his face.

I waited until Sir Lars rose and looked me in the eye. “Is he in there?”

“He is.”

Father was never much one for lingering in crowded social events. He did so only because, as the king, it was expected of him. But on my way here, I’d noticed others from the gathering walking the halls, rushing from the chaos of the event. If they had left the solarium, then the king had as well. He’d come to one of his favorite places, his personal library. He enjoyed only the harem wing and his bedchambers more.

“Who else?” I asked.

“Prince Rhistel.”

My throat tightened. No wonder the guard hadn’t already moved aside, let alone opened the door and allowed me entry. He was assessing me. Because while I might be royal, I was not the king nor the heir to Winter’s Realm, the two fae who outranked me in the kingdom.

“If I let you pass, there will be no violence?” Sir Lars asked, black eyebrows knitted together. He was one of my father’s oldest and most trusted guards.

I paused long enough for the knight’s hand to land on the hilt of his sword, pushing his golden cloak aside as he moved.

“Yes,” I replied after weighing my desire to punch mybrother against my desire to speak with my father and perhaps gain mercy for Neve, Sayyida, and Marit. Even with Rhistel present, I might convince our father to see sense. “No violence. We’ll talk out our differences.”

“As family should.” Sir Lars’s scarred hand lifted from the sword, drifted to the door, and opened it. “Prince Vale is here to see you, Majesty.”

“Let him in,” Father answered. The gruffness in his tone hinted that he’d had one too many glasses of wine. Would that help or hinder my cause?

Either way, I’d committed, so I stepped past the Clawsguard and into the small space filled with books and warmth from an ever-burning hearth.

Father lounged in a large chair, a tafl board before him. The pieces, made from the bones of a particularly violent frost giant, ranged across the squares. He seemed to be playing himself, and not particularly well either. My gaze flicked upward to find that his lips were purple. Yes, too much wine.