Page 64 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

As a child, his brother Kai had tried, again and again, to coax him outside with wooden swords and boundless energy, eager for play beneath the grey skies.

But Kage had always declined, preferring the quiet company of books and the dust-moted stillness of the library.

Kai had never given up on him, not truly.

But as the years passed and they both grew older, Kai found his people elsewhere, among the ranks of the military, where loyalty was forged in sweat and steel.

He made friends effortlessly, gathering them around him like a second family.

Kage would hear their voices echoing through the castle corridors, Kai’s laughter rising above the rest, golden and unburdened. And Kage would sit alone in the library, spine bent over parchment, listening to the footsteps and the joy as they passed by.

For a time, he had wondered if an invitation might come. If, one day, Kai would turn to him again, offer him a place among the noise and camaraderie. But by then, Kage already knew the answer.

He had said no one too many times.

Mal had always favoured Kai, it was nothing personal.

Some siblings simply shared more in common.

Their bond had never bothered Kage; it had always been Mal and Kai, the reckless two, united in their mischief.

While Mal had been denied military service due to the whispers surrounding her eyes, Kai had taken it upon himself to train her within the castle walls.

Kage would sometimes watch them from the high windows, the two of them sparring with wild laughter and wind-swept hair, the kind of closeness that came from trust and mirrored hearts.

And though he had never envied them, something inside him, something quiet, would fracture just a little.

The only person who had ever truly understood him was Haven.

She, too, had lived on the outside of everything.

Raised within the confines of duty, her life had been carved out for her from the moment she drew breath.

The girl who would be queen. The girl who could not run in the grass barefoot, nor play, nor dream freely.

Kage had always seen it in her. Behind those dark, serious eyes was a sadness too deep for words.

A loneliness wrapped in silk and expectation.

She was always the first to rise, long before the sun kissed the horizon, already halfway through her lessons while the others still slept.

And when the rest retired for the evening, Haven was still there, still reading, still preparing, still becoming .

There had never been time for friends. Not for love. And not even, in truth, for siblings.

Yet Kage and Haven had found a quiet companionship in the library, where tutors often sent her to study. They would sit in silence, page after page turning, neither saying a word. But when Kai and Mal’s laughter floated in from the training yard beyond, they would both look up.

He would glance at her. She would glance at him.

And without a word, something passed between them.

An understanding.

Haven, the girl with the weight of a crown pressed into her spine. Kage, the boy who never quite fit in anywhere but in his solitude.

Then, after a moment, they would both return to their reading.

As if all was well with the world.

‘Do you know why wyverians eat rotten food?’ Kage asked suddenly, his voice quiet as the fire crackled between them. He was trying to silence the noise in his own mind, to push the thoughts back into their corners.

Bryn shook his head.

‘Legend says that when Hades created the wyverians as a gift for his lover, she grew so enamoured with them that she spent more and more time in the mortal realm, dining with them each night. Hades, in his jealousy, cursed the food they touched, turning it to rot, and changed our bodies so that we could no longer digest anything that wasn’t touched by death.

He believed it would drive her away in disgust…

or at the very least, dissuade her from eating with us. ’

‘And did it?’

‘It didn’t.’

Bryn gave a low whistle. ‘That’s rather unlucky for yer lot. I can’t imagine life without a nice roasted chicken for supper.’

Kage raised an eyebrow.

‘When we have da chance to, obviously,’ Bryn added, rolling his eyes. Then, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere, he asked, ‘How are ya planning to get back to yer brotha?’

Before Bryn could speak further, Kage cut him off. ‘No.’

‘Don’t be difficult.’

‘I’m not riding a wolf.’

‘Ya wouldn’t just be riding a wolf, Kage,’ Bryn said, exasperated. ‘Ya’d be riding me wolf.’

‘I don’t care.’

Bryn stood abruptly, the movement swift enough to draw Kage’s attention. Though he masked his surprise—wyverians were adept at that—his head tilted slightly as he cast a lazy glance up at the prince now standing over him.

‘I’d feel betta if it were me wolf,’ Bryn said firmly.

Kage let out a long, tired breath. He despised the feeling of being beholden to someone.

He had spent his life relying on no one.

When solitude became second nature, the idea of accepting help felt like weakness.

Letting someone in felt dangerous. And he wasn’t sure he wanted that. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

Come back, Haven. Please, whispered the voice in his mind. A plea that never ceased.

‘Very well,’ he said, catching the shift in Bryn’s expression—he’d been about to argue again. Kage didn’t want to argue. He didn’t want to see Bryn upset.

Over the past few weeks, he had come to realise something quietly startling: he wanted to keep the wolverian prince content.

He liked the way Bryn’s mouth curved when he wasn’t trying to hide his amusement, the way his voice softened when speaking to his wolf.

Kage didn’t know how to name that want, not yet.

But he knew it wasn’t something he deserved.

So he buried it, like all the other things he wasn’t meant to feel.

He noticed the way Bryn’s long fingers curled inwards, his hand slowly forming a fist. Without meaning to, without even trying, he had managed to upset him.

Kage had a particular talent for that. Sometimes it was his silence that bothered people, other times it was the words he chose to speak when he finally did.

Too blunt, too honest, too strange. People rarely liked what came from his mouth.

He had never truly learnt what others wanted.

The signals they gave were always so muddled, so layered with contradiction that he had long since given up trying to decipher them.

The only world that ever made sense to him was the world of written words where emotions were laid bare on the page, where stories followed logic, and endings, however painful, were at least certain.

‘I used to believe that if you truly wanted something, with every part of your soul,’ he said quietly, ‘then the world would find a way to give it to you.’

Kage rose to his feet, turning to look at Bryn one last time, just long enough for it to mean something. Then he turned away, preparing to return to his people. To his brother. To the life that had always waited for him.

‘But I was wrong,’ he added. ‘Sometimes, no matter how hard you fight, or how deeply you wish for something… it simply wasn’t written into your fate. ’

Bryn’s eyes shone, caught somewhere between hope and sorrow, too full of things Kage didn’t want to name.

‘And what is it that ya want?’ the wolverian prince asked, his voice rough with feeling.

Kage turned his back to him, steps slow but certain.

‘To be left alone,’ he said, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue.