Page 12

Chapter Twelve

Aleksander

Sunlight streams through the window, casting a warm glow over Asha’s study. I sit, mindlessly turning a piece of false gold in my hands.

The light catches the edges of the rock, making it gleam like true gold should. For a moment, the illusion is perfect—a flawless shimmer that could fool anyone. Just like it fooled me all those summers ago.

I slam the thought away as the door creaks open, and Annora steps inside, her pale skin standing out even through the thin fabric she wears over her face.

Does she know she doesn’t need to wear the veil? Especially not here?

She stops in the center of the room and glances between me and her sister.

“Please sit,” Asha says.

Annora settles into the chair beside me and smooths the front of her gown.

Asha leans toward her sister as she speaks. “Aleksander and I are betrothed, and we wanted you to know.”

The color drains from Annora’s face as her eyes dart between Asha and me. For a fleeting moment, guilt tugs at my consciousness, but I push it aside, knowing I have no room for guilt.

I slip the false gold into my left hand as my father’s words echo in my ears. “ You’re nothing, Alek. You’ll always be nothing. ”

Asha’s voice fades into a distant buzz as she tries to justify our choice to Annora while my thoughts spiral.

I’m not nothing, and I’ll prove it by reshaping House of Crimson and House of Silver. I’ll build something greater than Jasce ever could.

I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees. “Come now, Annora. Surely you can muster a smile for your brother?”

Her jaw tightens as she glares at me with the intensity of a thousand suns.

“What? No congratulations?” I press my hand to my chest in mock offense. “And here I thought we were becoming such good friends.”

“Alek,” Asha warns.

“You wound me, truly.” I rise and circle behind Annora’s chair, resting my hands on its back. “Remember when we used to laugh together?”

“That was before you stole my magic,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Borrowed.” With my index finger, I tap the chair. Once. Twice. On the third tap, I speak. “I borrowed your magic. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” Asha asks, and I shoot her a playful wink.

“Of course. Just like I borrowed Jasce’s favorite sword when we were children. Though, I may have accidentally dropped it in the lake.” I pause for dramatic effect. “Multiple times.”

It’s not true. I never actually took Jasce’s sword, but the lie is worth it when Asha snorts and grins at me.

“See? Your sister understands me.” I move to Asha’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’re quite alike, your sister and me. Both overlooked, both underestimated.”

“Both willing to hurt people to get what you want,” Annora says.

My smile doesn’t waver, though something in my chest tightens. “Now that’s not entirely fair. I haven’t hurt anyone.” I spread my arms wide. “I’m simply redistributing power. Making things more interesting.”

The room falls silent, and I feel the weight of both sisters’ stares. Annora’s is disapproving. Asha’s contemplative.

“You know what your problem is, Annora?” I release Asha’s shoulder. “You’re so caught up in your rigid view of right and wrong that you miss all the beautiful shades of gray in between.”

I move to the nearby shelf and grab a book, pretending to examine its spine. “Take your precious Jasce, for instance. Everyone thinks he’s so noble, so righteous.” I flip the book over. “But did you know he once burned down an entire village because they refused to pay their tribute to my father?”

A quick frown pulls at the corners of Annora’s mouth. “That’s not—”

“—true?” With a quick flip of my wrist, I snap the book shut. “Oh, but it is. Ask him yourself next time you see him. If you see him.” I slide the book back into place. “The difference between Jasce and me is that I admit what I am. I don’t hide behind a facade of nobility.”

“And what exactly are you?” Annora challenges.

I flash my most disarming smile. “What am I? I’m the one who’s going to change everything.”

“You’re insane,” she says.

“I prefer visionary. Though, I suppose the line between the two is rather thin.” I pluck an apple from the bowl on Asha’s desk and toss it in the air. “Like the line between love and hate. Speaking of which, how is my dear brother these days?”

Red flares across Annora’s cheeks. “Don’t—”

“—oh, touched a nerve, did I?” I gesture to her face covering with the apple. “You really don’t need to wear that here. We’re all family now.”

“We are not family.”

“No?” I take a bite of the apple. “Are you not married to my brother?”

Annora’s glare could melt the sun, but I find her anger delightful. Such passion in those dark blue eyes. Such fury.

I take another bite of the apple, letting the juice drip down my chin before wiping it away with exaggerated care. “Your silence speaks volumes. Though, I must say, it’s rather rude to ignore a direct question.”

Her expression doesn’t shift.

“Come now, surely you can spare a word about my beloved brother?”

“Stop it,” Annora hisses.

“You know what your problem is, Annora?” I don’t wait for her answer. “You take everything so seriously. Life’s a game, and the sooner you learn to play it... Well, let’s just say you might actually enjoy yourself.”

The muscle in her jaw tightens. “This isn’t a game, Aleksander.”

“Isn’t it?” I toss the apple core into the air and catch it. “The pieces are set. Moves are being made. Sounds like a game to me. And I’ve always been rather good at games. Just ask Jasce. Oh wait...” I snap my fingers. “You can’t.”

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I purposely needled Annora, and for what purpose? Because she dared to judge me? Judge Asha for her decision to marry me?

Somehow that judgment crawled beneath my skin, fanning my temper.

The door clicks shut behind Annora, and I slump in my chair.

“You didn’t need to be that harsh,” Asha says.

I wave her concern away, but my chest tightens. The way Annora looked at me, like I’m nothing more than the monster under a child’s bed. Like I’m…

“She needed to hear it,” I say after a long while of neither of us speaking.

“Did she?” Asha’s chair scrapes against the floor as she stands. “Or did you need to say it?”

Heat crawls up my neck as I rise, pacing to the window. Below, servants scurry across the courtyard like ants.

But Annora treats them like they matter. Like everyone matters.

I shrug.

Asha’s footsteps fade toward the door. “Just remember. She’s still my sister.”

The door closes again, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Why did Annora’s judgment pierce so deep?

I drag my fingers through my hair and walk out of the parlor. Servants dart out of my path like scattered birds. All except one. Breda stands on her tiptoes, dusting a high shelf.

“If you stretch any further, you’ll snap in half.” The words slip out before I can stop them.

She startles, nearly dropping her duster. “My Lord, I didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly.” I reach past her, grabbing the item she’s been struggling to reach—a decorative vase perched on the highest shelf. “Though, I’m enjoying watching you try to grow taller through sheer willpower.”

Her cheeks flush pink. “I was managing just fine.”

“Of course you were.” I hand her the vase, unable to resist adding, “Though perhaps, we should get you a box to stand on. Or stilts?”

“You’re terrible.”

“So, I’ve been told.” Multiple times today, in fact. “Tell me, does being that short make the world look different? Do you spend all day staring at everyone’s knees?”

Breda swats at me with her duster, then freezes, horrified at her own boldness. But I just laugh, and for a moment, I forget about Annora’s judgment.

“Let me help you finish dusting these shelves,” I say, reaching for another vase. “It’s rather entertaining watching you hop around like a rabbit.”

“I do not hop.” Breda snatches the vase from my hands. “And shouldn’t you be doing something more important? Like running a kingdom or plotting someone’s downfall?”

“Are you suggesting I have ulterior motives for helping a servant dust shelves?”

“Everyone says you always have ulterior motives.” She doesn’t say it with fear or judgment. Just states it like she’s commenting on how many rooms she has to clean today.

“And what do you think?”

“I think you’re bored and avoiding something.” She hands me her duster. “Here, make yourself useful while you procrastinate.”

Most servants would sooner jump out a window than hand me cleaning supplies. “Giving orders to your lord now?”

“Someone has to.” Dimples appear in her round cheeks as she grins at me. “These shelves won’t dust themselves.”

I find myself actually dusting, of all things. It’s oddly peaceful.

“You missed a spot,” Breda points out.

“How dare you criticize my dusting technique? I’ll have you know I’m an expert in all things, including household chores I’ve never done before.”

She giggles, and it’s such a genuine sound. “Of course. You’re clearly a master duster. I bow before your superior cleaning skills.”

“Tell me, do you need a ladder to reach the top cupboards in the kitchen?” I ask as I twirl the duster between my fingers.

“I manage just fine.” Breda snatches it back.

“Oh? So that’s not you I hear dragging chairs across the floor at night? I thought we had very ambitious mice.”

She puffs up like an indignant sparrow. “At least I don’t have to duck through doorways like some overgrown tree.”

“Careful now.” I lean against the shelf and cross my arms. “That’s treasonous talk, mocking your lord’s height.”

“You started it.” She points the duster at me accusingly.

I catch the end of it, using it to tug her toward me. “And what if I did? Planning to challenge me to a duel?”

The laughter fades from Breda’s face, replaced by something softer. Her eyes lock with mine, wide and earnest, like she’s seeing past my carefully constructed walls. Past the masks I wear. Past everything.

My throat tightens. No one looks at me like that. Like I’m worth seeing. Like I’m...

“I should go.” The words come out rougher than intended as I release the duster. “Things to do. Kingdoms to run.”

“Of course, My Lord.” Her voice is quiet now, none of the playful spark from moments ago.

I turn away and walk down the corridor, leaving her to her dusting.