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Chapter Eighty

Aleksander

The cold stone of the dungeon wall presses against my back, leeching warmth from my bones as I shift against it.

For two weeks, I’ve been sitting in this dark cell below the Sharhavva palace, nothing but a prisoner and a parasite.

I trace the tattered edges of my cloak and feel it—a small, hard lump tucked into an inner pocket.

The false gold.

Surprised, I pull it out, rubbing a thumb over its smooth surface. Jasce must have found it among my belongings and slipped it back into my cloak. A silent message, perhaps. Or simply a cruel taunt.

I hold the false gold up, though there’s no light in this wretched cell to reveal its worthless sheen—or lack thereof.

“You’re the fool, Alek. The spare who doesn’t matter. Your brother, Jasce, is the real gold. You are nothing. You will always be nothing.”

I slam my fist against my knee, cutting off the memory.

Damn him.

My father is long dead, yet he still finds a way to taunt me from the grave.

Outside the cell, footsteps approach—distant but growing louder. I tuck the rock back into my cloak and straighten as much as the chains allow.

The footsteps pause outside my cell. Metal scrapes against metal as keys jangle in the lock.

“Come to gloat, brother?” I drawl before the door even opens. “How predictably dull of you.”

But it’s not Jasce who steps through. Breda shuffles in with a tray of food. Her eyes dart everywhere but at me as she sets it down just within reach of my chains.

“Tell me, does my dear brother feast while his prisoners subsist on gruel?” I flash her my most charming smile.

She doesn’t react, nor does she speak.

“No response? Come now, surely you haven’t lost your ability to talk.” I lean forward. “Or perhaps you’ve been ordered not to speak with the traitorous prince?”

Breda’s shoulders tense as she arranges the bowl and cup with trembling fingers.

“You know, I remember you from before. Always quick with a smile, weren’t you? Especially for that brute of a guard who used to harass you.” I cock my head. “Whatever happened to him, by the way?”

Her hands freeze mid-motion. “You dealt with him. Remember?”

“Ah, she speaks…” I grin. “And here I thought I’d lost my touch. Though, I must say, you were far more entertaining in Bakva. All those blushes whenever I passed by...”

“That was before.” Breda straightens, finally meeting my gaze with hard eyes. “Before you used Lady Annora to murder innocent people.”

I wave a dismissive hand. “Politics, my dear. Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good.”

“There was nothing good about what you did.” She backs toward the door, lips pressed into a thin line. “Enjoy your gruel, My Lord. I hear it’s particularly bland today.”

“Leaving so soon? And here I thought we were having such a lovely conversation.” I affect a wounded expression. “Do give my regards to my dear brother. Tell him his hospitality is...lacking.”

But Breda’s already gone, the cell door clanging shut behind her.

I wait until her footsteps fade before letting my smile drop.

My fingers find the false gold again. Its weight feels heavier now, like all my failed schemes condensed into a single worthless rock.

But I’m not finished. Not yet.

They can lock me in chains, stuff me in this hole, but they can’t stop the plans already taking shape.

I may be the spare, the second son, the false gold, but even fake currency has its uses. You just have to know how to spend it.