Page 13 of Forged By Malice (Beasts of the Briar #3)

12

Ezryn

E ach step I take into the Hall of Vernalion—the throne room of my home, my ancestors—is slower and heavier than the last.

It’s been months since I’ve returned to the Spring Realm—a long time for the High Prince to be away, but also merely a blink in the eyes of the fae.

And yet everything has changed.

It looks the same, the lush greenery draping the stone walls. Delicate tendrils of vines and leaves trail down like emerald tears. Gleaming veins of Spring steel trace intricate patterns across stout pillars, entwining with golden filigree. The earthy scent of moss mixes with the wet stone. Keep Hammergarden is built into the base of the mountains, an eternal mixture of Spring’s bounty and the rich ores in the rock.

Servants bow their heads as I pass. They weren’t expecting me, but they never are. Usually, my presence is cause for bustle and gossip. Now, they shrink back, eyeing me warily as if I am a stranger.

The ornate, domed ceiling makes the throne room appear even more spacious than it is, though it does nothing to stop the oppressing weight that hangs throughout the hall. Though I have stood here many times as a boy and a young man, never have I felt such a heaviness in this space.

Someone has planted massive red flowers in every corner of the throne room. A few have bloomed but most are still buds. They appear too vivid for this sacred area.

But the biggest difference of all is my father. He’s not sitting on the throne as he rightfully should as steward.

Instead, sitting there, leaning back, hands grasping the armrests with curved gloved knuckles, is my brother.

The brother I banished decades ago.

“Well, well, well, the silver son has returned,” Kairyn calls from the throne, his voice a dark timbre.

“That seat does not belong to you,” I say. “Where is Father?”

Kairyn tilts his black helm. Two long protrusions jut out above the dark visor, reminiscent of a Great Horned Owl. Like all Spring royalty, he covers his face for all but his immediate family or fated mate. Though by creed, we could take off our helmets in the presence of the other, our parents raised us with the strictest of principles. I remember the last time I looked into his eyes as a boy before he put on his helm. There was innocence there. Fear.

Now, his visor reveals only darkness.

“Father,” Kairyn says slowly, “has fallen ill. He is under our watchful care.”

“I did not grant you leave from the monastery.”

“In these dire situations, I thought it necessary to take command in Father’s place.”

“You should have sent word,” I growl. “However exceptional the circumstances, you are still banished.”

“Spring needs me.”

My brother has always been rash, reckless, but for him to break a royal order … Have things truly become so grave that Kairyn would risk such a thing?

“There is more to being steward than sitting on a throne. If you have so valiantly been serving in Father’s stead, then why did you not respond when I sent a letter of the Autumn Realm’s plight or the invitation to attend the funeral of Princess Niamh?”

Kairyn’s helm rolls in a circle, a bored and agitated expression he’s done since boyhood. “Apologies, big brother. But with Father ill, I could not step away. Spring needs a strong and attentive ruler, after all.”

His voice … The haunting intensity, the brooding rasp. I want to claw at my skull to get it out. He’s been in my head for so long, and now to hear him in person …

He’s your little brother, I think.

But I notice he’s still made no move to get off my throne, as law demands of the steward when the High Ruler returns.

On the contrary, Kairyn leans forward, resting his helm on his fist. He’s dressed entirely in black, his suit of armor shining and pristine. His cape drapes over the seat like spilled oil. The only color is a pure white stardrop flower tucked into the top of his breastplate.

You do not belong there . The throne is ancient and sacred, crafted of the helms of all the previous High Rulers. Each one has been melded into the seat, imbuing the throne with the indomitable spirit of its previous wearer. The collective wisdom and resilience of each High Prince and Princess of Spring forms a single, formidable seat of authority.

I purposely avoid looking in the top right corner of the back of the chair, where I know I will see a starlight silver helm with a slanted visor reminiscent of cat eyes.

“So, you’ve broken your banishment and decided to claim the stewardship in Father’s place without seeking the approval of the High Prince,” I respond to my brother. Idly, I wonder what the staff think of all this. Many I recognize: footmen and butlers, ladies-in-waiting and advisors. But I do not see the one I’m looking for, the keep’s majordomo, Eldy. He has always been my father’s closest advisor. And come to think of it, neither do I see any of my father’s princeguard.

And there are many faces I have never seen before. Clustered by the throne are a group of acolytes from the monastery, their white and gold gowns clearly defining them as members of the clergy. I scan their faces, landing on one. A fae woman, her blue eyes piercing. She seems familiar—

“What would you have me do?” Kairyn growls. “I will not stand by while Spring falls into the clawing hands of the power-hungry.”

“A curious turn of words for a banished prince who is now suddenly sitting atop a throne.” My voice is steady, calm, but it’s a fight to get out. My head swims with the heavy despair that hangs like clouds over the room. “You were sentenced to a lifetime of servitude at Queen’s Reach Monastery.”

“And I have given it a lifetime’s worth of service.” Kairyn stands, and his shadow falls over me. Despite being younger, he has always been taller, broader of shoulder. Now, he looks like a giant shadow, only the feathered brow of his helm distinguishable from the black void of his other armor. “I freed the monastery from the tyranny of the High Clerics, who were exerting their power over all the mountain villages after you left Spring in the hands of our poor, ailing father. Now, it is Florendel that needs me.”

I suck in a deep breath. You ran, I imagine Kairyn saying in my head. You forced my hand.

Who am I to stand before my brother and cast blame?

Kairyn stomps down the steps toward me. That oppressive weight nearly makes my body dip, but I hold steady. “The High Clerics don’t rule the monastery anymore,” he rasps. “I do.”

Heavy footsteps sound, and from the back door of the hall come two figures, clad in huge armor and helms.

Kairyn gestures to them. “I have replaced Father’s princeguard with my own loyal conclave. Rest easy that I have ensured all of Spring’s citizens are in good hands. You need not worry, brother. Return to Castletree with the knowledge that I, your blood, will continue the stewardship here with the same wisdom and integrity in which you would rule.”

A moment of silence passes, then he whispers in my mind: I wouldn’t have killed her.

My brother’s shadow is too heavy, his words ringing both outside and in my head. I stumble back, wanting to rip the invisible clouds from the room. What’s going on here? My father bedridden, Kairyn on the throne, the High Clerics deposed, a new princeguard—

A set of bright eyes in the doorway catches my attention, and I see Eldy staring in. One recognizable face in a place that suddenly feels so unknown. His frown is framed by a familiar gray goatee, and he opens his eyes wide, gesturing for me to follow him.

I grit my hands into fists, then stare up at my brother. “You speak highly of your accomplishments, Prince Kairyn. But you have disobeyed the High Prince. Let me observe the state of Florendel before you make such claims as to absolve your banishment and take command of my realm.”

With that, I turn my back to my brother and storm out.