Page 2 of Randall (The Tenth Step #3)

Darvon

Darvon—Prince Darvon of the Fae—paced the confines of his room. Not even the tranquil landscapes he’d painted could soothe his inner turmoil. Jarrah had crossed the barrier. The prodigal son returns… Darvon’s lips twisted.

As the second son, his life had been relegated to learning all he needed in order to assist his older brother.

While Jarrah could traipse across the human realm as an ambassador for the Fae, he’d been stuck at home, where for the last thirty-six years he’d known his mate was somewhere on the other side of their borders.

He paused at the window, looking out past the gardens to the fields and forests surrounding his parents’ home. During his few forays across the barrier, his mother had ordered an accompaniment of guards, like his magick wouldn’t be enough to protect him.

Ridiculous. His skills were as good as Jarrah’s. While Jarrah had been gallivanting across Obrusa, meeting with the King and Queen, dining with the wolves, and chatting with the vampires, he’d been learning and practicing. Sort of…

Darvon sighed as he shifted to look at a meter-long waterscape. His skill with a paintbrush was definitely better. Magick, probably not. He hated practicing the rote spells. None of it interested him.

Thus, he was done waiting. He’d read the signs. Something big was happening in Obrusa, and he refused to be left behind again.

Darvon met Jarrah at the outer gates. As his brother gave him a once-over, Darvon smoothed a hand down his wrinkled tunic, then over his hair and loose braid, and shrugged.

He never cared how he looked and often gave his mother the fits with his untidy appearance.

After giving Jarrah a hug, he said, “Brother, how lovely to have you home.”

Jarrah laughed and lightly clapped his arm. “Like you care.”

“I do.” Darvon lifted Jarrah’s bag onto his own shoulder and linked their arms. “Truly. I’m ever so jealous of you gallivanting all over Obrusa with your ambassadorial duties.”

“It’s not all fun and games.” Jarrah frowned at him, again looking over his rumpledness. “Are you being serious right now?”

Before he could answer, Sylvar, their mother’s seneschal and their favorite—and only—uncle, appeared. “Your Highness. Welcome home. Her Majesty is waiting to speak with you.”

“Yell at me, more like,” Jarrah muttered.

“Better you than me.” Darvon snickered. “I’m so glad you’re home to take the pressure off me for a while.”

“Jerk.” Jarrah rolled his eyes at him before turning to Sylvar. “And how is my mother this morning?”

Sylvar cackled, once again earning Darvon’s goodwill. Of all the staff surrounding their mother, Sylvar was his favorite. “Fuming. She’s been calling for you to come home for over a year, and then you just “pop in” without giving her advance notice. Her words, not mine.”

“Of course.” They followed Sylvar inside in silence, pausing when Jarrah stopped at a window to gaze out at the serene lake behind their home. Darvon breathed in with him, taking in the fresh air and the light scents of lavender, lemongrass, and mint. Those scents would always remind him of home.

“I suspected she’d be angry with me,” Jarrah murmured, “but I had my duties. I sent my reports.”

“Indeed,” Sylvar replied. “You’ve been busy.”

Darvon, sensing he should let his brother go deal with their mother and wanting to be far away from the fallout, knocked his shoulder into Jarrah’s. “I’ll take your bag to your room. Don’t leave again without talking to me. Please.” ‘Please,’ he sent again, telepathically, while staring at him.

Jarrah squeezed Darvon’s wrist. “I will,” he replied.

‘Thank you.’ Darvon nodded and then left to ensure his brother’s room was readied before pacing the halls, waiting for the moment he could ask to not be left behind again.

He didn’t want Jarrah to be King of the Fae, and he certainly didn’t want the role either.

They had plenty more siblings younger than them who could take on the mantle should their mother tire of her role.

He’d long known his future wasn’t here, and it was time he faced it head-on.

Darvon waited for Jarrah not far from the throne room, slipping from the windowed alcove as his brother walked by. He set his stride to match Jarrah’s and asked, “All is well?”

“It is.” Jarrah glanced at him fleetingly. He lifted a hand but then dropped it, his fingers caressing the edge of an embossed card tucked into his belt. “Is all well with you?”

Darvon jolted, surprised his brother would ask.

They’d barely spoken during Jarrah’s rare appearances.

Once upon a time, they’d been thick as thieves, but the longer Jarrah stayed away, the more Darvon had grown to resent him.

While Jarrah was gone, he’d been relegated to “taking his place,” fulfilling all Jarrah’s roles as the heir.

He started, “Yes,” then quickly changed it to, “No.” Darvon stopped Jarrah, grabbing his arm before he could turn off into his suite of rooms. “Brother, please, I can’t stay here. Something…” Darvon trailed off, turning his head away, to the east… toward Onamond. Toward his future.

A small smile creased Jarrah’s mouth, and a light brightened in his eyes. He plucked the invitation from his belt and held it out. “We leave in a fortnight. Get your affairs in order.”

The moment Darvon accepted the stiffened paper, Jarrah ducked through his doorway, leaving Darvon to linger in the hall, staring after him. A fortnight wasn’t much time…

He steadfastly did not look at the paper until he was behind the closed doors of his suite. A fortnight…

Their Majesties, King Sulter and Queen Guenevere, invite you to join them for a grand ball. All eligible men and women are summoned to our court for Their Highnesses to meet.

Darvon stared at the words, reading them over and over again. Was this it? Was he the intended of a prince or princess of Obrusa? He fell into his favorite overstuffed chair and sorted through his emotions. His mind went one way, but his heart… his heart went another.

Not a prince, and certainly not a princess, but someone… there. That thought felt right. Someone close to the royal family. Someone with power. Someone… for him.