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Zolya did his best not to wince under the king’s laughter.

It was not a sound he had ever enjoyed, even as a child.

The king’s joy was only at the expense of others.

And as he stood before his father in his private chambers, today was no exception.

The king was laughing at Zolya.

“You are bold to come here with such demands,” said the king as he handed his wine to one of his nearby mistresses.

She lifted it from his fingers, gracefully refilling it.

There were four with him this evening. Various ladies of the Sun Court, half of them married to others or, no doubt, promised to others, all fawning over the king as he reclined on his padded bench. They sat combing his feathers, rubbing oil over his bare arms and shoulders, or allowing him to graze an idle hand down one of their exposed legs. Since Zolya’s mother had taken to her island, the king had grown less inconspicuous about whom he took to bed. But Zolya supposed there was no point in indiscretion after fathering a child with his aunt.

“I cannot fault your bravado, however,” continued the king. “You are my son, after all. We are bold in our desires.”

The ladies around him tittered, stroking the king’s ego while flaming Zolya’s ire.

“Bold, perhaps,” said Zolya. “But I would never be foolish enough to demand anything from you, Your Majesty.”

“And yet here you are.” The king waved a hand toward Zolya, who stood by the foot of his pillowed dais.

The king’s private rooms were unsurprisingly ostentatious. Bloated in their high ceilings and massive skylights. They were perfumed in honey this evening, the white marble warmed by dozens of flaming bowls.

“I am merely imploring we take a different tactic to secure our new mine,” said Zolya.

“Are you saying I am mistaken in my decision?”

Zolya clenched his hands into fists at his side. He knew a laid trap when he approached one.

“I only wonder if there is a way that does not involve the princess,” he reasoned.

“And what is wrong with involving the princess?” asked the king, a single brow lifting. “Her life now has a purpose. She should be proud to serve our family so honorably.”

Zolya remained speechless for a breath, his father’s coldness a slap. “Perhaps,” he began, “but this marriage will kill her, Your Majesty.”

The king huffed. “She will become immortal as the wife of Orzel.”

“She will drown first,” stated Zolya sharply.

The king eyed him, a cold flash passing through his azure gaze. “Leave us,” he demanded.

Wordlessly, his mistresses obeyed. As they untangled from his side, their overfragrant forms slipped past Zolya and out a side door.

Zolya’s pulse jumped with regret, as he now found himself alone with his father.

But he knew the only way to survive such a moment was to not cower. He tipped his chin up, drawing his shoulders back. As his father used to demand he do before he landed each of his blows.

“I had feared you might grow fond of Azla,” began the king, running his fingers over the gold seam of his armrest. “If it had been up to me, she would have been sent away to Both Island, but it was the wish of your mother that I allow her to live in the palace. For you to know her. I would have regretted my choice to humor the queen if not for the advantage Azla’s birth has afforded us today.”

Zolya drank in this information, a stutter to his heartbeat.

It had been his mother’s wish? The queen was the reason his sister-cousin had lived, despite the betrayal shown by her husband and sister.

Would his mother ever cease in her surprises?

“You may think I am cruel, Zolya,” continued his father. “But this agreement with our almighty god of the sea is not only advantageous to the building of our mine. It will lay historic groundwork for any future business we might have with Orzel. Due to their roughness, the oceans have remained largely unexplored for centuries. With a Diusé below its waters, we have opportunity.”

Only if Azla does not turn her back on all of us, thought Zolya, a chill running the length of him. He could not bear the weight of her wrath. She would certainly loathe him for eternity if he did not help her out of this.

“These are the nuances I need you to understand, my son,” said the king. “When wearing the crown of our kingdom, you must always see the ripple of an action, not merely where the stone falls. It is how our people have been able to prosper so long under my rule.”

“But what of our gods?” asked Zolya. “Have they blessed this union with Orzel?”

The king’s gaze narrowed, a flash of displeasure. “They have not made their thoughts known otherwise,” he stated, tone hardening. “Now, what other answers do you demand from your king?”

Zolya clenched his teeth together, understanding his father’s patience was more than used up.

But he dared one last push.

“I am forever grateful for your time, Your Eminence,” he appeased. “I, of course, see the wisdom of your words and decision. I only implore that I am allowed time with the inventor’s other plans. Surely there is one which—”

“This is the only one which suits,” interrupted the king, a decisive swinging of a hammer. “Your job was to retrieve Gabreel. It is mine and my council’s to choose our next course forward. I am disappointed to learn you still do not grasp what is needed to be king, Zolya. Thank the High Gods I have a long way yet in my reign, lest our kingdom be at the mercy of your soft heart. This situation with Azla will be a good lesson for you, my son. A single life is hardly worth saving over the lives of many. Especially when it will afford us the solution needed for our treasury. She will become a legend in her sacrifice. Stories and songs will be spun from this momentous coupling. I am proud to call her my daughter, which is more than I can currently say regarding my son.”

The king’s words struck as intended, sharp and deep.

He was a disappointment. Always.

But Zolya was beginning to realize that earning his father’s approval might require sacrificing more of himself than he was willing to give.

His father waved his dismissal, and Zolya bowed rigidly.

He left the king’s chambers a tense coil, barking at his awaiting guards to remain behind as he took quickly to the skies.

Zolya’s magic rumbled through his veins as he sped from the palace and then from Galia. He headed east, farther even than his mother’s isle.

As his wings pumped, his thoughts raced.

He was unable to save Azla. Could do nothing to stop her impending marriage, which would tear her from the clouds and make her a prisoner of the ocean.

Zolya’s magic crackled across his body, his breathing growing ragged.

Night approached, Nocémi’s cool touch wiping awake stars, but he did not turn back.

As his wings screamed their exhaustion, Zolya was consumed with flying far from where he was a disappointment, from where he was powerless.

If he could not keep Azla safe, what strength did he possess to protect any of those he loved? Least of all his people.

I am disappointed. You still do not grasp what is needed to be king.

Zolya ran from his father’s cold declaration, the slice of his taunting laugh.

He fled from the terrifying realization that he would never make his father happy or proud.

Yet, even more alarming, Zolya believed that maybe that was for the best.

It meant he was not a monster.

Zolya might not have grasped what was needed to be a king like his father, but he now knew he didn’t want to be his father.

He didn’t want to sacrifice his children for a business deal.

He didn’t want to force his queen to flee to a distant island.

He didn’t want to beat his son into submission.

Zolya didn’t want to be a heartless ruler; he wanted to rule with heart.

He could hear his father’s cruel laugh at such a sentiment, his condemnation of it.

Zolya’s fury surged as he shot farther into the sky; he hated how his position under the king’s thumb kept him paralyzed.

Only when the edge of eastern Cādra was far behind him, endless empty sky ahead and a dark ocean below, did Zolya give in to the crackling rage surging from his core.

He let loose a roar that drew a rumbling of clouds.

His magic pulsed from him, a potent ancient strength, as his frustration and anger and remorse lifted from his skin, channeling the lashing of rain and thunder and lightning.

Everything he had bottled up over the past weeks, months, years, he finally unburdened.

And it felt glorious.

Freeing.

Zolya flew, the eye of the storm, and screamed into the night.