“He will be king one day,” Tramad had always reminded his son.
Yes, he’d probably wanted Cormal to form that rapport and increase the chance that he would be named Summus or Secundus—in the far future because he was pretty sure that his father had planned to live to a hundred and fifty, and Brannal had always been the obvious successor.
For all his father’s many plans, reality had gotten in the way.
For just a moment, Cormal could pretend they were in a simpler time, though, before so many mistakes had been made. How much simpler would it be if the mistakes could simply be undone, wisped away, and they could all start over. Just a few little tweaks, and Cormal was sure they could prevent multiple tragedies.
But if they only had this moment, then Cormal would take it. He made sure that Fireball found the grass and then sat down on one of the logs around the firepit, facing the serene water.
“Fire?” he asked, before he remembered that the Prince couldn’t feel the heat.
But the other man smiled, a surprisingly boyish look. “Yes, please.”
They’d always had a fire when they came out here, even if it was the middle of summer. The Prince had said it was part of the experience, and Brannal and Cormal had always indulged him.
Cormal grabbed the chopped wood from the cave, making a note that it could be replenished. Brannal and the others must have used a bunch of it when they came out here for the training exercise—and after everything that followed, it was no surprise Brannal hadn’t remembered to get it replaced.
Once the logs were arranged, flames whooshed into existence in the middle of the firepit, and the Prince grinned.
“That never gets old.”
“I’m glad,” Cormal said, smiling slightly. “Because it’s kind of my only trick, and there aren’t that many places where it’s acceptable.”
Almost none, really.
“Would you give it up if you could?” the Prince asked.
“Absolutely not!”
The answer came out without consideration, a negation straight from his soul. After a slightly more considered moment, he managed, “It’s who I am.”
The Prince nudged him. Well, his elbow went into Cormal’s side, but he saw what he was trying to do.
“It’spartof who you are.”
Cormal nodded. “Yes, I suppose. I don’t think anyone would argue that I don’t have the temper for it.”
“I think we all have moments where we wish that we could lob fireballs at people.”
“But so few can actually manage it.”
“But you’re not alone,” the Prince countered.
Cormal’s breath caught before he managed to steady it out. “Sometimes, it feels very much like I am.”
Quietly, the Prince admitted, “That’s a feeling I understand very well.”
The Prince had friends and family who cared about him, had never done anything egregiously wrong in his entire life, and yet he couldn’t touch anyone, couldn’t feel anything, and was isolated by his very existence.
Cormal had inadvertently burned through almost every friend he’d ever had, and yet was free to touch anyone he wanted—in theory.
What a pair they were.
“Did you really mean that you were sorry?” the Prince asked.
Cormal nodded, swallowing heavily. “I don’t suppose that anyone will ever believe me, but the moment I realized what Perian was, I was terrified for everyone’s safety. He was sneaking to an injured man’s room in the middle of the night. I assumed he was going to feed. I tried to get him out of the castle immediately.”
“Whydidn’tyou kill him?” the Prince asked. “You must have considered it.”
