“I’m not so sure anymore.” His words were barely a whisper.
Atlas threw his hands up, accompanied with a frustrated eyeroll. “What thefuck, Drae!”
Draevyn shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m wasting my breath. I really don’t give a damn who believes me anymore.”
His brother stepped up to him. “I know you’re not a liar, Draevyn.”
“Just help us better understand,” Elowynne interjected.
I know you’re not a liar.It was the opposite of what everyone else had ever said to him all his life.
So, he did. Draevyn explained once again everything he told Atlas on the ship before docking in Lephyrin’s harbor, only this time in significantly more detail—of waking up on Esmyra’s ship, falling through the cave, fighting the krechuums together, finding Maerinys and the crypt held within. And lastly, of what Syrena had done to break Esmyra’s trust in him. Within hours of finally having her, Draevyn felt like he’d lost everything before he fully had it in his grasp.
Because that was what Esmyra had become.
Everything.
Draevyn had never imagined she would truly see him. Not the Phoenix the world whispered of, or the mask he wore so willingly, but the raw, unguarded truth beneath. He’d always carried that darkness like armor, letting fear and rumor shape the man the realm thought he was—the man his king made him out to be.
Yet with one unflinching glance, Esmyra had pierced it. And in the depths of her gorgeous eyes, he’d seen the same fierce and untamed soul in a mirror that matched every fracture of his own.
Regardless of her starting as his enemy, they were already bound and woven together from a past life. And that truth could never be undone. Not to him, anyway.
So, he wouldn’t give up on her. Hecouldn’t.
Draevyn watched their conflicting emotions. Atlas seemed to pity him, while Elowynne looked at him with something resembling respect.
“You’re going to have to be smarter about this moving forward, Draevyn,” Atlas finally said. “Which means no more storming into the throne room trying to set our father on fire.”
The chamber settled into tense silence, the only sound the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth.
Draevyn exhaled through his nostrils and gave a sharp nod.
“I will say, though,” Atlas began again, “I did quite enjoy watching you punch Varis in the face. That must’ve felt great. I’m a little jealous to be honest.”
Draevyn snorted. “At least one good thing came from today.”
“But for now, you need to do what the king expects.” Atlas gave him a pointed look. “Fall in line. Act as though you regret what happened.”
Draevyn scoffed but didn’t argue. The king was already watching him like a predator waiting for its prey to turn its back.
He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine. I’ll go back to playing the obedient son.” Even thinking about having to tolerate his father again had his flames thrashing in his chest.
Atlas pressed on. “The tithe is in three days.”
Draevyn already knew that. He’d been thinking about it since the moment his brother freed him from the dungeons.
The annual tithe was the day of the year where the castle doors would open for people from every corner of the kingdom, flooding in with their tributes for their king: gold, artifacts, and goods.
It was the one day the king would be distracted, the guards spread thin and their focus elsewhere. The day where his father would collect his taxes from his kingdom, promising them something more after pretending to listen to their pleas and begging. He falsely promised more power to make Lephyrin the greatest kingdom of Rymelle.
Draevyn wondered if their kingdom had caught on over the years. That the only place their money and offerings went was in the king’s pocket while their pleas fell on deaf ears.
“The king won’t want me there.” Draevyn let out a low, humorless chuckle.
“No,” Atlas said. “But he’ll want Lephyrin’s Phoenix there.”
Fucking Irah.
