Page 49 of Crownless Heirs

Maelan was halfway up a hawthorn tree, his usual smirk replaced by pure, wide-eyed panic as a furious swan flapped and lunged at him, screeching like it had been personally wronged. Kyron, however, was in even worse shape. He was sprinting down the hallway, dodging another swan that was chasing him with murder in its beady little eyes.

Sorcha crossed her arms, thoroughly enjoying the absolute disaster unfolding before her. Maelan was laughing between yelps, clearly delighted by the mess he’d caused, while Kyron was fleeing like his life depended on it.

Aine, who had been watching all of this unfold, exhaled through her nose before scoffing lightly. “Suits you both. Good luck.”

And just like that, she turned gracefully on her heel and strode casually back into the library, her gown flowing behind her as if she hadn’t just left them to fend for themselves. Sorcha took a moment, watching as Maelan shrieked when the swan made a particularly aggressive lunge, and Kyron, who had now resorted to holding up a pillow like a shield. She sighed with deep satisfaction before following Aine. Maybe, just maybe, she was enjoying this a little too much. Upon entering the library, Aine had seated herself by the fire, quietly enjoying a cup of tea. Sorcha found a seat across from her as Aine closed the doors, shutting out the last glimpse of Kyron frantic, sprinting past as the swan remained in hot pursuit. The heavy doors muted the chaos outside. For a long moment, Sorcha sat in silence, trying to gather her thoughts. Her entire life had been a tangled mess of half-truths buried so deeply that she had never even known to look for them. If she had known sooner, could it have changed everything?

“Why didn’t my mother tell me?” Her voice was quieter than she expected. She swirled her tea absently, staring down into the cup, avoiding Aine’s gaze.

Aine exhaled. “Your mother never told anyone, especially Bres, just as his wife never told him about her own child. Two betrayals. Two children hidden in the shadows, raised apart by parents to blinded by their own fears to see the storm they were creating. And in the end, neither of them could stop the devastation their lies would bring.”

Sorcha’s grip tightened around the teacup, her pulse thrumming in her ears. “But why didn’t she tell me I had a brother?” The words left a foul taste in her mouth, bitter and stinging.

This time, Sorcha lifted her gaze, meeting Aine’s piercing stare. Aine traced a finger around the lip of her cup, silent, lost in thought. Her movements were slow, almost hypnotic, as if she was carefully weighing every word before she spoke.

“Bres had already lost a son. When he learned, your mother was carrying his child, he saw a chance to replace what had been taken from him. But he couldn’t let his wife know, she would have recognized his betrayal. So he stole the child the moment he was born, before your mother could fight for him, and hid him away. He thought he could mold the boy into something more. Something his.”

Aine placed her teacup on the table, but Sorcha caught the faintest flicker of sympathy.

“And your father, Lugh? He never knew. He believed your mother was mortal, and she let him believe it. Because if the truth had ever come to light, if Bres had learned who she really was, who your father was, there would have been no mercy. She was half mortal, a secret hidden even from the gods.

And you?” Aine’s eyes darkened. “You were the daughter of a God and a hidden secret. Your very existence was a danger, just as your brothers was.”

Sorcha stared down into her cup, its surface still rippling from her trembling hands. Her mother had lived in silence, protecting a daughter who had never known the danger breathing down her neck. But so had her grandmother. Bres had taken one child, believing he could replace the one he lost, fill an emptiness that left him resentful and full of rage and sorrow. Her grandmother had hidden another, believing she could protect her. And in the end, neither had succeeded.

Aine then walked over to Sorcha and placed on a hand ever so lightly upon her cheek “You have a long road ahead of you Sorcha, what you seek is in the city of Finías. I have called the council on your behalf. Remember Sorcha, heavy is the crown of all who bear it.”

With those words she walked out, closing the door behind her, leaving Sorcha to her thoughts. She sat in stunned silence long after Aine had left, her words lingering like an echo in her mind. She had spent her life believing she was simply a girl with strange magic, an oddity in the mortal world. But now, the truth was undeniable. She was the hidden daughter of a God and a woman who had spent her life running from shadows, secrets that had shaped everything around her.

She exhaled shakily. The room was silent, save for the faint crackling of the fire. The stillness should have been comforting, but instead, it felt suffocating.

Then, from beyond the closed doors, a loud thud erupted, followed by a yelp. She listened from behind the doors.

“Maelan, move!” Kyron’s voice was frantic.

“I am moving! Maybe you should move faster!” Maelan shot back, his voice strained.

A furious honk rang through the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of flapping wings.

“For the hundredth time, it wasn’t me!” Kyron’s voice cracked, his footsteps pounding against the floor as he ran.

“Oh, shut up will you!” Maelan howled, scrambling for cover.

Sorcha pressed her fingers against her temple, fighting back a laugh. Aine had left them to fend for themselves, and from the sounds of it, the swans were still taking their vengeance very seriously.

Another crash echoed, followed by a muffled curse.

“You shut up, you‘re the jackass that plucked its feather, what did you expect?!” Kyron practically shrieked.

“I thought it was a pretty feather, how was I supposed to know it would try to murder us?!” Maelan’s voice was indignant.

Sorcha finally let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. They were ridiculous, annoying, irritating even, but they were hers. The sounds of scuffling and frantic footsteps continued as she opened the doors just in time to see Kyron dart behind a column, breathless, Maelan hanging from the outer edge of the staircase as if he had barely escaped some great peril. The swans, standing victorious, ruffled their feathers with self satisfaction.

Sorcha rolled her eyes before stepping past them. “You two are hopeless.”

Kyron halted and tried to look collected, raking a hand through his hair before straightening. “We’re alive, aren’t we?”

“For now,” Sorcha muttered, brushing past them as she made her way toward her room. “If the swans don’t get you in your sleep.”