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every second connected from the moment they were conceived until
they turned five years old. That was when his father decided it was
time for the warrior to learn to be a king. He discounted the
importance of Cian’s input. In their father’s mind, the warrior was all
that mattered. Cian was an afterthought. Beck often wished he could
trade places with his brother.
Meg was suddenly staring out a palace window. In the
background, there were men droning on about something or other.
They usually complained about taxes or crop yield. Beck’s seven-
year-old self didn’t care. He gazed out the window and watched Cian
running after their cousin, Dante. He caught the young vampire and
screamed something about him being “it.” Beck wanted to run and
play, but his father had explained that he was different. He was better.
He could best his brother at running and fighting. He could best
anyone at those things. He trained only with the greatest warriors. His
physical skills were not things to play with.
But Beck wanted to play.
Beck was only twelve the first time he killed a man. It was the
first time someone tried to assassinate him. He could still remember
the feel of the bright sun of his face as he followed after his father.
There was an Unseelie ambassador in town, and it had almost caused
a riot in the square. His father was trying to normalize relations with
the Unseelie, but there was a faction of sidhe who would never accept
it. They hated the Unseelie tribe. Many had lost relatives in the wars.
Beck shadowed his father through town. His father was arrogant
and sure of his peoples’ love for him. He only brought one guard with
them. His name was Geary, and he’d been the one to teach Beck how
to play cards. Geary had been sympathetic to Beck, sometimes
slipping him a candied fig. He had two sons of his own, after all.
The arrow hit the guard
