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A ripple went through the crowd, and Heath’s eyes widened.
“Percival!” he hissed. He cast an uneasy glance at their audience, and was unsettled to see a hint of excitement in some of their eyes. Percival had been addressing Heath, but he had a carrying voice.
“Imagine a power-wielder on the throne,” Heath heard someone mutter.
“Like Kyona,” someone else agreed.
“We’d better go, Perce,” Heath cut in, forcing a cheerful tone. “They’ll be expecting us up at the castle.” He nodded a curt farewell to the royal guards, then wheeled his horse toward the center of the city, glancing back to make sure his brother was following.
But as soon as they were alone, he pulled up his horse. “Percival, what were you thinking?” he demanded. “How could you say that in front of a crowd?”
Percival stared at him. “What are you scolding me for? I was just responding to that guard. All I said was—”
“I know what you said,” Heath said grimly. “But what matters more is what they heard. It sounded like you were saying our family should be on the throne!”
Percival made an impatient noise. “Of course I wasn’t saying that! I just meant that if circumstances had been different, King Matlock could have been the one born as the first power-wielder in his generation, instead of Father.” He dropped his voice to a mutter. “I’m guessing no one would be complaining about magic then.”
“That’s not how it sounded,” Heath insisted. Percival urged his horse forward again, but Heath leaned over and grabbed the reins, his expression earnest. “Perce, you have to be careful. This is exactly what Father is talking about.”
Percival rolled his eyes. “You’re quoting Father to me now?” He frowned. “It’s easy for you to be so magnanimous in all this, Heath. No one’s trying to control you. You’re not the one being made a fool of.”
Heath sighed. “I know it feels personal, but it’s not really about you, Perce.” He adopted a bracing tone. “Don’t let it get to you. So what if word of the crown’s…request has spread around? What does it matter? Better than everyone thinking you weren’t entering because you were scared you might lose.”
His attempt to encourage his brother didn’t meet with much success.
“They wouldn’t think that,” Percival said simply. “They all know I’d win.”
Heath sighed again, unable to think of a response to this unanswerable statement. His brother wasn’t being boastful—he was just stating the facts.
It was in a subdued frame of mind that they approached the castle, handing their horses over in the courtyard to a helpful groom. Heath glanced up at the enormous stone basin erected high above the castle’s entrance, filled with dancing orange flame. It was impressive, but he had seen it so many times he almost didn’t notice it.
He held back yet another sigh. He’d been looking forward to visiting the castle—for reasons of his own—but he was in no mood to appreciate the solid beauty of the stone structure, with its elegant tapestries, and imposing turrets.
They were ushered to a private—but still enormous—receiving room used by the royal family. Food was laid out on a long and beautifully carved wooden table, and the space was filled with members from the extended branches of the royal family. Clearly they were among the last to arrive for the tournament.
The conversation lulled when they entered, and Heath barely held in a grimace at the hesitant way everyone glanced at Percival. His brother evidently hadn’t exaggerated when he said that the crown’s edict was specifically aimed at him.
But Percival handled himself well, smiling and nodding to everyone as he and Heath made their way toward the king and queen, seated at one end of the long room. Perhaps their father’s strict instructions about demonstrating their support for the crown were still ringing in his ears.
The two brothers bowed low to King Matlock and Queen Renata, and exchanged polite greetings with Crown Prince Lachlan—about Heath’s age—and his younger brother, Prince Knox. Their duty done, they retreated to the center of the room, where the other young people were laughing and enjoying the food. Heath glanced back at the royals. Crown Prince Lachlan maintained a neutral expression, but Prince Knox was watching the others his age with a hint of longing.
Heath felt a shot of sympathy for the teenage boy, along with gratitude for his own, less visible, status. Lachlan and Knox were his second cousins, but he didn’t feel like he’d ever really gotten to know them. By no choice of their own, they were too far removed from him by their station, and the pressure that came with it.
“Look who finally decided to show up.”
Heath turned his attention from the two princes, as he felt a genial slap on his shoulder.
“Brody. Good to see you!” He grinned in greeting at the curly-haired young man now whacking Percival’s back. No one would accuse Brody of being aloof. Perhaps it was because he was Heath’s first cousin—and therefore of equally insignificant status—that he could get away with being as casual as he always was.
“Thought you might be sulking away back at Bexley Manor because you’ve been barred from the tournament, Perce,” Brody added cheerfully.
A spluttering sound drew Heath’s attention to the young woman standing just behind Brody. He reached out absentmindedly to pat her back in an attempt to help clear the wine she had just inhaled.
“Hi Bianca,” he said in a friendly way.
“Brody!” coughed Heath’s other cousin, glaring at her twin and speaking in a hiss. “You can’t say that.” She glanced around. “Not here, anyway.” Her duty done, she shot a bright smile at Heath. “Hi Heath.”
Brody rolled his eyes at his sister, just as Percival, sounding sulky, responded in a mutter.
