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Aydon pauses. His brow furrows as he stands, posture sharp as a bone hook. After straightening the scrolls and placing them on the center of the table, my brother finally turns.
“After five hundred years of wanting nothing to do with Court or politics, spitting out the very notion as poison, now you choose to gnaw on the bone of the one political arena which reaps more revenue than all Nathyan Ghyeal’s tourist cites combined.”
“I won’t command again,” I snarl behind my mask, my shades traveling close to Aydon’s robes, spiraling to the crown upon his head.Mycrown.
Aydon straightens his robes as he’d done with the scrolls. “Command. Hmm, interesting choice of words, considering who wields the true power of the throne.”
“That would ultimately be my bride. it seems she wandered onto the edges of your mines last night as I learned of you transporting slaves into the center city. Who the devil do you think you are?”
Aydon shrugs and sways to the other end of the table to fetch a decanter of Sythe wine. After pouring himself a goblet, he offers it to me, but I shake my head, droppinganotherhint. Aydon’s apple bobs in his throat, conveying a hint of distress. Good, he suspects.
“The devil’s poor Prince brother, it would seem.” He sips from his goblet, swirling the liquid, eyeing me from the side. “Except the devil has never taken an interest in my business in the past.”
“When you bring the hell of slavery into the Underworld to grieve the White Ladies, it becomes my business.
Aydon slams his goblet onto the table, sloshing the liquid onto the blackwood. Knots of apprehension form in my stomach as he turns his whole body to me and sneers. “You took the choice from me, brother. All those centuries ago. And you wanted nothing,nothingto do with the throne. That was our bargain. Do not believe you are the only one who can get your hands dirty for the sake of Talahn-Feyal.”
“You forget, Aydon.” I lean in, unraveling those knots one by one and chilling them to pure ice serpents poised to attack.
“Oh?” My charming blue-eyed brother taps his finger on the table, eyes narrowing in a dare.
“I accepted a Curse. Formybody. I did not use others.”
Aydon snorts. “Tell that to all your brides, Ally.”
I growl. “Not slaves, brother! Never slaves.”
“However they dressed up and played bride while you played the tortured, romantic king, you know as well as I: they were the greatest slaves to the gods.”
Raking my nails on the table, shedding blood and splinters while all my skin crawls, I seethe, “Youare no god, Aydon.”
Aydon winks, his tapping finger infuriating me, increasing the bitter taste in my mouth. “No, brother, don’t you see? If the gods require our flesh and blood and bones, perhaps we aremore.”
Fed up with his elitism, I direct, “Shut down the fucking mines already. You will choose other workers from Talahn-Feyal. And pay them a worthy wage.”
Aydon throws his head back and laughs. “As if you could find the amount necessary to appease our economy and the nobles! Who do you think is responsible for prospering our country all these years? For satisfying the elders enough to keep them in line? For ensuring the Mender Guilds throughout the land are enriched so they may perform their duties? For maintaining an abundant reserve of resources during times of famine or refter upheaval whenever you tested Kryach’s patience? A reserve of trade thanks to themines,” he concludes, gritting his teeth, cocking his head, and deepening his eyes on me.
For the final nail in the coffin, I raise my gloved hand to his cheek, pat it mockingly as I did in our youth, and acknowledge, “Such an accomplished Crown Prince should have no problem conjuring a solution. But do it quickly...or I may alert Kryach.”
Before I turn, Aydon seizes my glove, my robe sleeve, rips them from my person, and tears the mask from my face to reveal my restored smolder. Aydon leaps back, elbows sliding against the table, disturbing the scrolls to tumble onto the floor.
“Surprise!” I taunt him, threading my brows, enjoying myself at Aydon’s expense for once in centuries.
Aydon rights himself and rises from his elbows. Chest surging, Aydon snarls and demands, “Where is she?”
I wave a hand. “With Franzy, I imagine. We had a bit of a row, you see. The irony. What youwantmost, what Ineedmost, and the last thing Isla wants and needs is a child.”
“So, she...?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course, she survived. We should never have doubted her.Ishould never have doubted her. I won’t make such a mistake again. As you should not either. Especially when it comes to her loyalty to her leyanyn, your Feyal-wife, brother.”
As if dawn is breaking, Aydon registers my words, kneads his brow, and drops his hand to his side. “I will shut down the mines.Temporarily,” he adds the disclaimer. Naturally. He would never dare piss Isla off now. “But rest assured, if the elders and nobles do not agree to another solution before the Night of Masks, I will have no choice but to institute the original source of workers.”
I straighten, pride lifting me higher, higher thanmycrown Aydon wears. “By the Night of Masks, Isla will swell with our child, and the gods will be appeased in the future renewal of the Curse. Hmm, how fitting since today marks the beginning of harvest in Talahn-Feyal. Quite fitting.”
Aydon glowers, his features screwing low in an unsightly manner for the Crown Prince.
“Aww, how does it feel to be too late, Aydon?” I mock him, pat his cheek for good measure.
