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I fisted my hands. “What is it?”
“Your friendship with the fae has been noticed.”
“And?” If I was honest with myself, some part of me had known this conversation would be coming.
“I’m not sure you understand who they are, Prisca. Your friend Rythos is practically royalty himself—his family is from an island located off the coast between fae and Gromalian lands, and the only reason he didn’t stay to rule was because he was the second-born son. Galon? He’s old enough that he was friends with Lorian’s father, and he once led the Bazinith.”
“The Bazinith?”
“Think the iron guard, only much smaller, much more powerful, older, and fae. Like it or not, but who you spend your time with sends a message. I just want to make sure you’re aware of the message you’re sending.”
“They’re good men, Demos. They kept me alive. They keptallthe hybrids alive and got them down here to this camp. Doesn’t that count for something?” My tone was sharp with frustration.
Demos merely nodded. “It counts for everything to me. But I’ve spent my life in Eprotha, making difficult decisions and seeing exactly how the world works—and all the shades of gray. Thousands of the hybrids in this camp haven’t left since they arrived. Hundreds were born here. If you want to continue your friendship with the fae, I just need you to know what those hybrids are saying.”
“And what are they saying?”
Demos’s mouth tightened, and I leveled him with a hard stare. “Tell me.”
“They’re saying you’re a fraud. That you’re not truly the heir, and you don’t have time magic. They’re saying you have no rightful claim to the throne and you shouldn’t even be here.”
I waited to feel something. Some kind of instant denial. The problem was, I agreed with everything they were saying.
Except for the time magic part. At least I knew I had that.
Demos was waiting for me to speak. “What do you advise I do?”
He shoved a hand into his dark hair. “You need to send a message. Something public. There’s one man who is saying this shit the loudest. A man named Roran. He was one of the few who managed to make it here when the fae finally dropped the wards after our kingdom was invaded.”
“So, he’s had to rely on their mercy andhospitality, all while remembering how little they helped when we were attacked.”
“Yes.”
My stomach churned uneasily. I was beginning to understand how my brother thought. “You want me to make an example of him.”
“Nothing that would make people hate you. But if you could demonstrate your power publicly…”
I cringed. Demos just gave me an expectant look.
“Like it or not, you’re the hybrid queen.”
“I’m the heir,” I muttered. “It’s not the same thing.”
I didn’t want to disappoint him. Gods, that was the last thing I wanted to do. My brother had suffered for his people. Had bled and starved for them. But…
Using my power felt like taking off my clothes and stalking through this camp. And the worst part of that was what using my power would mean to these people. I would be offering them proof that I was who some of them thought I was. A queen. I would be lighting the spark of hope, only to douse it when they realized I would never be a ruler worthy of them.
“Shouldn’t you be at training?” a deep voice boomed behind us.
Rythos. I grasped at the distraction. “I should.” My gaze found Demos’s. “You arrange for the demonstration, and I’ll do what I need to.”
A hint of pity darted through his eyes. But it was gone a moment later. “I’ll meet you after your training.”
“Fine.”
I made my way to the arena, finding Lorian leaning against the fence, sharpening his sword. He towered over most men, even wearing human glamour, but it was his eyes—hard, cold, and a little feral—that drew attention. I knew him well enough now to know he was deep in thought, likely pondering how best to strike at Regner, but I could see why the hybrids were giving him a wide berth, their gazes darting to him as they whispered.
Some of those eyes were filled with curiosity, but most were filled with fear or apprehension. Lorian either didn’t notice the hushed silence around him or he didn’t care.
