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When Orion first suggested the atrium as a place to meet for our training, I thought it made sense for teaching someone as unskilled as myself. The atrium is practically overgrown with wildlife, meaning I’ll be able to practice controlling plants before we bother with sprouting them—a much more advanced task.
Still, I didn’t take into consideration how public the atrium is.
Passersby frequent the area, mostly nobles waltzing around on dates, the females dangling off their arms blushing and giggling as they realize they’ve happened upon the Heir to Dwellen. It never takes long for their giggles to sour to snorts of derision once they’ve watched me unsuccessfully defend myself from something as emasculating as a rosebush.
Indeed, a couple passing by are staring at their feet, hands covering their mouths as they try to stifle their laughter at having seen me yanked to the ground by a spindly little vine.
“Of course, I’m trying. What do you think we’ve been out here doing since the dawn of civilization?” I ask.
Orion crosses his arms. “That’s an exaggeration.”
“Well, you’ve had me out here since before sunrise. You are aware that the fae are not nocturnal beings, are you not? The sun is rather helpful in completing most tasks.”
Orion allows a wry smile to taint his features. “I would have thought you preferred practicing in the darkness, Your Highness. Less opportunity for your citizens to gawk.”
He nods his head toward the couple, no longer pretending not to be watching. They both blush, then go back to examining the lilies.
“It’s true. I imagine I could focus better away from prying eyes.”
Orion shakes his head. “I chose this spot for a reason. Why didn’t you put any effort into honing your magic at the Academy?”
I shoot him a raised eyebrow. “Because I was a youth who spent more effort chasing females than caring about my marks.”
Orion shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s it.”
“Then pray tell, why do you think I didn’t try?”
“I think you’re the second son. The backup. The heir your father didn’t need. I think you saw your brother being groomed for the throne, and you—”
“Yes, yes,” I say, interrupting my mentor. “I didn’t see a need for enhancing my skills when all I was going to be was a powerless, spoiled brat, anyway.” I yawn; Orion’s assessment of me is so predictable.
“That’s not what I was going to say. I think you were so openly criticized by your father for everything you did, you learned not to attempt the things that didn’t come naturally to you. I think you learned that having your father call you lazy hurt significantly less than having him call you incompetent.”
Orion goes quiet, eyeing me with curiosity, as if to watch and see whether his blow has landed.
Anger boils in my chest, seeping into my bloodstream, causing my heart to pound. It has me longing to wipe Orion’s smug look off his face. Not that I have the power to get near him, which I suppose is the point.
Incompetent. That’s what I am, what I’ve always been.
He’s right. The word somehow hurts worse than being called lazy. At least with laziness, there’s some agency about it.
Incompetence is something entirely more daunting.
My jaw works, and I can’t seem to find the words to answer.
When Orion speaks, there’s no pity in his voice, which I appreciate. “I brought you out here because if you ever want to cultivate your magic, you’re going to have to get used to failing. And failing where anyone and everyone can see.”
I nod, fighting the dagger that has lodged itself in my throat.
“Now,” says Orion. “Where were we? Oh, right. You were trying, and failing, to stop my attacks by bending my vines backward, causing them to attack me instead.”
I sigh, too exhausted to bother with a retort. Instead, I just crouch back into a defensive stance.
“Again,” I groan.
Orion’s smile is feral. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Then he sends a vine barreling straight through my shoulder.
