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Lady Zalina twittered a laugh. “There’s nothing to forgive, Your Highness. We were just starting. Have you eaten?”
He took his seat beside her, across from the tense ambassador and adjacent to the boiling anger of his father, thankful for Zalina’s pleasant deflections. “I haven’t. I see the huckleberries are finally in season.”
“Those tarts are the loveliest thing I have tasted in all the world.”
The table lightened by degrees as Zalina and Killian spoke, others breaking into their own conversations. Lord Ryker would leave for the Isle this afternoon to work on their trade agreements and supply chains. He was a master advisor, as brilliant as he was well-spoken. His wife had a sweet temperament and was quick to smile … when she wasn’t offended by Killian, at least. Both were older but well liked, wealthy, and envied by other nobles. They’d been barren but had adopted Zalina, a distant cousin, a few years back. Killian ignored the ache in his chest that it was Lord Ryker and not him who was chosen to go to the Isle. What was done was done.
After breakfast, the king stood, drawing the rest of them to their feet. “My son, if you’d come with me.”
Killian brushed the last crumb from his fingertips. “Of course, Father.” He bowed to the Rykers. “Excuse me.”
The tension in Killian’s chest ratcheted as they approached his father’s office. As the only son and heir to the throne, his relationship with his father had been … businesslike … rather than intimate. Phineas’s relationship with his father, Lord Japheth, had evoked Killian’s jealousy more than once, tempting him to dabble in comparison, but comparison only brought heartache. After the death of his queen, the king had no room for affection between them.
Sweeping to his desk, the king sat and eyed his son over the rim of the wine chalice still in his hand. “I was going to send you to the Isle with Lord Ryker for a week.” Killian stilled—he hadn’t considered that his father might send him also—then he braced for the impact threatened by his father’s ominous tone. “Was. But then you were late. Clearly, you are still not responsible. You have no regard for your position or your future.”
Killian’s jaw pulsed as he clenched back a wave of frustration. A thousand defenses rose in his mind, but he stifled them. “I apologize for being late.”
“Too soon you will be king. Time is not your own. Leisure is not for you. Your life is only for your kingdom.”
“I know, Father, but I have done so much already. I have rarely been late before! I do everything you ask. I would do anything to g—”
“Except give us your time.” The king set down his glass and leaned forward. His breath was hot and laced with more drink than Killian had seen him imbibe at lunch. “Your words and actions don’t align. If you would give anything for your kingdom, then you should have given your hour to welcome our ambassador.”
Killian choked out the words. “I understand, Father.”
“Perhaps, next time, you can demonstrate your ability to be responsible. Sometimes, I’m glad your mother isn’t with us anymore. At least, she doesn’t have to suffer from this disappointment.”
Guilt twisted within Killian’s chest. “I would give anything to have her here.”
“You should have thought of that fourteen years ago.”
The tension brimming within him erupted. “I was seven. I didn’t know the knife was cursed.” He threw his hands up. “Don’t you know I’d give anything to go back and never pick it up? But I can’t, Father. I can’t change the past. I’ve fought in every tournament you’ve compelled me to fight in. I’ve met with every leader you’ve asked me to meet. I’ve gone north to the harbors—”
“You’ve either lost those tournaments or bribed someone in order to win.”
Killian started to say, “Phineas pulled out of one tournament, but Father, the others—”
The king interrupted again. “And the leaders you poorly handled because of your laziness in mastering their language. Even the harbors were only fixed because Zalina had a stroke of brilliance despite your sharing of state secrets.”
Killian bristled. “I shared no state secrets. As you know, Phineas—”
“Phineas has always beaten you, and he always will. He arrives on time, wins tournaments, and never backs down. He speaks Tallenish better than you and, likely, wouldn’t have lost us that deal you single-handedly bungled. Nor has he lamed my favorite horse, unlike you. I have watched him well this whole time. Perhaps he should be named heir instead.”
The air was knocked out of Killian’s lungs. His father had threatened him with Phineas every year of his life, but this threat seemed different. The king’s expression appeared thoughtful, his words devoid of passion or anger. Killian swallowed, embarrassed by the wavering of his words. “I will do whatever you ask of me, Father.”
The king’s voice was low. “Then bring her back.” He set his glass on the table. The room sat in horrible silence. Killian wanted his mother more than words could say, but how could he do what his father had asked? The king straightened, dipped his quill, and pulled a parchment toward him. “Seeing as you cannot do that, nor can you ready yourself to go to the Isle, you must turn your attention to your wedding. Meet the tailors. Opine on the tapestries. Make yourself available. Try to not embarrass me as we host Lady Ryker and Lady Zalina this time. Ensure they feel welcome.” The king waved a hand toward the door, disappointment still wafting from him like smoke. “Go now. Play with your swords.”
Killian turned and walked out, each step controlled, until he had closed the door to the office behind him. His chest was split in a maelstrom of emotion. Guilt, grief, pride, and pain all tore at him from within. Anger boiled above it all. His hands shook in frustration as heat flooded his gut. Swirling, he stalked out to the training yard. Soldiers and servants stepped aside before him, but he barely noticed, their words mere murmurs. Once he reached the training field, the soldiers moved in formation at the cries of his commanders, but the sounds struck him distantly.
The king arrived late all the time. He bent the schedule around his whims. The people adjusted. His father was a hypocrite. And his father would never forgive him. Not for the death of his mother. Not for his failures along the way. Not for any of it.
Phineas was already out in the field, leading the youngest men through their sword forms. At least out here, his father couldn’t control his every move. Killian strode up and grabbed a practice sword.
Phineas gestured to the young soldiers to continue, then he turned and eyed Killian from head to toe. “I take it things didn’t go well with your father.” The men entered the practice arena.
Killian only grunted. He removed his jacket and threw it toward the fence line, knowing Phineas would be right behind him. They fell into well-practiced steps as they fought.
“He doesn’t trust me. He said I’m not responsible because I was late. If I care about the kingdom, he said, I should have been on time. I have no regard for my position. I show no self-sacrifice. I should have never murdered my mother.” Killian swung low, spinning to end with an upward cut. “I should have never lost to you. I should have predicted my horse would turn her ankle. I should have never vented to Zalina. I should have done better with negotiations. I should be smarter, better, stronger.” Their swords clashed. “I should be you.”
