Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Gerard stared, completely transfixed. He’d never seen anyone so lovely. He had always thought Princess Anais and Prince Beau were beautiful. But they did not hold a candle to Prince Elias.
The empress laughed. “It’s actually quite funny, because although some do call him the lightning prince, he actually has very little ability as a lightning sorcerer.”
The rest of the family joined in with her laughter, including Prince Elias.
“Let me introduce you, Prince Elias.” The grand monk stepped forward. He gestured to each of Gerard’s family members and introduced them by name and title.
But before the grand monk said his name, Gerard could not help angling his face away ever so slightly, so his scars would be less obvious.
Fire and flames, Gerard cursed himself. He should not be ashamed of the wounds he’d attained during the war!
“This is Prince Gerard, the dragon warrior prince,” the grand monk said. “This is Princess Senta.”
Prince Elias glanced at Gerard before moving on smoothly to Senta, not even lingering on Gerard. Gerard couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or not.
“My son arrived yesterday morning,” Emperor Hugo said, once all the introductions had been made. “He did not wish to miss out on the creation of this unprecedented peace treaty between our kingdoms.”
“My son, Prince Matteo, wished he, too, could come,” Empress Emmeline said. “But he had to remain at the Tower of the Winds with half of our councillors. Someone needed to stay back and ensure the smooth running of our kingdoms. And we knew he could be trusted to do so.”
The empress smiled. “Thankfully, Prince Elias is not involved at all in the kingdoms’ running. So his presence won’t be missed.” She laughed.
Was that a jab at Prince Elias?
If it was, Prince Elias didn’t seem to notice. He just kept smiling, not even glancing at the empress.
“Yes. Prince Matteo is very competent.” Emperor Hugo grinned. “As both a sorcerer and the future ruler of our combined kingdoms.”
That puzzled Gerard. He knew Prince Matteo was the heir. But wasn’t Prince Elias the older of the two? Gerard would ask Konrad later if he knew why that had occurred. Or perhaps it was in the dossier they had on the kingdoms, Prince Matteo, or Prince Elias.
“I can tell you, on behalf of Prince Matteo, that he greatly yearns for peace between our kingdoms,” Empress Emmeline said. “My three children fought during the war and are glad we can put that behind them.”
She paused and turned to look at Prince Elias. She smiled. “Although, I’m sure even those who stayed safe in their homes and did not fight courageously in the war are glad for peace too.”
Now that was definitely a jab. Furthermore, Gerard did not miss the fact that she referred to three children, not four. So she did not consider Prince Elias one of her children.
Prince Elias tucked his white hair behind a delicate ear, seemingly unbothered by her comments. “Yes. As someone who did not fight, I can definitely say that I am glad for peace.” There was not a hint of shame in his tone that he’d not taken part.
Prince Elias paused, tilting his head slightly. The sunlight danced amongst his hair. “Of course, I wished I could take part in the war.” He lifted a shoulder. “But as the empress said, I lack the magical ability.”
Then his elegant white brows drew down. “Although, honestly, I’d hate to wear those dull black robes that lightning sorcerers wear. They’re so uninspired. I bet they are so uncomfortable too.” He shuddered. “I couldn’t imagine anything worse than wearing those scratchy robes.”
Gerard’s mouth fell open. Beside him, Senta tensed.
Is he fucking kidding?
Gerard stared at the prince, waiting for him to recant, to realise how ridiculous—no, offensive—he sounded! Did he really think the worst thing that could happen during war was wearing scratchy robes?
What about death? What about being injured, disabled, or disfigured? What about losing an eye, almost dying, and being permanently marked by your enemy?
Gerard exhaled as he tried to calm the blood bubbling up in his veins.
What a thing to say when so many hadn’t survived the war? Because despite what Gerard had suffered, he considered himself lucky. He still stood breathing. Many didn’t.
It was clear that although Prince Elias Storm might be pretty, he was clearly a fucking fool with nothing between his ears and no understanding of war. It seemed the words “lacked intelligence” also did not do him justice.
And furthermore, whilst it was true that normal sorcerers wore black robes, the sorcerer who’d attacked Gerard had worn those deep-blue robes. They’d not looked boring, wearing their white mask with zigzagged lightning strikes as they stared up at Gerard before they struck him.
Gerard’s muscles tensed, as they so often did when he thought of the archmage. Gerard took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax.
“Some people just aren’t made for war.” And Prince Elias was still fucking speaking! The prince shrugged. “We’re better off at home and not getting involved in all that”—his petite nose wrinkled—“nastiness.”
Senta and Gerard shared a look. Empress Emmeline smiled a smug, satisfied smile as she stared at Prince Elias, who was currently making a fool of himself just by speaking. She clearly disliked her stepson, and honestly, Gerard didn’t blame her.
Prince Elias laughed, light and without a care in the world. “All I can do is little parlour tricks with my magic. Which are pretty and amusing, but hardly useful.”
He lifted his hands. Sparks jumped from the tips of his fingers into the air.
Gerard took a step back. His blood raced. His throat spasmed. The sparkles danced. His breathing picked up, and Gerard remembered the lightning striking him. And the searing pain burning through him.
Gerard closed his eyes, trying to take deep breaths.
I’m not back there anymore. I’m here. I’m safe.
Then he noticed that his cheek … and his chest … in fact, all his scars … they tingled. As if in response to the flashes of light. As if they, too, remembered the attack. He opened his eyes and lifted his hand, grazing his tingling cheek.
This had never happened before.
Since they had healed, other than some tightness, there had been nothing. In fact, there had been a dulling of the sensations on the scarred parts of his body.
Strange that magic this weak affected it.
And he’d seen lightning magic again on the battlefield after he’d been injured. He’d not felt this then. But perhaps he did not feel them in dragon form. Or he’d been too consumed by the chaos of battle to notice.
For the first time, Prince Elias turned and properly looked straight at Gerard. Perhaps Gerard touching his cheek had caught the prince’s attention.
His striking purple eyes widened. They fixed on Gerard’s marred face. He stepped forward and pointed straight at Gerard’s scars. “Is that from a lightning attack?”
Silence followed his words.
No one had ever asked Gerard that before. At least not like that. Not so abruptly. Not so rudely.
And no one had stared so intently, like Prince Elias was still doing. In fact, every Voltarian he’d met seemed to make a point of ignoring the scars so clearly caused by a lightning sorcerer.
But not the lightning prince. He just kept openly staring at Gerard. At his scars.
What is wrong with him?
Gerard cleared his throat. “Yes. My current appearance was the result of a lightning strike. It occurred in the Ozer Mountains in Draconia.”
Prince Elias blinked. After a second, he licked his lips and looked away, his hand dropping.
“Sorry. I suppose that was a little insensitive of me.” He laughed. “I have a habit of letting my mouth move before I have time to think. That’s always my problem. Not thinking enough.” He laughed again.
His father joined in with the laughter.
The empress asked the queen consort a question. But Gerard wasn’t listening. Wine and those tiny bits of food were drunk and eaten as conversation between the royal families continued. Gerard pretended to pay attention.
But it was impossible to focus. Because the entire time, Prince Elias kept glancing at him, his hot gaze burning Gerard’s skin.
What is wrong with the man? Why does he keep staring at me? Perhaps my scars make the pretty prince realise that there are far worse things to war than uninspired, scratchy robes.