Fate of the Sun King

Chapter Thirty-Two Gabriel The Sun Palace

Ialready hate today. Lately, I sort of hate every day, if I’m being honest. Ever since Atlas set a date for the bonding with Apricia, I can’t get a moment of fucking peace. She’s everywhere. Screeching at anyone within firing distance, and no matter how hard I try to hide, she manages to sniff me out like a bloodhound… or maybe a rat or some equally unpleasant pest with an unnaturally gifted nose and a penchant for bestowing misery.

It seems she’s decided that because the warders exist to do Atlas’s bidding, we’re also there for hers. Fuck that. Even if I didn’t want to toss her into shark-infested waters, the very last thing on my to-do list would be picking up flower arrangements and holding up the train of the ridiculous dress she ordered.

I almost burst out laughing when she came into Atlas’s study wearing it. It’s about as wide as a house, and it has so many crystals and gold beads, I was shocked she didn’t tip right over. Even Atlas had a hard time holding in his grimace, though he made a good show of pretending he thought she looked beautiful.

Atlas has changed a lot in the past few weeks. He’s lost weight, and there are bags under his eyes. I know he isn’t sleeping because I haven’t found Lor yet. With one week until the bonding, he’s pressuring me with increased urgency every day. I really hope Lor is figuring out how to get inside the palace so I don’t have to continue lying. Not because I care about being truthful with Atlas, but because the strain of keeping this secret—the aches and pains plaguing my joints and my limbs—means I can’t hold out much longer.

Today I find myself inexplicably standing inside Apricia’s entertaining salon, having been summoned by a shrill screech echoing through the halls. Was she this insufferable during the Trials, or has the power of her position made her worse?

She’s currently outlining the seating arrangements for dinner after the ceremony, though I have absolutely no idea why. Does she think I’m going to remember any of this? Or that I care which spoiled noble sits next to another? As she turns to face the window, still talking, I pinch the bridge of my nose. In just a few more days, all those said nobles will start entering the palace, not only from the twenty-four districts but also from the rest of Ouranos.

Apricia whips around, and I look up, feeling like a schoolboy caught with his hand down the front of his pants. Which is ridiculous. Zerra, how does she do that? Part of me is considering giving up Lor to Atlas solely so Apricia doesn’t actually become my queen. But even I’m not that much of a bastard. I think. At this point, the chances are fifty-fifty.

“Are you paying attention to me?” she demands, and it’s literally all I can do not to roll my eyes far enough to see the inside of my skull. My forehead cramps from struggling to keep them in place.

“Of course,” I say, tipping my head. But she’s not technically my queen yet, and I’m not required to add “Your Majesty” to that, a detail that she must notice, because she narrows her eyes.

“Then who did I say should sit next to Lady Boliver?”

Fuck me. I scratch my chin, wondering if I should try to answer this or simply walk away. I do not care if Apricia is angry, unless it means she’ll follow me down the hallway waving her broomstick until my eardrums burst and leak out of my ears.

“Lord Ferdinand?” I say, because I decide answering in-correctly will be more fun and lord knows I need all the comic relief I can get right now.

Her eyes narrow into knife-sharp points dedicated to slicing through my vital organs.

“I said Lord Summers,” she hisses. “If you ruin this ceremony…”

“Perhaps…” I say, interrupting her, which makes her cheeks turn pink and her neck flush in a decidedly unattractive way. She looks like a lobster that tried its mother’s lipstick with unflattering results. “… I’m not the best person for this discussion? I’ve never had a good head for names.”

“You are the captain,” she says. “It’s your job to know these people better than anyone.”

“I assure you that of the many illustrious and honorable duties I am burdened with, that is not one of them,” I say, and I’m not sure how she turns redder, but somehow, she does. “I couldn’t tell you the difference between Lord Summers and Lord Spring Flowers if my life depended on it. Surely this is your arena.”

She stares at me, considering my words, and I wonder if this might work. If I might manage to convince her to afflict some other hapless fool with this painful task. She blinks and nods her head, and my shoulders sag with relief.

“You’re right.”

“Perfect. Then I’ll leave you to it,” I say, and turn on my heel, attempting to escape like my boots have been doused in oil and lit on fire.

“In that case, I’ll put you in charge of the deliveries,” she says, her voice pitching up at the end, and I freeze. “There will be dozens and dozens of them over the next week. Flowers. Fabrics. Food. Wine. Someone will need to figure out where it all goes.”

Slowly, I turn around, exhaling a paper-thin breath.

“Apricia—” I cut myself off at her glare, which suggests she’d gladly scoop out my spleen and serve it as an appetizer drizzled with butter. “Your Majesty. I am already quite busy with the king’s security. Surely someone else can do that.”

My teeth are grinding so hard I’m going to wear them down to blunted nubs. My gaze darts to a Fae female who stands off to the side, her hands clasped and her lips folded together as though she’s trying to restrain a laugh. I think I remember her from her interview a week ago, and I feel rather sorry for her that she got the job.

Who is she laughing at? Me? Apricia? She looks up, and our gazes meet before she quickly looks away and covers her mouth, her narrow shoulders shaking. I decide that, yes, she’s laughing at Apricia and is sympathizing with me, because only a masochist would ever take Apricia’s side.

The snapping of fingers draws my attention back to the golden menace currently making my life hell.

“No, it makes perfect sense. You’re already in charge of who’s coming and going, managing all the extra deliveries is only logical. See that it’s done.”

She spins around and starts firing orders at her maids. I wonder if that means I’m dismissed. I want to protest that I really don’t have time for this, but I’d be a fool not to seize my chance to escape. I’ll discuss it with Atlas. Until now, I’ve resisted going to him with his future queen’s demands, but I’m truly at my wit’s end.

Ducking out of the room, I breathe a sigh of relief. Somehow Apricia’s voice manages to follow me through the palace until I’m far, far away from her wing. Even then, I can hear her nattering like it’s been tattooed on my brain.

After a while, I double back and head down a dark hallway, making my way to the entrance of Tyr’s tower. When I arrive, I check again, but the coast is clear, the hall as silent as always. I pull out my keys and unlock the door. I don’t have anything for him today—this is a spontaneous visit. I just feel the need to say hello.

I close the door behind me and then wind my way up the stairs. Tyr sits by an open window when I enter. His eyes are closed as he allows the soft breeze and warm sun to land on his face. I can’t remember the last time I saw him do this. I’m not sure if he knows I’m here, but he remains still, so I take the opportunity to study him for a moment.

I recall those years that feel like a lifetime ago when Atlas locked him up.

Atlas and Tyr’s father, Kyros, chose to descend after the Second Sercen War, making room for Tyr to take over. Aphelion suffered many catastrophic blows during the battle that Kyros took personally. He wasn’t the same after the dust settled, and I think he was content to let his son take over while he descended with their mother into the Evanescence to put the pieces of himself back together.

Despite those failings, he was a good king and wherever he is, I hope he’s at peace.

Tyr named ten new warders as part of his ascension, including me. I’d trained for it for years, knowing this was my only future. I had no name and no family, only the memories of my childhood to haunt my waking dreams.

My father had been an abusive piece of shit and a mean drunk whose favorite pastime was pummeling and then raping my mother. He’d lock my twin brother and me in the larder when he was angry so he could hit her in peace without—as he so eloquently put it—“our sniveling making his dick soft.”

After he’d knock her out, he’d start in on the two of us. We tried to shield one another, but it was no use. We were so small, and he was a cruel, broken man.

One day, he lost control. He went too far and killed my mother and brother. I fought against him, cracking a chair over his head. I still don’t know how I managed it. It knocked him out, and I finally saw my chance to escape. I hated leaving my mother and brother, but there was nothing left I could do for them.

I lost myself in the woods, where I wandered for weeks, alone, hurt, and hungry, until King Kyros and a hunting party stumbled upon me when I tried to ambush them with a stick. I had little idea of how to forage for sustenance myself. I’d found some berries and mushrooms and other smaller items, but I was too scared to eat most of it, never knowing which bits were poisonous.

I lied and told them I was all alone. It was mostly true. I didn’t know if my father still lived, but for all intents and purposes, my family was gone, and I was utterly solitary in this world.

When I was ordained as one of Tyr’s warders, it was both the end and the beginning of my life. While I was now a servant with no autonomy of my own, I also would never want for any comforts in this life again.

Atlas ruled at Tyr’s side for many years, but I could sense he was always on edge and couldn’t quite settle in his role, constantly wanting to do more. He hated that he didn’t have the same destructive powers as his brother, having to content himself with his more docile illusions. He’d also never gotten over the way he’d been rejected by the Heart Princess all those years ago, even if there was almost no one left alive to remember it.

Never underestimate the enduring fragility of a man who suffers from a lack of confidence.

He started to undermine Tyr every chance he got, trying to strip away the king’s confidence instead, telling him that all of Aphelion’s problems were a direct result of Tyr’s failings. I tried to open Tyr’s eyes to the games Atlas was playing, but Atlas has always been a master of manipulation, weaving his illusions to support his truths. Sometimes I wonder who truly held the real power.

I was with Atlas the day Tyr walked in to find the two of us, clearly stricken about something. He stared at Atlas with the most haunted look in his eyes before he paced the room, running his hands through his hair and muttering to himself.

Atlas had demanded to know what the problem was, and after a lot of coaxing, Tyr admitted the Mirror had spoken to him.

It had just revealed the Primary of Aphelion. And it wasn’t Atlas.

I’ll never forget that moment. It was as though our entire lives had just been knocked off course, our fates all careening towards disaster. Though it was just a feeling then, I had no idea just how much everything would change.

Atlas lost his shit, tearing up the study—smashing windows and objects, ripping books and pictures from the walls—until finally Tyr and I subdued him. Several of the other warders arrived to help, but only I had been privy to the truth Tyr had revealed.

After that, Atlas calmed down, though I could tell it was a thin veneer layered over the restlessness that had dogged him since the war.

Then one day, Atlas declared Tyr was being taken by the Withering. That he was too weak to see or talk to anyone, save me and the other warders.

To this day, I don’t know what Atlas did to him, but I’ve always suspected poison, drugging Tyr until he was too weak to do anything about it. I don’t know what lies he whispered in his brother’s ear, but somehow, he managed to convince him to give the order to the warders—that Atlas would be taking over and that no one was ever to speak of Tyr’s existence in the tower.

But Atlas couldn’t kill Tyr, because the magic of Aphelion would transfer to the true Primary, and he would risk losing it forever.

A body was procured for the funeral, and Atlas worked his magic to make it look so much like Tyr that it almost fooled even me. Then he sequestered his brother into this tower and cuffed him with the arcturite, where he’s been ever since.

Eventually, Tyr recovered from whatever Atlas had done to him, but his life was over.

The secret we’ve all had to keep is the worst thing I’ve ever had to do.

“How are you doing?” I say to Tyr as I sit down in the second chair that faces the window. Atlas rarely comes to see him, and the other warders aren’t comfortable with being in his presence. Not because of anything Tyr has done but because he’s a reminder of their forced betrayal. The prickly truth of what we’re all complicit in, though none of us has much choice.

In the months after Atlas locked him away, I convinced Tyr to move against his brother’s wishes only once. Tyr ordered the warders to gather Aphelion’s council inside their usual meeting chamber so we could expose Atlas’s lies. We knew they’d never believe it without the proof of seeing Tyr alive in the flesh.

But Atlas’s paranoia extended further than I imagined, and he’d already placed spies in every district head’s household. With twenty-four districts and only ten warders, word got to Atlas before we could execute all the parts of our plan.

When the council arrived, Atlas was ready to greet them. He convinced everyone he’d summoned them to discuss building a monument to each ruler in the center of their district, and thanks to his flattery and their delicate egos, no one questioned that the facts didn’t quite add up.

After they left, I’d never seen Atlas so furious. He railed at Tyr and then he turned his rage on me and my brothers. He had each of us tortured before Tyr’s eyes, saving the worst for me.

I don’t know if Atlas was jealous of the relationship between me and Tyr and resented our closeness, but whatever it was, he finally found a way to use it against both of us.

My mind has done its best to block out those days.

The pain. The blood. The burns. The screams.

The scars on my chest, back, arms, and legs will never truly let me forget.

After that, Tyr refused to move against Atlas’s wishes ever again. And so, we dance this vicious dance, twirling in circles, neither one of us knowing how to break out of its ever tightening noose.

“The palace is in shambles thanks to the future queen,” I say, and I swear I catch the slightest hint of Tyr’s smile.

I desperately want to know how this will all go down if Atlas gets his hands on Lor.

She’s a Primary, which means anyone she bonds with will receive the benefit of her magic when she ascends. After I learned of her origins, it all made much more sense. That’s what Atlas was after. He resents the fact he doesn’t have a Primary’s magic. But will it work if he uses the Mirror?

Does Lor have the Artefact of Heart? The Crown was lost as far as I’m aware, but I’m assuming Lor and Nadir haven’t been entirely truthful with me.

“She’s a right pain in my ass,” I add, and Tyr slowly turns his head, his blue eyes simmering with so many things that we haven’t said in so many years. There was a time when I thought Tyr and I—

I shake my head, refusing to torment myself with things that might have been.

It doesn’t matter. That future died a long time ago.

Maybe it never even started, and I’ve been kidding myself all along. Tyr was the king, and anyone he bonded with had to be chosen through the Trials. I was probably never really an option, at least not officially.

But now I’ll never know.

I settle back and listen to the sound of the waves crashing on the shore as we enjoy the solitude together. This is one of the few times in my week when I finally feel at peace. When I can escape the tumult of my churning thoughts.

After being tethered to this family since I was a small child, there are days when I think I would have been better off abandoned to the forest where Kyros found me.

After he got over the initial shock of my entrance, he scooped me up and brought me back to his hunting lodge in the forest. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven, and that was when I met Atlas and Tyr, both of them only a few years older than me. We spent weeks together running around, learning how to catch small game, and getting into the kinds of mischief small children are known for. It might have been the happiest time of my life. I’d escaped a nightmare and woken up in a dream. I thought about my mother and brother all the time, but I wanted so badly to forget.

It wasn’t until they brought me back to Aphelion that I learned I was being conscripted into service. I was too young to know any better, but I joined a group of young High Fae who were all being trained as the Sun King’s future warders. It was a grueling process—only a few ever developed the skills demanded of them—and openings in the king’s inner circle were rare.

The warders were also a creation of King Cyrus—the same king who’d orchestrated the Trials. Much like his misplaced optimism regarding the Final Tribute, he used the warder corps as an opportunity to elevate those who’d come into this life with nothing more than a name. In theory, it sounds nice. In practice, it’s more complicated.

Atlas, Tyr, and I were already friends, and the others resented my closeness with them. I was determined to prove that I belonged there, so I trained until I collapsed each day. That dedication won me a spot as the youngest warder the Sun Palace had ever seen, though I know there were those who claimed I’d only been given that honor because of my relationship with the princes.

Nevertheless, I underwent the painful process of growing my wings. It’s an unusual and rare bit of magic that I couldn’t explain if you held a crossbow to my chest, but an enchanted object was used to perform the ceremony.

I’ll never forget the agony that ripped across my body when my new appendages tore through my skin like a butterfly cracking out of its cocoon. It took months of training my muscles so the weight didn’t cause my back to ache and many more to use them for flight. Despite the pain, I’d considered it an honor and a stroke of luck that Kyros found me in the trees that day.

Little did I know it would all become more like a curse.

My thoughts wander back to the present and to Tyr, who is now watching me.

His brows furrow as though he’s wondering what I’m thinking about. I wish he would speak. I sometimes wonder if he’s forgotten how.

He used to be such a different person. Bold and loud, sometimes to his detriment, but he’s only a shell of the man I knew. The man I thought I might fall in love with once upon a time. And it’s not that I don’t love him like this, but it’s the kind of love bred by the need to protect. It’s not the love either of us wanted.

“I was thinking about how we met,” I say, answering his unspoken question. “The look on your father’s face when I jumped out with that stick.” I laugh at the memory, and Tyr’s mouth tips up into the smallest of smiles.

“I was no more cultured than a bridge troll,” I add, hoping to elicit another, but he sighs and then turns away, looking out the window.

“Is there anything you need?” I ask. “Anything I can bring you?” I hate how helpless I feel whenever I’m around him. It’s enough to dread coming here, but if I stopped too, then Tyr would truly have no one left, and I can’t do that.

He shakes his head, still not looking at me. And I take that as my cue that he’s done for the day.

“I’ll bring you some new books,” I say, looking over the shelves of stories I know he’s heard a hundred times. “What if we did those exercises? I’ll come back tomorrow.”

I try to get him to move as often as I can. I’m worried about him wasting away to nothing confined to this small space. Sometimes he humors me and does what I ask, but I can tell his heart is never really in it. I need him to fight harder. I need him to fight against this becoming his only fate. With Atlas spiraling and playing games, I’m more sure than ever that Tyr is vulnerable.

“Tyr,” I say, crouching down as I grip his forearm. “I need you to be strong. I don’t know what’s going on, but I think that whatever Atlas is doing has the potential to go very wrong for him. I need you to be ready.”

He turns and looks down at me, and I swear that for the first time in decades, I see something flicker in his gaze that looks like more than just resigned defeat. I squeeze his arm, and he looks down to where I’m holding him before he looks up. He tips his chin ever so slightly, though I’m not entirely sure what it means.

“Please,” I say again. “I’m… I don’t know yet, but I can’t keep doing this, and you can’t either.”

He nods again and swallows, and I stand to leave, a burning weight burrowing through my chest.

After I close the door, I wind down the stairs, lost in my thoughts. I forget my usual protocol and open the door without listening to check if anyone is walking by. There’s the sound of someone stumbling and an “Oh!” as I emerge. A High Fae female is currently bending over, picking up a pile of towels. She appears to be trying very hard to avoid my gaze.

I watch her, wondering if she was leaning against the door. Was she listening?

“What are you doing?” I ask, and she looks up. I recognize her as the same lady’s maid I saw with Apricia earlier. The same one I saw at the intake interviews. There’s still something familiar about her I can’t place my finger on.

“Sorry, I was just passing, and I tripped,” she says, scooping up the towels into an armful, not bothering to fold them back up. “Sorry to have disturbed you.”

And then she ducks her head and scurries away.