46. Hayesland
Hayesland
The truth about our father sits between us like a lit fuse. “You’re just telling me this now?” Rye says, rooted in front of our fireplace with his fists white-knuckled at his sides.
“I couldn’t tell you before. You still don’t have your magic. And I knew—I knew if I told you, you’d do something reckless, like confront him or challenge him. And he would have killed you, Rye. Without hesitation.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” My voice cracks. “The trials showed me exactly who he is, Rye. What he does to people who get in his way. Not even being his son would protect you.” I shake my head. “Nothing would, not if you’re a threat to his power.”
Rye goes still.
“I was waiting,” I continue, “for you to awaken, too, so we could figure out what to do together. So, we’d actually stand a chance.”
“Hayes.” His voice sounds wrong.
“I was trying to keep you alive. That’s all I’ve ever been trying to do—”
“He sends me to kill children, Hayes.”
The words stop me cold.
“What?”
I turn, and Rye looks like a man who’s been slowly caving in on himself. And the worst part is, I can see it now, the cracks that have been there. I just didn’t know what I was looking at.
“Twins. He gets reports about families with twins. And he sends me to kill them—I don’t do it. I help them escape. Give them money. But I force them to separate.” He swallows hard. “Father thinks I’ve been carrying out his orders; he thinks I kill them.”
Fury and heartbreak collide, and the only thing that comes out is “How long?”
“Years, Hayes. Not long after your awakening.” He lets out a broken laugh. “I’ve been drowning in it, the guilt of tearing families apart. Because of him.”
“Rye—”
“I could have used you. I needed you, and you were right there. I thought—” A sound escapes him that’s trying to be a laugh. “I thought I was protecting you by not telling you.”
“I thought the same thing.” I can barely get it out. “I thought I was protecting you.”
The tragedy of it sits between us like a wound. Two brothers, drowning in the same water, not knowing the other was right there. I can’t stand the distance anymore. I pull him in and hold him. He’s rigid for a heartbeat, then his fists curl into the back of my jacket.
“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Get through the trials, then we’ll end this. We’ll end him.”
Neither of us moves for a long time. When I finally let go, he turns toward the window, and I know better than to follow. I give him the space he needs.
The sun has shifted by the time I check on him before heading to our father’s chambers. The storm has passed, but what’s left behind is quieter and worse.
“I’ll see you at the ball. I have to meet with him beforehand,” I tell him. “Don’t do anything reckless.”
He snorts softly. “Pot, kettle.”
I almost smile, but dread pools in my stomach as I make my way to the door, toward Father.
The meeting doesn’t take long. It never does when his mind is already made up.
Between Rye’s confessions and my father’s commands, my fists don’t unclench until I’m two corridors away from the ballroom, and even then, my hands won’t stop shaking.
I push into the ballroom, and it’s suffocating. Nobles cluster and preen and laugh like the world isn’t cracked straight through. I drift toward the open terrace doors, desperate for air. It barely helps, only enough to remind me how coiled my chest still feels.
My father’s voice hasn’t left me since I walked out of his chambers.
After her awakening, the announcement of your engagement to Lady Belinda will be made.
My hands start to curl back into fists, and I shove them into my pockets.
He’s been ordering Rye to slaughter twins for years.
Families ripped apart because of a prophecy he refuses to release.
My brother’s been drowning in guilt and secrets while I stood right beside him, oblivious.
And I know his other secrets, what the trials showed me.
What he calls love. Dressing up control as protection, calling obsession devotion.
Now he’s selling me to Belinda, and somewhere in his twisted certainty, he thinks he’s doing me a favor.
He’ll expect gratitude.
I grab a glass of champagne and down it. Then another.
Across the room, Lord Davrik holds court with his sons flanking him. Belinda stands nearby, with a smile void of warmth. My future tethered.
My stomach turns.
I catch a noble’s glance lingering at me too long. I can’t do this tonight.
Then I see them near the terrace doors, Rye, Finn, Gem, Grier, and Rosie, tucked into a corner, away from the worst of it.
Finn says something that makes Rosie laugh brightly. A deep, sharp pain twists in my chest. I used to be the one who made her laugh like that.
Gem stands close to Rye, not touching, but close enough to matter. I watch her, the way she angles toward him, the softness in her expression. She’s real with him, open in a way she never quite was with me. The feeling presses deeper.
On our night walks, I thought—I thought something was growing between us, from the way she teased me when I tried to be too careful. The way she looked at me sometimes was not polite or closed off, but open. Like she saw past the crown and liked what was underneath.
She didn’t perform or measure her words.
She didn’t treat me like I might shatter or promote her.
She just…was herself. I let myself believe it meant something.
That maybe, finally, someone saw me, not the title, the access, or the future king, but just me.
Watching her now, I don’t know if I imagined everything.
I drain my glass and head over.
Rye spots me first. His gaze flicks to the empty glass, the tension in my shoulders. He steps away from Gem and pulls me into a brief hug, with his mouth near my ear.
“Just get through tonight,” he murmurs. “Keep your head down, and we’ll figure the rest out.”
I nod. He claps my shoulder and rejoins the group. Finn appears with amber-filled glasses.
“Perfect timing! I was just about to propose a toast.”
“To what?” Rosie asks.
“To me,” Finn says easily. “My charm. My brilliance. My inevitable triumph in the trials.”
Gem snorts. “Your humility is inspiring.”
“I know.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, and Rye’s going into the trials, too, I suppose. If anyone cares about that.”
Rye shoves him, and Finn just laughs.
“To making it out the other side,” Grier says, raising his own glass.
“To making it out.” I hear myself say, and down the glass.
Finn keeps the jokes coming, Rosie’s laugh rings out easy and bright, and I let myself sink into it. The warmth of the alcohol fills my body, and some of the tension dulls. These are the only people in the world who aren’t trying to use me.
Grier catches Gem’s eye and gives a subtle tilt of his head toward the terrace. She gives an almost imperceptible nod.
“I need air,” Gem says, already moving. Her hand brushes Rye’s arm. “Come with me?”
He hesitates, looks at me. I nod.
They disappear into the night, and then it’s just me, Finn, and Rosie.