Chapter Six #2
“And Perian helped her,” the Prince said, reminding Cormal of what had started this conversation.
“He helped us both before he even knew that he could, just by caring about us. And then he tried to help us more, because he wanted the best for her. For me, too, of course, but he didn’t know me like he knows Renny.
And even though he was hurting, even though he should probably have turned his back on all of us, he poured everything he had into trying to make us better.
I don’t think anyone’s ever cared about me like that before, about either of us.
Not because of our position but simply because of who we are, because of shared picnics and animal-shaped clouds and a very opinionated horse.
” He swallowed audibly. “I didn’t even get to thank him in person.
I couldn’t give him back the castle. Brannal was not mine to direct.
But I could at least give Perian a horse he had come to care about.
It’s the tiniest thing compared to what he’s done for me and Renny, but at least it’s something. ”
Cormal sighed. There was so much emotion there, and it tugged at him. And made him feel guilty.
“I don’t suppose it means much coming from me, but I’m sorry you didn’t get to thank him in person or say goodbye. That was definitely one of a series of… imperfect decisions.”
He wasn’t quite sure he could apologize for all of it. But he could apologize for that.
The Prince made a funny noise that Cormal couldn’t interpret—probably why you weren’t supposed to have intense conversations like this on the back of a horse not facing one another.
“I don’t know how to tell you this…”
The Prince trailed off, like he really couldn’t figure out how to tell Cormal what he wanted to say, and Cormal knew that couldn’t be good. The Prince hadn’t been shy about telling him how he really felt about a lot of things.
“Just hit me with it,” Cormal said, trying to brace himself.
Maybe it was better if they weren’t facing one another after all.
“I think you missed a lesson on apologizing as a child or something. It’s actually a really powerful thing to do, especially when you’re an asshole and you do something wrong.”
Cormal was stunned silent for a moment, and then he let out a sharp crack of laughter that surprised Fireball, who looked at him to see if anything was wrong. Cormal patted his neck.
“No, no, you’re fine. Let’s get to this less-than-secret hiding place.”
“I do wish no one had been hurt,” the Prince said.
“Please don’t blame yourself for that. It was Prince Horsey who brought Perian here, wasn’t it?”
The Prince nodded. “Yes. And he asked Renny and me about it. I assured him that I was fine with him sharing it with other people.”
Of course. Because Cormal had stewed at the time that Perian had been sharing it with everyone when it wasn’t his secret.
Only it turned out, he’d had permission.
How many of Cormal’s memories of past events could be twisted to a different shape if he had more information or looked at them in a different way?
“It was a terrible idea that we really shouldn’t have indulged you in to begin with,” Cormal pointed out.
Brannal and Cormal had brought him out here a handful of times in the years before the attack, when the Prince had been chafing from the restrictions of the castle. They’d convinced themselves it was perfectly safe with the two of them.
The Prince huffed a laugh. “Oh, you’re thinking about what could have happened if we’d been caught out here with all those demons?”
“Of course I’m thinking of that!” Cormal exclaimed. “Just imagine!”
The Prince let out a sigh. “It was always a risk, I suppose. But you would both have been with me. And you do know what would have happened if you hadn’t agreed to bring me, right?”
Cormal let out a gusty sigh. “Yes.”
He’d considered going straight to the Prince’s mother, or going to Tramad.
But even if they’d scolded him, even if they’d forbidden him to do any such thing…
They could have put a watch on the stables, maybe?
But Cormal had seen that streak of stubbornness in the growing boy he’d been.
This outlet had been as safe as Cormal could think to make it.
He still wasn’t absolutely certain that he’d been right—but he was pretty sure he hadn’t been wrong, either.
“Here we are.”
They pushed through to the beach, and by the time Cormal dismounted, the Prince was on the ground as well.
Cormal hadn’t been watching to see if he’d actually dismounted or if he’d just sort of…
slid to the ground? Would his feet have connected to the stirrup?
But it must have, mustn’t it, or how would he have gotten onto the horse to begin with?
“You don’t float, do you?” Cormal asked.
The Prince looked bemused. “No, I don’t float. Or, I suppose you could argue that I always float. I don’t disturb anything on the ground, so perhaps I’m not actually touching it. But I’m not about to blow away, if you’re worried about that.”
Cormal’s eyes widened. “Well, I wasn’t worried until you mentioned it!”
The Prince threw back his head and laughed, and Cormal felt something tight in his chest ease. The Prince was relaxed and happy out here in this place that had been, a long time ago, their happy place.
Brannal and Cormal had never made him train while they had blithely lied to Cormal’s father about that fact.
It had been perhaps one of the only lies they’d ever gotten away with, although Cormal wasn’t sure that they had really gotten away with it.
The Queen had been convinced, and the most that Cormal’s father had had to say about it was that it was wise of Cormal to build a rapport with the Prince.
“He will be king one day,” Tramad had always reminded his son.
Yes, he’d probably wanted Cormal to form that rapport and increase the chance that he would be named Summus or Secundus—in the far future because he was pretty sure that his father had planned to live to a hundred and fifty, and Brannal had always been the obvious successor.
For all his father’s many plans, reality had gotten in the way.
For just a moment, Cormal could pretend they were in a simpler time, though, before so many mistakes had been made.
How much simpler would it be if the mistakes could simply be undone, wisped away, and they could all start over.
Just a few little tweaks, and Cormal was sure they could prevent multiple tragedies.
But if they only had this moment, then Cormal would take it. He made sure that Fireball found the grass and then sat down on one of the logs around the firepit, facing the serene water.
“Fire?” he asked, before he remembered that the Prince couldn’t feel the heat.
But the other man smiled, a surprisingly boyish look. “Yes, please.”
They’d always had a fire when they came out here, even if it was the middle of summer. The Prince had said it was part of the experience, and Brannal and Cormal had always indulged him.
Cormal grabbed the chopped wood from the cave, making a note that it could be replenished. Brannal and the others must have used a bunch of it when they came out here for the training exercise—and after everything that followed, it was no surprise Brannal hadn’t remembered to get it replaced.
Once the logs were arranged, flames whooshed into existence in the middle of the firepit, and the Prince grinned.
“That never gets old.”
“I’m glad,” Cormal said, smiling slightly. “Because it’s kind of my only trick, and there aren’t that many places where it’s acceptable.”
Almost none, really.
“Would you give it up if you could?” the Prince asked.
“Absolutely not!”
The answer came out without consideration, a negation straight from his soul. After a slightly more considered moment, he managed, “It’s who I am.”
The Prince nudged him. Well, his elbow went into Cormal’s side, but he saw what he was trying to do.
“It’s part of who you are.”
Cormal nodded. “Yes, I suppose. I don’t think anyone would argue that I don’t have the temper for it.”
“I think we all have moments where we wish that we could lob fireballs at people.”
“But so few can actually manage it.”
“But you’re not alone,” the Prince countered.
Cormal’s breath caught before he managed to steady it out. “Sometimes, it feels very much like I am.”
Quietly, the Prince admitted, “That’s a feeling I understand very well.”
The Prince had friends and family who cared about him, had never done anything egregiously wrong in his entire life, and yet he couldn’t touch anyone, couldn’t feel anything, and was isolated by his very existence.
Cormal had inadvertently burned through almost every friend he’d ever had, and yet was free to touch anyone he wanted—in theory.
What a pair they were.
“Did you really mean that you were sorry?” the Prince asked.
Cormal nodded, swallowing heavily. “I don’t suppose that anyone will ever believe me, but the moment I realized what Perian was, I was terrified for everyone’s safety.
He was sneaking to an injured man’s room in the middle of the night.
I assumed he was going to feed. I tried to get him out of the castle immediately. ”
“Why didn’t you kill him?” the Prince asked. “You must have considered it.”
Cormal blew out a breath. “I did. But I… knew how Brannal felt about him.”
“And kind of hated him for it?” the Prince prompted.
Cormal sighed. “A bit, but it’s more complicated than that. I’ve known for years that Brannal didn’t care for me that way.”
The Prince groaned. “Speaking of, since this is a really awkward conversation anyway, can I please apologize about that attempt at a kiss on my sixteenth birthday?”
This surprised a laugh out of Cormal. “I was pretty rude.”