Prince Emmett De Vere
I’m locked in my office for two days before the summons from Bram appears.
It comes, as they always do, as a note slipped under my door.
Fencing, noon, this one reads, in handwriting that isn’t even Bram’s. He’s dictated it to a servant like I’m not even worth getting ink
on his hands.
On the rare occasion that Bram was in the Otherworld, we often met for various sports. We spent our time playing tennis, or
horseback riding, or hitting croquet balls in the garden. There was one summer Bram magicked the wickets to run away, which
was particularly annoying, but these were the times it was easiest to imagine the boys we once were in London.
I didn’t expect to ever receive a summons like this from him again.
For the last two days, I’ve been out of my mind with worry for Ivy. I’ve torn apart my office, searching every book for anything
that could help me save her, but I’ve come up empty. Every day, trays of food arrive, and in that regard, it’s been unlike
my previous stay in the dungeons, but I’ve never felt more like a caged animal.
My breakfast arrives with a set of fencing whites.
I dress and sit on the edge of my bed, my brain wearing out the same thought over and over—How do I save her?
How do I save her? There aren’t any clocks in the Otherworld, so I don’t know how long I wait until my door unlocks and swings itself open magically.
Two guards flank me on either side, so I’m unable to run to Ivy’s room or the dungeons, but there’s an air of inevitability
about this meeting. I’m looking forward to facing Bram, all veneer stripped away, and, for once in our lives, being honest
with each other.
Bram is waiting for me in the gymnasium, tugging on his white gloves, his nose tipped up in the air arrogantly.
“Just tell me if she’s alive.” My voice is little more than a snarl. It’s taking every inch of self-control I have not to
launch myself at him and pummel my fists into his face.
Bram gestures to the bench where my gloves and saber lie. “We can talk while we spar.”
Seeing no other choice, I pull on my mesh mask and join him on the mat.
Bram lunges at me, but I parry, blocking him. “This is beneath you, Emmett,” he drawls slowly, like this is just some brotherly
spat we’ll be over before dinner.
“Is she alive?” My tone is desperate, and I don’t care. Let him know how desperate I am. He sidesteps my thrust, then parries
back lazily, as if we are boys again and none of this matters.
“Yes, she’s alive. Why do you care?” he snaps. “She’s intolerable, and unfaithful, and you lower yourself by loving her. Do
you not want to rule as my regent? You’d give all this up for her?”
“Yes.” It comes out as nearly a shout. “I’d do anything for her, do you not see that?
” It’s foolish, perhaps, to admit, but he must know by now, and I see no sense in hiding it.
If Bram is going to kill me, then I want to die with the truth on my lips.
“It was always about her, everything I’ve done. ”
“No, you love me.” Bram lunges again, something newly ferocious in his movements, and this time his saber strikes my torso with force enough
to sting, even through my jacket. “We were brothers, weren’t we? That’s what you needed when I first met you. You were so
small and weak, barely more than a child, and all you wanted was a family. I gave that to you. I became what you needed. In exchange, you were supposed to be loyal to me.”
“I would have been.” I feel equal parts rage and heartbreak at Bram confirming that our brotherhood was never anything more
than another manipulation tactic. The worst part is, he’s not wrong. I do love him, but I hate him more.
I lunge again, my slash crisp and precise as my old training returns to me. Bram and I had the same fencing master, once upon
a time. “Are you going to kill her?” I ask.
Bram’s maneuvers are sloppy, disdain and arrogance in every swipe of his saber. “She’s going to die at some point. Your lifespans
are so short, what does it matter if it’s now or later?”
He waves his hand and knocks my mask off my face with magic. I block, but he flicks his saber up and slices a cut down my
cheekbone. “You’re all so fragile.”
“You’re pathetic.” I throw my saber to the ground and lunge at him with my full body weight. My fist screams in pain as I
land a blow to his sternum, but I draw my arm back and hit him again. “You have two wives and neither one wants you.”
He rips off his own mask and hurls himself forward, forcing me backward onto the mat.
Bram lands one good punch across my face, but he’s a poor student—and I’ve been the better fighter since I caught up to him in height, years ago.
I use my legs to hook his ankles, throwing him off-balance, then drive my entire body weight upward to get him off me. I have
him pinned in seconds, his wrists under my knees.
“Do you understand what this kingdom has turned into while you were off in England, treating everything like a toy you can
break? Lydia and I have held the Otherworld together with our bare hands and you don’t even care.”
Bram’s eyes flash and in an instant, I’m tossed back against the mat. My lungs ache as the air is knocked out of them and
I struggle to catch my breath. A few ribs are probably cracked, but I don’t care.
Bram stands above me, grinning, and I recognize this look on his face. It’s the same one he had that day when I was fourteen
and he fought my bullies for me. I realize now, it’s the violence he loves.
“You used magic, that’s not fair,” I groan. “Fight me like a man.”
Bram kicks me with the toe of his boot. “Maybe I should force you to your knees, make you beg.”
Of my own free will, I rise to my knees and tilt my throbbing face up toward him. “I will do anything for her. Let them both
go and I’ll stay here as your regent, forever. I’ll let you beat me to a bloody pulp every day. Would that make you feel big?”
Bram curls his lip in disgust as he looks down at me. “You’re not fun to play with anymore.”
He waves his hands at the guards flanking the doors and they step toward me. “I’m finished,” Bram snarls as he walks away.
With his back toward me, he snaps his fingers, and I am knocked unconscious.