Chapter One #2
The palace, long though not as wide, stretched deep into the estate.
The pristine ivory palace had two open-air courtyards carved out of its center with tiled mosaics laid beautifully amongst the fountains and greenery.
Fyar had insisted every inch of the palace grounds that could hold life be full of it.
A stark contrast to the bare gardens that his father, King Numar, had cultivated.
As Killian patrolled, weaving through the halls and out into the warm summer air on the inner balconies overlooking the inner courtyard, his mind wandered to the letter he carried in his breast pocket. Where it burned, demanding his attention.
Kade’s latest letter. The first in nearly a decade.
It had arrived a couple days before, delivered to Killian on a silver platter while in his office.
He hadn’t been able to bring himself to open it until that morning, where he’d then brooded over it until he’d gone to Fyar, hoping to get his friend’s advice.
Hoping Fyar would deny him permission to leave the capital, refusing to loosen his bonds to allow him off the palace estate, making the choice for him.
Instead, Fyar had offered his permission easily. If Killian wanted it.
And he did. Desperately.
But that was exactly the reason he shouldn’t go. How could he face Kade again, after what he’d done?
Killian had betrayed Kade, a brother to him in all ways but blood. The only person who had mattered to him in the fifty years of his adolescence in that godforsaken village.
Killian was told that his parents—his real parents—were killed when their village was burned during the war. Collateral damage. Victims of a pointless war that had raged for a hundred years. Killian didn’t remember them, so in the end, they meant very little to him.
Pella and Tyr, Kade’s parents, had taken Killian in when he was just ten years old, barely more than a baby by elven standards. They’d adopted him, welcomed him into their seemingly perfect family of two.
Nearing her nine hundredth birthday, Pella was believed to be too old to carry a child to term, as she was close to the end of her natural life. Despite how desperate she was for one of her own.
The first few years that Killian lived with Pella and Tyr on their farm, his life was seemingly peaceful and calm.
Pella doted on him like she would a real son, showering him with love and care and affection.
And Tyr spent his time teaching Killian the ins-and-outs of the vineyard, how to tend the vines and cultivate grapes for the sweetest wines.
The character of a kind father only breaking when his breath would carry the sour scent of alcohol and his temper would flare.
Punishments were harsh, usually dealt with the crack of a leather belt.
But they were just that, punishments—for a perceived wrongdoing.
That all changed when Pella fell pregnant and Kade was born, kicking and screaming into their lives like a tiny pale goblin.
From the moment Killian first held his new brother, Kade became his whole world.
From that very first moment when Kade had quieted his fussing when placed in Killian’s arms, blinking up at him with big amber eyes, laughing for the first time.
Killian had sworn at that moment that he would do anything to protect Kade, to keep him safe.
They’d grown up there, together, though Killian had been kicked out of the main house as soon as Kade had been born. His old room converted for their real family. He was banished to spend nights in the barn with the animals.
They’d spent decades working the vineyard. Each year it got harder and harder for Killian to hide his growing anger from the younger elf. To hide how much rage and hated burned inside him, all aimed towards the one they called father.
But Killian refused to be something Kade would grow to fear. So he bore it, and he suffered it. Until he couldn’t anymore.
Killian didn’t know what he should do. If he went back to that place and saw any hatred in Kade’s eyes, he didn’t know if he could survive it. It would rip him apart.
It was almost easier not knowing.
Killian ended his nightly patrol in his quarters, a luxuriously furnished room he’d been given when he was promoted to Captain of the King’s Guard. He shared the wing with members of the royal council, as well as the palace healer, Hokda.
A stately room, filled with luxuries befitting a king.
The open space was cut into two by an archway, providing space and privacy between the living area and the bedroom.
The room had come with a desk off in the corner surrounded by bookshelves and a matching sofa and armchair that were placed aesthetically before the great mantled fireplace.
A large four poster bed was tucked beyond the archway, the outer wall a floor to ceiling window that looked out over the greenhouses used to grow Hokda’s herbs.
Killian barely spent any time there, the room dark and empty and hollow. It was just a place to sleep and eat and fuck.
From deep within his dresser, Killian pulled a plain, unassuming box; the lid covered in a thick layer of dust. Inside lay a small stack of letters, dozens if he were to count, the edges of the paper yellowing with age.
Carefully, Killian went to slide the newest addition on top, pausing to run his fingers over the last line.
Reading them one more time though the words were already burned into his brain.
Come home, Killi. Please. I can’t do this without you.
The messy scrawl was unmistakably Kade’s.
Killian swallowed down bile. He was going to be sick.