9. 8 #4
Footsteps rang out above them, hurried in their pace.
Lance’s breath hitched. Thalen appeared at the top of the staircase, robes sweeping behind him, each step purposeful.
But it was the figure behind him, graceful and still, who made Lance’s stomach drop.
His mother watched from the corridor above, eyes unreadable in the firelight.
“What is the meaning of this?” Thalen’s voice thundered through the hall. His gaze roved between his sons, stern and incredulous. “Do you realize the hour? What madness have you brought into my home?”
The silence that followed was fragile, brittle as glass.
“One of you. Speak,” Thalen roared, voice echoing off stone and flame.
Treager stepped forward, spine straight. “We received reports of a brawl … at a location referred to as ‘Entertainment.’” He hesitated. “They were in the middle of it when we arrived.”
Thalen’s brows creased in confusion. “‘Entertainment?’” The word tasted foul on his tongue. He turned, and the guard leaned in, whispering low.
The king’s eyes widened, disbelief flickering before fury took hold. His gaze snapped to Theodore.
“You’ve lost your mind,” he said, half-laugh, half-snarl. “That kind of place? While betrothed? Are you pressing for scandal?” His voice rose with every word, booming through the chamber.
Theodore flinched—just enough. Lance saw it. Felt it.
For once, his brother didn’t stand immune. And that flicker of vulnerability, that tremble beneath Theodore’s princely arrogance filled Lance with a dark, satisfaction.
“I did not raise you to be unfaithful,” Thalen roared, each word laced with disgust. “Shall I summon the princess? Let her witness the full disgrace of your behavior?” His fury rolled through the hall like thunder.
He closed the distance to Theodore, eyes blazing. “I expect this kind of foolishness from your brother—but you?” His voice dropped, bitter and cold. “I never imagined you could be so vile.”
Though the accusation wasn’t aimed at him, Lance felt its sting deep in his chest. Of course. As always. Thalen’s disappointment came already carved with his name.
Theodore stared at the ground, unable to meet his father’s gaze.
“Lance,” Thalen snapped.
Lance stiffened. “Yes, sir?”
“You’ll have your mission. It’s approved. But you’re taking him with you.”
Thalen turned to Theodore, whose face twisted in disbelief. “Excuse me?” he spat—then caught the king’s glare and swallowed it. “Yes, my king,” he muttered.
Lance blinked. Just like that—his mission was real. And Theodore’s punishment was his partnership.
His eyes found his mother at the top of the stairs, unmoving, silent. Watching.
“You are princes,” Thalen said, voice still hot with rage. “Not drunkards in some gutter. I expect better than fists and petty squabbles in brothels.”
“It’s not a br—” Theodore started, but the warning flash in Thalen’s eyes cut him off. He clenched his jaw and swallowed the rest.
“Go to your rooms,” Thalen growled. “I can’t believe I must say that to grown men.” His voice dripped with contempt as he turned away.
“Wait,” Frey’s voice echoed from above, delicate yet unyielding. She descended the stairs with measured grace, her presence commanding the room without force. At the bottom, she studied her sons. “Apologize to each other,” she said simply.
Immediate groans rose from both men.
“I said apologize.” Her tone left no room for defiance.
The brothers locked eyes across the hall, a silent battle flaring between them. Neither moved. Neither blinked.
“Theodore,” Thalen said, sharp.
“Fuck—fine,” he muttered, arms folding over his chest like armor. “I’m sorry.”
Lance’s breath eased out. “I’m sorry too,” he said quietly. Neither apology was sincere.
Frey’s gaze lingered on them both, calm, but laced with silent judgment. The hall seemed to still around her, its air drawn tight.
“You should be ashamed of yourselves.” She gave one last glance between her sons, and with a turn as regal as her resolve, started up the stairs. “Get yourselves cleaned up,” she called back with irritation.
Thalen lingered, his eyes hard and heavy. “You’ve both humiliated this house tonight,” he said. “By dawn, the scandal will bloom across the city. Do what you can to stifle it.” His voice held the chill of command before he followed his wife up the stairs.
Treager remained; lips pressed into a thin line. He walked to the door, casting one last look over his shoulder. “Try behaving like princes next time.”
He left them alone in the yawning silence of the grand hall. No warmth remained in the firelight.
“I suppose I should thank you, brother,” Lance said, voice smooth with something just shy of mockery. “Your outrage somehow cracked open the door I needed. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
Theodore’s glare was brief but sharp. Without a word, he ascended the stairs, his footsteps swallowed by stone.
Lance lingered in the grand hall, shadows casting long across the marble as his words echoed quietly behind him. Satisfaction curled beneath his ribs, unfamiliar.
For once, the crown bent toward him.