Chapter 32
HATE
THE ASTEROSIAN CASTLE LOOKED NOTHING like that of Brightsea.
Kal trailed his mother’s swishing skirts, careful not to step on the jeweled hem, and swung his gaze about.
The ceilings were low, not cavernous like those at home.
Where windows should have been, open archways led into tiled courtyards displaying trickling fountains and all manner of strange plant life.
Some pricklier varieties had vicious needles set in neat rows along their towering columns like spiny soldiers marching single-file.
He spied a dazzling aquamarine pool, the sunlight glittering off its unnaturally smooth surface.
He imagined throwing himself into it, disrupting its tranquility, thrashing the water into proper waves.
Or perhaps he just craved a distraction from the heat.
Gods above, the heat evaporated Kal’s very memory of Brightsea’s briny air, heavy with seafoam and the mist rolling off the hills.
Every breath scorched his lungs. How different this place was from home. How fascinatingly alien.
“I don’t understand why I must wear this atrocity,” Kal’s mother hissed in front of him, fingers picking at the taut fabric over her ribs.
His father’s lip twitched. “It’s custom. And you look so lovely.”
A periwinkle glare seared the side of Lord Kallen’s face. “Fuck custom.”
“Meridia,” Kal’s father scolded. Kal stifled a grin and glanced up at his uncle.
Beside him, Karrick Kaine, brother to the current Lord of Brightsea, winked.
Karrick was more a sibling than an uncle.
He was ten years Kal’s elder, but the age gap didn’t feel like the decade it was. Or rather, it hadn’t until recently.
Kal had been passing his father’s council room when the missive had come from Asteros, inviting the Lord and Lady of Brightsea to the capital. He’d caught pieces of the discussion that had followed—heard words like treaty. Alliance.
Kal knew what they meant. He knew the tie that bound the realms together, and it wasn’t the land.
Marriage.
But that hadn’t been all he’d overheard. Danger. Threat. Prophecy. Those words had also been exchanged.
But what Kal heard next tipped the ground beneath his feet.
This wasn’t just any marriage. It was a fated union. A match between the godchosen. Kal had heard the words Primordial Male and stumbled into the council room, wide-eyed and disbelieving. “The Primordial Male is here? At Brightsea Castle?”
Kal’s mother and father had turned, expressions creased with concern. His uncle’s face had gone ashen. And they’d told him.
Karrick was the Primordial Male. One prophesied half of the Goddess’s curse.
Kal might not have been a temple acolyte, but he’d been taught the godscripts more thoroughly than most boys his age.
This marriage wouldn’t just bind the lands.
It promised salvation for the shurii people.
Karrick. The Primordial Male. His uncle, of all people!
And Kal hadn’t once suspected. How in all the divine kingdoms had such a thing escaped him?
He was still reeling, still a little hurt that Karrick would keep such a secret.
“I’m serious,” his mother continued in a furious whisper, oblivious to her son’s eddying thoughts.
Kal snapped back to the present. “When have we ever burdened ourselves with tradition, Kallen? It’s hotter than the Godking’s balls in this infernal desert, and that woman left me a blasted sweat shroud to wear to dinner. I’ll be dripping on the pies!”
Kal’s father slowed his pace and turned his ever-patient expression on his wife. “That woman is the Queen of Asteros, and to decline her gift would be considered very rude. We are here to foster goodwill with this kingdom, darling. We agreed rudeness should be avoided. Remember?”
At the word “queen,” Kal’s mother snorted. “And is it not also considered rude to smother one’s guests with their evening attire?”
Kallen sighed.
Kal’s mother lifted her chin. “Besides, she’s only a queen by her own declaration.
Ilistaar was never meant to be a monarchy.
” Kal’s father inhaled sharply and glanced around to ensure they weren’t overheard.
Meridia continued, unbothered. “Brightsea never bowed to the Faelstroms of the past. It’s certainly not about to start.
And don’t get me started on their religious insanity.
These abhorrent customs of theirs would have my father’s bones creaking in his grave. ”
A pang echoed in the cavern of Kal’s chest at the mention of his grandfather.
Magnus died last year. They buried him beside Gran on the cliffside north of the castle, where the sea wind sang through the willows and sent the tall grass dancing.
Kal missed him terribly. He wondered if his grandfather, too, had known of Karrick’s divine title and kept it from him.
The contemplation of betrayal made him ill.
They turned away from the courtyard’s aqua pool and passed one of the black-clad palace guards.
Their eerie, faceless ensembles reminded Kal of the reapers his grandfather used to tell him stories of when he was little.
They looked as though they sucked souls when they weren’t busy watching the Asterosian palace guests.
“I wouldn’t worry over them,” Karrick whispered, bending to Kal’s height.
At fourteen years, he towered over his mother’s first form, but his uncle was a man grown, taller even than Kal’s father.
“Your mother could take the lot of them with one hand tied behind her back and wearing that wretched gown.”
Kal smirked despite his lingering hurt, and Karrick nudged his shoulder.
His mother and father continued their hushed exchange as they made their way along another airy hall, gauzy curtains rippling slightly in a breeze that did nothing to alleviate the oppressive heat.
When they finally reached the doorway to the throne room, Meridia and Kallen Kaine had ceased their grousing and fully emanated their titles.
His mother glanced over the graceful curve of her shoulder at him, a wealth of intention in her gaze.
Kal dipped his chin a bit stiffly, indicating his understanding.
He wasn’t here as the heir to Brightsea.
No, he’d assumed the role of his uncle’s page.
Part punishment for snooping, part bargain.
It was the only way his parents had agreed to let him come.
Kal had given his word to go along with the masquerade, and in their family, words carried weight.
He’d expected Karrick to goad him about the arrangement, but his uncle had been uncharacteristically sober.
If he could rein in his teasing, Kal could do his part as well.
So he squared his jaw and stepped to the adjacent wall to wait.
His mother’s dusky blue eyes brightened.
She turned to join her husband. The Lady and Lord of Brightsea, the Bladesinger and the Aegis, stepped into the grand hall to face the King and Queen of Asteros.
Kal lost track of how long he waited and distracted himself by tracing the veins of gold filigree that spiderwebbed through the nearest marble column.
After a while, he edged toward the curtained window and peeked through the parting fabric.
His parents were in some manner of negotiation with the Asterosian monarchs.
Even Karrick, who normally would have quit the meeting by this point, remained completely engrossed in the exchange, his dark face unnaturally severe.
It must have something to do with Karrick’s future wife, Kal decided.
He only hoped for his uncle’s sake that she didn’t smell like sweat and red dirt, having been born and raised in this hellacious clime.
Kal did his best not to fidget, but the scratching collar of his tunic clung to his neck, and his underarms had grown damp. He never had to stay for meetings this long back home. He felt like a child again, distracted and antsy.
When he’d been younger and began to squirm, Grandfather Magnus would dismiss him to the training yard where he could shift and wrestle with the other trainees in second form, expending his pent-up energy.
Kal hadn’t seen a single person in Asteros in second form. In fact, his parents both expressly forbid him from displaying his. Which was fine. Kal could keep from shifting for another day or so, no problem. He had better control over his impulses than most boys his age.
“May we introduce the Goddess’s Chosen One, Fated Mate to the Primordial Male, Destined Savior of the Shurii People, and our daughter, the Prima of Asteros.” A loud, clear voice rang out.
Kal paused his scratching and glanced up as a young girl in a frilly golden gown was ushered into the room behind the king and queen.
She couldn’t have been older than twelve, yet she moved as gracefully as a dancer, holding herself with a quiet maturity that made it difficult to tell her exact age.
Kal became suddenly conscious of the stink of body odor clinging to his clothes.
The girl’s cheeks were round and pink, chocolate hair coiled in a tight corona about her head.
A glittering tiara nestled in the strands.
She curtsied low before Kal’s uncle, then flicked wide greenish eyes toward the window where Kal spied.
He jerked away from the curtain, concealing himself behind the wall.
Kal swallowed, then glowered. That was supposed to be Uncle Karrick’s wife? Impossible. She was practically a baby! Barely a girl! His parents couldn’t agree to such a thing. They wouldn’t.