Crown Court
CAELAN
Tedious events like birthdays should be celebrated once every century.
Instead, Primorians celebrated birthdays once every decade.
The Kingdom of Crown had been preparing for weeks. This was clear the moment I set foot into the kingdom. The banners. The flowers. The particular, orchestrated grandeur that suggested Crown was the heart of Primoria, and you should remember that.
Gold was everywhere. Threaded into the pillars, in the marble beneath our feet, on the roofs, in the tapestries, and worn by people who existed within it all.
It caught the light from every angle and reflected it back relentlessly.
It stopped being beautiful and became noise.
It was as if the gods had spilled gold across the capital and mistaken it for beauty.
This wasn't beauty.
This was power begging to be admired.
While everything in the capital gleamed, the people in the rest of the kingdom suffered.
Villages struggled with droughts without relief from their king.
The farms had been pulling in smaller yields each year.
The surplus stores that were supposed to buffer this hadn't been replenished despite the funds levied for them.
I had arrived exactly on time for the banquet. Not early, which would suggest eagerness to please. Being late would have been disrespectful. Lack of filial piety wasn't something I'd like to add to my already suffering reputation.
The Captain of the King’s Guard received me at the front of the palace. Golden armor, of course.
“Allow me to personally escort you,” he had said. Which really translated to “Your father gave me strict instructions to watch you.”
The banquet took place in a new wing of the palace. There was nothing wrong with the old wing. It had simply been extended to seat two hundred more guests. The garden also appeared to have been replanted with flowers imported from Verdant at considerable expense.
I noticed the silverbells that Mother had once planted were no longer there. The beds had been cleared to make way for red roses with prickly thorns. Queen Morigan's favorite. I stood there longer than I had intended before moving on.
The great hall of Crown was everything Twilight wasn't. Gold where we had stone and candlelight where we had stars.
The air was thick and suffocating. Expensive perfume layered over more expensive perfume until the notes collapsed into each other.
Each breath provoked a sneeze that I barely suppressed.
Everything was in abundance, from the smoked meats to the exotic seafood imported from Tide.
Indulgence at its best, while the people starved.
Riven had taken his post at the nearest column without being told.
He had already done a full sweep of the room before I walked in.
Whereas Father's captain—Graeson, I believed —stood two paces behind me.
No more, no less. Like a bad memory that refused to fade.
A constant reminder that my father did not trust me.
Graeson smiled at me when I looked at him over my shoulder.
I did not smile back.
I took a glass of wine from a passing servant and looked around.
There were approximately four hundred guests consisting of a mixed court.
Winter's delegation stood by the west wall, recognizable by the white-armored guards and the nobles’ silver embroidery.
They had the energy of people who found warm rooms and social gatherings offensive.
Verdant was scattered through the center of the room in clusters, each noble's chin lifted higher than the last, adorned with enough gold to blend into the gilded decor.
Business must have been good, considering they had been bleeding Primoria dry in exchange for Verdant flora.
Tide stood near the food, uninterested in everyone else, which was predictable.
Four hundred guests had been invited to the banquet from five kingdoms. And somewhere in this room was someone who knew about the contract.
Which noble wanted me dead the most this time, I wondered.
I smiled at a passing countess and kept moving.
“You look tired.”
Mallas appeared at my shoulder. His white hair was like snow against the golden crown on his head.
He had inherited that from Lady Kenna, Father's late mistress.
She came from a line of witches where white hair was a distinguishing feature.
The gray in his eyes was warmer than the frozen kingdom he represented.
“I look impeccable,” I said.
“You look tired of looking impeccable.” He threw an arm over my shoulder. “How was the journey?”
“Long. Riven found a shortcut that saved us half a day and added vicious terrain.”
It had also taken us through one of the farming villages that struggled to get through winter. Primoria had mild winters, but it was still cold enough that crops didn't grow. A royal delegation was the last thing they’d wanted to see.
“Where is Captain Blackryn anyway?” Mallas looked behind me and found Graeson instead. “Father is still doing that.”
I spared a glance at Graeson.
“Always.”
I had never questioned a single order. I had done everything the king had ever asked of me. None of that ever mattered. Only what I was mattered.
We moved through the room together. Two princes presenting a unified front to every watching eye. Those eyes never bothered hiding their opinions about me. Two centuries of it had taught me to ignore them.
Musicians were positioned at three different points in the great hall. Their notes overlapped, impossible to trace back to any single source.
“Brie?” Mallas asked.
“She would rather swallow glass than come to this. Her words, not mine.”
Brie had stopped attending the banquet decades ago. Mother had adopted her before I was born. Her title as a princess of Primoria still stood, even if the court had stopped treating her as such.
Crown didn’t seem to notice her absence.
“Father seems well,” Mallas said.
I looked toward the dais.
The king was receiving birthday wishes with a practiced smile. It was difficult to determine whether it was genuine or not. I supposed nearly a thousand years of performing for the role helped. His hair was just now starting to silver. He caught my eye from across the room, still smiling.
I smiled back.
He turned to the next guest before any of the warmth reached me.
The same way he had always looked away the moment I felt his eyes linger.
Like paying attention to his eldest son was something he needed to be careful about.
I told myself he had loved me once and then grieved me before burying that grief under duty.
The coldness he had for me wasn't anything new. It was familiar enough that I couldn’t remember it being anything else.
I turned away and drank the rest of my wine in two gulps. It was good wine. Though I would’ve preferred something stronger like whiskey. A whole bottle of it.
The room felt too warm. Too small. The sea of people had worn thin what little ventilation there was.
Mallas watched with an expression close to either concern or pity. I chose not to consider either.
Elion found us just as Mallas opened his mouth to say words I likely did not want to hear.
He was already holding two glasses, which meant he had been looking for me. And that only meant he had a problem he wanted managed before it became unmanageable.
Of my brothers, Elion was the one who made diplomacy into philosophy rather than a skill. He genuinely believed that most problems could be navigated if everyone remained calm and refused to call it a problem. He hadn't been entirely wrong. Never been entirely right either.
His dark hair was tied back today. No crown, of course. Elion had always hated to wear one. While Mallas had Father's eyes, Elion and I had taken after the blue of our mother's.
“Caelan.” He beamed. “Just who I was looking for.”
He tucked one glass into the crook of his elbow, took my empty one, handed it off to a passing noble, and pressed the full glass into my hand.
The noble frowned at the empty glass but walked away with it.
Elion slapped Mallas's shoulder hard enough that it bordered on assault. Mallas's wine sloshed dangerously close to the rim.
“Mallas,” he said. “I have an excellent trade opportunity for you.”
“I’m sure.” Mallas adjusted his cloak where Elion had knocked it askew.
“Absolutely legal this time.” Elion's mouth curled into a wicked grin. “Mostly.”
Mallas ignored him. Clever boy.
There was a long table covered with a pristine white cloth next to the dais for the princes. Candles ran the length of it, burning low. A large variety of dishes had already been set out. There were different cuts of meat, roasted vegetables, a seafood tower, and two bottles of wine.
Graeson went to stand at the far wall directly behind us. Behind me, rather.
Luceris wasn't here yet. It took effort to conceal my delight.
I took a seat at the farthest end of the table from the dais. Mallas pulled out the chair next to me, and Elion slipped into it instead.
“Come away with it,” I said, unrolling a napkin.
“You wound me, brother.” Elion pressed a palm to his chest theatrically before his expression sharpened. “I need to borrow a ward specialist. We all know Twilight has the most sophisticated wards, given that half of Primoria wants to murder you.”
Mallas coughed and reached for the bottle of wine.
“I’m a threat to the realm.” I sipped my wine. “Have you not heard?”
Elion dismissed that. “I only need two.” He straightened and lifted two fingers. “My treasury was robbed.”
The last time I had sent him a ward specialist, he had used him to break a ward on a stolen fleet. It had been a political mess where at least two Thalvarnan officials had to be bribed.
I scrutinized him until he shifted in his seat, hope thinning.
“I'll send you one,” I said. “And I am giving them strict instructions to only raise wards. Not break them.”
“Wonderful!” He slapped the table, earning a curse from Mallas. “You have my word.”