Chapter 3

3

COLDEN

T he next morning, the complicated feelings I endured the night before have thankfully disappeared. I’m quite good at burying notions that require introspection. My most complex thought as I dress for the day is how I’m going to stop my stomach from grumbling.

To solve that dilemma, Alexus and I stroll downstairs, following the aroma of a hearty breakfast. The prince is in a meeting, or so we’re told, while we’re encouraged to dine to our hearts’ content.

It’s shocking that, in a residence of this size, so few people are actually here. The staff, yes. But outside of them, there are those three members of the Brotherhood we met last night and the prince—and Alexus and I, of course. But that’s all I’ve seen.

“In the past,” Alexus says quietly when I inquire about this oddity, “kings and queens used Shara as a summer home. Lots of hunting and time outdoors, trips to Orr Valley, and baby making, but little else. The rest of the year was typically spent at Min-Thuret.”

“Is it weird?” I ask, prowling around the walls he keeps so well erected. “Being here again?”

He shovels a bite of eggs into his mouth. “Weird enough. It mostly seems like I’ve never walked these halls. It’s been so long, and so much has changed.”

I know how he feels. Time has a way of eating memory. What I recall of the Western Drifts from three centuries ago seems like a vague and distant dream. Nothing about that time feels concrete anymore. Any familiarity is thanks to my recent visits to the archipelagos, as though my early years spent there never happened.

It isn’t long before we’re gathered from the dining hall by one of the staff and led to a grand office on the second floor. It’s just me and Alexus, for now.

Curiosity seizes me instantly once our guide is gone, so I stroll by the massive desk positioned in front of a floor-to-ceiling arched window and consider digging around in its drawers. I know I should probably behave, lest I get caught, but the temptation is so strong. There’s so much I want to know about the prince. Surely he hasn’t hidden the truth about who he is from everyone.

While I’m weighing my chances and discreetly shuffling papers for a better view at their text, Alexus drifts around the outer walls where several framed portraits hang side by side.

“Who is he?” I ask when I notice him pause, shove his fists into his pockets, and stare at one portrait in particular. The man in the painting looks strong, proud, and stern. Broad shouldered and barrel chested. He’s older, with short, graying hair, and by his attire, it appears he’s royalty. They all are.

“This would be the infamous King Gherahn,” Alexus says.

I stop my rifling, sensing the weight of the moment, and walk over to stand at his side. With a spiteful eye, I study the man who probably hated Colden Moeshka the Soldier as much as Neri did.

“So this is the bastard who made your life miserable and who probably wished me dead more than a few times,” I say.

“The one and only.”

Alexus’s expression is hard, his gaze distant, lost in an attempt at recollection, as it has often been since we arrived on the Eastland shores.

I open my mouth, to say what, I’m not sure. What is there to say to someone who’s staring into the eyes of a villain from their past? A villain who ripped them from their family and changed the course of their entire life, memorialized in portrait, like a regal, just leader?

Before I can think of any words to utter to my friend, the prince enters the room, followed by his three advisors. Dressed in riding gear and another fine, green jacket, he looks a little tense, his hand wrapped tightly around a scroll sheathed in a bronze casement.

He pauses and inclines his head in our direction, glancing quickly at Gherahn’s painting. “Good morning, Colden. Alexus. I hope you both rested well.” He holds up the casement. “I have King Regner’s original treaty. As I told Colden last night, I’ll sign the agreement just like my predecessor. I simply wanted the pair of you to witness the occasion.”

Alexus and I share a glance. This is what we crossed the Malorian Sea for, the assurance that this treaty, which has protected our land for so long, will remain.

It’s over and done within minutes, much to my satisfaction. It is indeed the same document I signed so many years ago. I do, however, find it interesting and more than usual that the prince’s signature, though written with the most elegant penmanship, reads: The Prince of the East.

The prince re-rolls the parchment and slips it back inside the casement before handing it over to one of the men from the Brotherhood. Then, his attention falls solely on me.

I think back to when I exited the carriage and realize this is something about him I think I love. The way he can make me feel like the only other person in existence.

No one ever looks at me that way.

“I thought you might enjoy a ride through the countryside,” he says, his face bright, any previous tension having vanished. “I’ve already had the groomsmen prepare the horses, if so.”

Alexus rests his meaty arm across my shoulders and displays a rare grin. “We’d love that, actually. We’ll change into our riding boots.”

Disappointment freezes the prince’s smile. I feel it, too, having thought for a brief moment that we might have more time alone, excited at the prospect, though also a bit uneasy after all those feelings last night.

“I still don’t trust him,” Alexus says as we walk down the corridor toward our rooms. “There’s just something about him. He’s almost too good. Too innocent. To be an Eastland ruler, that is.”

“And you don’t think I can take care of myself? I doubt those Brotherhood bastards will ride with us, so if the prince tried anything at all, I could turn him into an icicle in a matter of seconds. You and your brawn and dagger aren’t needed, my friend.”

He doesn’t listen, though. Together, with the prince, we head down to the stables, and together, with the prince, we head out across the open landscape on horseback. It’s a beautiful day, and a beautiful ride, filled with exploration and a few stops, including lunch on a blanket by a stream that could’ve been much more enjoyable had Alexus stayed at the palace.

The next few days are much like this one. We wake, eat, and then the prince takes us both on excursions into various parts of Vale. We go for a day-long hunt in a nearby forest and visit the village and its many fine shops. We even ride over to a nearby settlement where the blacksmith and tanner are said to be the best in the land. The prince gifts each of us with daggers made to our specifications and fur-lined leather coats to take home for the coming winter. The people are friendly and steeped in Eastland traditions.

Our evenings are spent dining on the best food and wine I’ve ever tasted, including meat from our hunt—though the prince still hardly eats—followed by drinks in the parlor. Alexus relaxes enough to tell a few of our more interesting tales, keeping the prince thoroughly enthralled and entertained.

With each hour I spend in the prince’s presence, I care less and less that I know so little about his past or that he has no name, at least one he doesn’t want to share. I like him. His demeanor. His voice. His smile. His laugh. The way he walks. The way his hands look when fisting his horse’s reins. The way his strong back flares when he pulls a bow. The way he interacts with his people. There isn’t anything thus far that I haven’t liked, and I don’t know how to feel about that.

Typically, when I have stirrings for another person— physical stirrings—it’s short-lived. Something always ends up irritating me, whether it be neediness, or true insight to their character, or a clinging personality. It varies. But no one is perfect. No one ever even feels like they might be perfect. Not even close.

Until now.

The most imperfect thing about the prince is that he rules the Eastland Territories.

On our fifth and last night at Shara Palace, I stop Alexus before we go down for dinner.

“I’d like some time alone with the prince tonight if you could so kindly make your exit at an opportune time.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at me with that smirk of his. “I knew this was coming.”

“You did not.”

“I did. You can’t help yourself.”

“I want a kiss, that’s all. Nothing more. I’ll be satisfied with just that.”

He cocks a brow. “We leave first thing tomorrow morning. What good will come of a kiss now? Temporary, remember?”

I throw up my hands. “How can I possibly forget when you keep reminding me? I’m fully aware nothing can come of this, Alexus, but it doesn’t have to. For some of us, something is better than nothing. To feel some spark of closeness and attraction and desire. You manage to shut that out, but I can’t. I have become the man I am because of the connections I can still forge with other people. I love sex. And I love kissing. And flirting. And teasing. And all manner of things you never do. It makes me feel alive and more human than the undying thing I am .” I grab his black lapels, and after a few moments of deep breathing, I smooth them and lower my voice. “Please, just make yourself scarce tonight so I can have this one small memory to carry home.”

He reaches up to hold my wrists. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, Colden. That’s all. The physical things you just mentioned are understandable and normal. But I haven’t seen you look at anyone the way you look at the prince. It worries me that you’re going to leave here a torn man with a torn heart.”

I scoff and lower my hands. “Never. My heart is not involved, you should know that by now.” I wink. “But other body parts are completely in play.”

He huffs a small laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“I very much am. I’m also persistent.” I bat my lashes at him. “Will you please leave me alone with my prince tonight?”

He shakes his head. “As bad of an idea as I think it is, yes. I will vanish at just the right time.”

I smile, glad that I’m finally getting a chance to do what I wanted from the first moment I saw the prince: steal a kiss.