“Your Highness,” he said, casting the band of gold onto the nearest divan.
“How impertinent,” said Rhy, kissing his way down Alucard’s jaw, leaving a trail of gold dust in his wake.
They stumbled toward the bed, wrestling with the clothes between them.
“Too many buttons,” growled Alucard, tearing one off with his teeth.
Rhy let out a gasp of mock horror. “Those are very expensive,” he said as Alucard spat it like a seed into the dark.
They reached the bed, and Rhy leaned back, fingers sliding over the sheets. His shirt hung open, exposing a stretch of smooth, dark skin from collar to waist.
Alucard marveled at the prince.
He could see the threads in everything. The filaments of magic that wound through the room, enchanting the lanterns, protecting the windows and doors—spells laced into the palace after the prince’s abduction years before. He could see his own magic, lines of light that wove over his skin. But around Rhy Maresh, there were none.
No natural magic, no threads of power.
Nothing, and yet he was powerfully handsome, powerfully charming, powerfully witty, powerfully sharp, powerfully kind. He was—
Impatient, thought Alucard, and the prince pulled him down into the bed.
Just then, someone pounded on the door.
“Send them away,” said Alucard, breathless, but then the knocking ceased, and Rhy must have known what was coming because the prince dragged Alucard close and, instead of kissing him, pushed him roughly into the mountainous curtains beside the bed.
Alucard gasped, and nearly spat out a curse, when the door swung open and Kell walked in.
Kell, the prince’s older brother.
The king’s adopted son.
And a royal pain in the ass.
“You look flushed,” he said, his tone flat as wood and just as humorless.
Even through the curtains, Alucard could see the shine of Kell’s magic, silver as starlight and bright as a forge.
Alucard Emery was one of the most promising magicians in the empire. He could already wield earth and air, was learning water, too. He would become a triad, one of the few people who could control not one element, or even two, but three.
He had spent the last decade learning to wield his power.
And Kell made him look like a child fumbling in the dark. All because he was Antari, born with magic in his blood. It came to him as naturally as breathing.
Alucard hated him for it, though in truth he would have hated him a great deal less if he weren’t also such a bastard.
Rhy cleared his throat. “I was dreaming,” he said.
Alucard could hear the smile in his voice. He held his breath, felt the silk shift a little. The next thing he felt was Kell’s power, forcing him bodily out of the curtains.
“Well,” said Kell, crossing his arms. “I must be dreaming too.”
Alucard straightened, brushing off his hands. “I didn’t realize I was in your dreams, Kell.”
“Only my nightmares,” said the prince, raising a copper brow. But it was the eyes beneath that unnerved Alucard.
One blue, the other black.
He turned to Rhy. “The king sent me to fetch you.”
Alucard snorted, and Kell rounded on him.
“Do you have something to say, Emery?”
“I’m just marveling. Is it some spell that compels you, or did you choose to be an errand boy?”
Kell glowered, but Rhy spoke first.
“Tell him I was asleep.”
“I will do no such thing.”
Rhy furrowed his brow and drew his mouth into a pout, and even though it was a farce, Alucard found himself impacted, wanted to wipe the lines from the prince’s face, to kiss away the crease between his eyes, to make him smile. It was a kind of power, he thought, even if it was not magic.
“Come on, Kell,” said Rhy.
“Yes, come on,” said Alucard. “Prove you’re not a little—”
“You forget your place.”
“Not at all,” said Alucard. “It is, of course, beneath your brother.”
His face cracked sideways.
Pain, swift and bright, bloomed on his skin. Kell hadn’t moved, but the air had moved, like a palm, against his cheek.
His own power rose, like heat. The floorboards groaned, the air began to churn, but Alucard only touched his face.
“You will regret that,” he said. “It is a crime to strike a noble.”
“The king is downstairs, waiting for his son. You could go down and plead your case. But then, he might want to know what you were doing in his bed.”
Rhy laughed, but there was not much humor in it. The breath escaped like steam, simply seeking a release. “I’ll be right down, Kell. I promise.”
Kell didn’t move. “I’ll wait,” he said, flicking his fingers. The discarded crown flung itself back into Rhy’s hands. “And you better change your shirt.”
Rhy looked down. “Why?”
He turned away. “You’re missing a button.”
* * *
The royal palace was traced with spells.
Some were there to keep things out, and others to keep things in, and a few to simply keep the massive structure looking its best. Alucard could see the threads of all of them, and thus could find the seams, the places where they did not reach.
He slipped out of the palace and onto the street.
The Night Market rose to one side, tents spilling golden light into the street, the air filled with meat, and song, and scented smoke, but Alucard turned the other way, and walked past the palace grounds and onto the bridge.
He paused near the center and looked down at the crimson light of the river, a thousand threads running like silken fish beneath the surface. He smiled and held one hand over the side, the water rising to meet his fingers. It was then he caught sight of the gold streaked along his wristbone, remembered the touch of Rhy’s lips against his skin.
He cupped the water, rinsing the gold dust from his hands, his throat, his face, washing away the last traces of the prince before he went home.
II
The Emery estate sat just above the northern banks.
Alucard passed through the open gates and looked up in time to see a shadow sitting on the steps. His heart seized, but it was too small to be Berras. Gold hair trying to escape its braid, a dress bunched around her knees, his little sister, Anisa, sat at the bottom of the stairs, scowling at the courtyard floor.
He thought she must be angry, or hurt, but as Alucard drew close, he saw she was concentrating. Her magic danced around her in strands of vivid blue, and she bit her bottom lip as she squinted at the ground between her shoes, coaxing the dust into tiny sandstorms at her feet.
Alucard sank down beside her on the step.
“You’ve been practicing.” He brought a hand to rest on his sister’s hair. “What are you doing out here?”
“Father isn’t well,” she said. “And Berras is in a mood.”
Their father hadn’t been well in years, and their brother, it seemed, was always in a mood. He held out his hand, and the wind whipped beneath his palm, twisting itself into a small cyclone.
Anisa stretched out her hand, and he guided the curl of wind beneath her palm.
The cyclone held a moment, wobbling slightly, and Anisa let out a small, delighted laugh.
But it trailed off as footsteps sounded at their back.
The cyclone fell apart as Alucard turned and saw a shadow in the open doorway.
Berras.
They say that blood binds tightest, that family matters most. But if Alucard felt anything for his brother, it wasn’t love but fear.
Berras E
mery was not powerful. His magic hung wisp-thin around him, rose and fell in brittle filaments. But what Berras lacked in magic, he made up for in temper. In muscle and bone, in hands on skin, brutal and inelegant.
“Go inside, Anisa,” he said.
She opened her mouth, as if to argue, but Alucard touched her arm. “Go on,” he said. “And I’ll tell you a story before bed.”
Anisa rose and ran inside.
He would have gone with her, but Berras blocked his way.
He had their mother’s coloring, the dark hair, the storm-blue eyes, but in every other way he was their father’s echo. The set of his jaw, the way he flexed his hands, the judgment in his voice.
“Where have you been?” he demanded.
“Out for a walk,” said Alucard, feigning levity. “It’s a lovely night.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“It’s not a lie. Look up—you can see the weather for yourself.”
“And did the weather leave that gold streak along your jaw?”
Sanct.
Alucard fought the urge to reach up and wipe away the kiss.
“You caught me,” he said, forcing a smile. “I went down to the Blessed Waters. I know, not an establishment fitting my station, but the women there know their way around a bottle and a body.”
“You came from the palace.”
“No, I—”
Berras punched him hard in the stomach. The wind rushed out of his lungs.
“I told you not to lie.”
Alucard resisted the urge to reach for magic.
It would only make things worse.
“I will not let you ruin our name.”
“Oh, I assure you,” growled Alucard, “I haven’t ruined it at all. The prince uses it quite fondly.”
Berras slammed him into the doorframe, one hand wrapped around his throat.
“You are an Emery, not a whore. Whatever passed between you, it is done, little brother. It must be. There is no future in it.”
He let go then, and Alucard slumped, dragging air back into his lungs. He brought a hand to his throat.
Berras was right.
A prince could do as he pleased, indulge in lovers, feast on anyone who caught his fancy, but in the end they were both nobles, and nobles needed heirs.
In the end, it was nothing but a dalliance.
A flirtation that had run its course.
“Do you understand?” demanded his brother.
Alucard closed his eyes. “I do.”
“Good,” sneered Berras. Alucard exhaled, hoping he was done. And then Berras added, “Prove it.”
III
The carriage jostled as it went over the bridge.
Alucard kept his gaze on the window, the Isle glowing red beyond. It was that or be forced to look at Berras on the opposite bench. He was dressed, like Alucard, all in white, the Emery colors picked out in the blue trim of his coat, the silver buttons running down his tunic. Alucard wore a blue-and-silver scarf at his throat, to hide the bruising left by his brother’s hand.
The carriage pulled up in front of the palace.
A servant drew open the door, and Berras nodded for Alucard to step out first.
He didn’t move.
If he stayed in the carriage, if he didn’t go in, he wouldn’t have to—
“Out,” ordered Berras.
Alucard rose and climbed down. Berras followed, a silver walking stick in one hand. He held it not by the carved bird handle but by the staff, like a weapon.
A dozen carriages circled before the palace steps, the arriving guests all dressed in white, like priests. A tradition of the Summer Feast.
They were ushered inside, to the Grand Hall, a three-story ballroom of polished wood and shimmering crystal, a domed glass ceiling, and balconies that ran in filigreed bands beneath.
The terrace doors had been flung open to let in the summer air, and in the center of the hall, candied fruit spilled over banquet tables, gold platters piled high with meats. Summer wine poured from fountains and glittered on every passing tray.
Berras handed Alucard a drink.
“Smile, Brother. It is a party, after all.”
Alucard’s fingers tightened on the glass. Inside, frost spread across the surface of the summer wine.
He drank it in one freezing gulp and searched the room for Rhy.
The king and queen stood at the center of the hall, making pleasantries, but the prince was not with them. He scanned the hall and caught sight of Kell up on one of the balconies, perched like a crow. He searched the staircases, the dancing forms, but there was no sign of the prince, and Alucard held his breath and hoped Rhy had taken ill, hoped—
But Rhy Maresh had never missed a party.
Or a chance to make an entrance.
He arrived on the stairs in a crisp white suit and cloak, dripping gold. It lined the inside of his cloak and collar; it covered every clasp and trim. It hung from his ears, and painted his lips, and shone in his eyes.
He was dazzling.
And, for a brief, wonderful moment, Alucard forgot why he was there, forgot everything except the prince on the stairs.
And then Berras’s walking stick dug into his back, and he remembered.
“Put an end to it,” he said, “or I will.”
Alucard forced himself to move, and the silver cane fell away.
He should have felt lighter then.
Instead he just felt sick.
Alucard crossed the room toward Rhy. And Rhy, unknowing, came to meet him.
“Your Highness,” he said stiffly.
And Rhy must have thought it was a game, because he smiled and answered, “Master Emery, how fortunate we are to have you at the Summer Feast. Tell me…” The prince leaned in, as if he could not hear over the swell of the party. “Have you tasted anything sweet?”
This was the part where Alucard smiled. This was the part where he found some excuse to touch the prince, to fix a curl that had escaped his crown, to make a joke, simply so he could brush a hand, a sleeve, a shoulder.
But instead he frowned, forcing all emotion from his voice.
“I fear I have no appetite tonight.”
“Oh?” The prince thought it still a game. He reached out and touched his arm. “I’m sure we could find something.”
Alucard withdrew from the prince’s touch.
“Your Highness,” he said curtly. “I think you mistake my friendship for something fonder.” He did not raise his voice, nor did he whisper. The nearest heads turned, and Rhy faltered, the humor bleeding from his face.
“Friends?” he said softly. “Is that all we are?”
“You are a spoiled child,” he said under his breath. Alucard closed the final space between them. “What else could I want from you?”
He hated the words, even as he forced them out. Hated the open shock in Rhy’s face, the moment before it snapped shut, before his features hardened into a mask of royal composure.
“Well, then, Master Emery,” he said stiffly, “may we both find better company.”
The prince turned and walked away, and Alucard felt suddenly, horribly tired. He found Berras on the terrace, looking out over London.
“It’s done,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Berras raised a brow. “The feast has just begun.”
Have you tasted anything?
Alucard swallowed hard.
“I’m not hungry,” he said. “Do not make me stay.”
Berras straightened, twirling his silver cane. “Very well, little brother. Let’s go home.”
* * *
Berras poured himself a drink.
“I’m going to bed,” said Alucard, c
limbing the stairs. Anisa’s room was dark. His father’s, too. He locked his door, crossed his room, and threw open the balcony doors, desperate for the air, only to be met with the palace, its steepled spine rising over the river. He gripped the rail until his fingers ached.
What had he done?
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the prince’s face. Not the mask, but the one he’d seen beneath, the pain as bright as the gold in his eyes.
Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed and told himself it was better this way.
But it didn’t feel better.
It felt like a dull blade between his ribs. Like smoke in his lungs. He felt like a coward. A fool.
If only Rhy knew the truth.
If only Alucard had told him.
He should have told him, could have told him, found a way to say, It isn’t you, to say, It isn’t fair, to say, My brother is a monster, my father is cruel, to say, I want you, but I am afraid.
To say, We cannot all be princes.
Alucard looked down, over the rail to the top of the garden wall below. He’d climbed out this way a hundred times, when he was young, when doors were dangerous, and he needed to escape.
Now he swung his leg over the rail.
He had to say something to the prince.
IV
Alucard knew the ins and outs of the palace.
Rhy had shown him the way. He knew that if he followed this path up the stairs and across the second floor, then—
He slowed, then stopped.
The passage lanterns all shone with a soft gold light. But the hall was filling with a silver glow. The unmistakable shine of Antari magic.
He swore under his breath as the voice rose at his back.
“I knew you were stupid, Emery, but I didn’t think you were mad, too.”
Alucard turned, and faced Kell.
“I need to see Rhy.”
“You’ve seen him,” he said, a cold anger in his voice.
“I didn’t want to—”
“Leave.”
“I can’t,” pressed Alucard, “not until—”
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