“You dinnae think I’m nae aware of that?” He shoved Gordon’s shoulder, breaking his brother’s hold on his clothes. “That it couldnae possibly have occurred to me that he’ll nae want to stay in this hellhole a second longer than he needs to?” A fortnight. Hamish would be married before then, his mother would make sure of it. “That if I dinnae find a way out, I’ll nae get to choose what happens?” He swallowed hard, fighting to stave off the dreadful constricting of his throat. “I’ll be stuck. Alone. Just like you. Just like Nora.”
Gordon’s lips pressed together until they were no longer visible beneath the thick hair of his moustache. Anger lowered his brother’s brows. His brother’s eyes, dark in the dim light, bored balefully into him; a warning for him to silence himself.
“Except wait,” Hamish blurted, pressing the heel of his hand to his temple. “I willnae be alone, will I?” He pushed himself off the wall to pace a few steps down the corridor, keeping his back to his brother. “Nae if Mum gets her way. I’ll be trapped in a marriage I dinnae want, with a woman I could never love like she deserves. I ken it’s selfish to want love over duty.” He finally turned to face Gordon. “But am I nae allowed to be selfish over this?”
His brother stared at him in silence. Gone was the anger of smouldering coals brought to life. The pity that took its place was no less searing. “Are you sure it’s love you’re feeling, nae something else?”
“I think so.” He didn’t exactly have a reference, not beyond his siblings and their spouses. Even then, he had little idea as to what was mentioned behind closed doors. He knew what love was, of course. He loved his family—even his mother, for all her flaws—but this was different. Stronger. It touched something deep inside him that even his infatuation with the now long-dead stable master hadn’t ever reached. “How did you ken you were in love with Muireall?”
Gordon shook his head. “You cannae use me to gauge you and Darshan. That’s a path you’ve got to forge yourself.” He took a few strides towards Hamish. Slow and methodical, like a trainer approaching a spooked horse. “I get why you’re nae happy here. I really do. I think he does, too. And the fact he was willing to risk his life to—”
“I’m nae daft! I ken what he risked to save me.” Darshan could’ve died because of him. He probably would have succumbed to the strain on their way back to the castle if his brother hadn’t found them. He should’ve left me to die. None of this would matter, then.
The clans would’ve grumbled for a while, but ultimately understand there was no coming back from such an attack. They would’ve paid their respects and be on their way. “I just wasnae worth it,” he mumbled.
“I’m sure he would disagree.” His brother clasped his shoulder, squeezing tight. “We’ll find a way out of this. Just promise me you’ll nae do anything final.”
Hamish inclined his head. What other option did he have but to carry on?
Tendrils of fire poured from Darshan’s fingers. The heat crackled in the night air as the fireball seethed before him. The cool breeze caressed the flames, twirling those at the opposite side to Darshan into a column of smoke and diaphanous fire.
It wasn’t fair. Hamish’s mother knew and she still pushed for her son to marry, to lose himself in duty. She knew and didn’t care.
And there wasn’t a damn thing Darshan could do to stop it.
It wasn’t merely Queen Fiona he was furious with, but himself. Fool. He should’ve chosen his words more carefully. Why was it that even in trying to help Hamish, he wound up hurting the man? I should’ve kept my mouth shut. It hadn’t been his place to speak of it. Not like that. Now, everyone knew what Hamish had attempted. And Darshan…
Well, he had gone and undone the one thing he’d been sent here to do. Father’s going to kill me. Confine him to the palace’s inner chambers, at any rate.
With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the fireball across the archery range, mutely watching as it roared through the air.
The fireball smashed into the ground before one of the targets. Molten rock and singed grass flew up, igniting the coiled rope that made up the target.
Darshan stood at the edge of the range, watching the fire burn. In his head, the echoes of screams invaded his thoughts. The noises hadn’t stopped since he had brought Hamish back from the brink. Whispers. Impressions. Something not quite like a voice in the wind.
The target continued to blaze away. Just another example of damage he had inadvertently caused.
This whole disaster with Hamish was his fault, no matter what the man believed. If he had been more careful back home, had given some thought to the mess he might cause in sleeping with a betrothed man, then his father never would’ve sent him to Tirglas. If he hadn’t come here, hadn’t pursued Hamish, hadn’t made the idiotic decision to kiss the man in public…
“Pretty sure that’s nae what those targets were designed for.”
Darshan whirled at the voice, a shield already wrapping around himself.
Gordon leant on the low fence separating the archery range from the rest of the training ground. “Easy there, your highness. I’m nae here to harm you.”
“My apologies, for both the target and my behaviour in the hall.”
“It was some display, I’ll give you that.”
“It was a simple case of the mouth moving before the brain could catch up.” He shouldn’t have stormed out, shouldn’t have reacted in any fashion and certainly not have said the things he had. “I just—” His voice broke and he clapped a hand over his mouth. He could barely stand it, the thought of anyone
