Deimos
“Fuck, Luther, I thought we were doing it together?” Some days I want to punch my brother so hard for the simple satisfaction of how much he frustrates the hell out of me.
“The moment felt right.” He shrugs and stares out at the snow-covered woodland surrounding us.
Guards are behind us. We left the kingdom with help from the mages, making us undetectable by the Bloodcursed for just long enough to race away from the castle where they linger.
“We were alone,” Luther continues, justifying himself. “Stuck in the cottage out in the woods during a storm. And well, the discussion came up, and it just happened that I had grandmother's ring on me.”
I narrow my gaze at him with pure disbelief. “You've carried that thing with you since you were eight when she gave it to you, so don't fucking lie to me.”
He glances over to me from atop his black mare, half smiling, not remorseful at all about asking Guendolyn to marry him without me there. “You really want to do this now, while we're going to meet Father?”
“Fuck yes,” I say. “We had agreed, but keeping your word is impossible for you.”
“What are you angry about the most, brother?” he snaps back. “That somehow you think you'll miss out, or that I spent a night with her and you didn't?”
“Fuck you.” In truth, he's right on both accounts, but I won't admit it out loud. I'm still pissed at the stunt he pulled. I turn my attention to the landscape, keeping an eye out for Bloodcursed. That is the focus, not the fire brewing in the pit of my stomach that I wanted to be there for Guendolyn.
The more I think about it, the more sure I become that I want to hold my own proposal to her, with my own ring. It feels right that she has one from each of us. Once we arrive back, I'll put that into action. In all honesty, I wanted us to do this before she found out Ahren was marrying someone else. For her to know she wasn't alone, that she always had Luther and I.
It's not too late, but we have to escort our dickhead father back to our home. First get this worthless exercise out of the way, then I'll be back in the castle with her.
“I still don't understand why we have to greet the bastard,” Luther growls in my direction as our horses trot alongside one another along the wide path.
The sunlight is bright, the sky clear, but being out here is the last thing I want.
“Mother insisted.” If it was up to me, our real father would have never been invited to Ahren's wedding... and this is why I detest political bullshit.
Luther grumbles something under his breath, his knuckles white from how tightly he holds the reins. We all hate our father for different reasons, but at the core of the problem, he's an arrogant turd who puts wealth and status before family.
“You think he'll bring his bride?” Luther sneers when he asks the question. The woman is young enough to be our sister.
“Might be awkward, but it wouldn't surprise me.”
“I was thinking the same. It's another opportunity for him to rub it in Mother's face. Maybe we can speak to the chef about slipping something special in their meals so they spend the night in the toilet rather than at the ceremony.”
“Get it done, and I won't tell a soul.”
The evil smirk on his face has me grinning. Growing up under Father's thumb, the only way Luther and I survived was to make jokes, pull pranks—anything other than constantly fear his wrath.
We soon reach a crossroads. Straight ahead goes to Ash Court, and the other two lead toward the east and west kingdoms.
Standing before us are a dozen soldiers on horses, and near them is a golden carriage pulled by two mares. So he brought his bride after all. I sigh.
Our father rides forward on a large chestnut horse. He's filled out, grown stocky since we last saw him years ago. Gray streaks his short, dark hair, eyebrows bushy, and he's dressed in a thick winter coat the color of the blackest night.
“Luther, Deimos,” he announces upon approach. Our guards part for him to join us.
Father pauses in front of us, permanently wearing that angry expression like he might strike out unexpectedly. Except we're not kids anymore. He is a lord, while we're princes, and hitting us comes with death, no matter who you are.
“So they sent you two? Not even His Highness can pull himself from his new throne to meet his old father.” His nostrils flare, but I don't even speak to the man. The fact I'm out here is more than enough.
“Welcome.” Luther sits tall on his horse, taking the high road. “The woods surrounding Shadow Court are dangerous. You will see Ahren and Mother soon enough.” There's bitterness behind Luther's words.
Father snorts, his nose wrinkling. “Right, your land is still cursed. Shame, really.”
With the vile smile tugging on his lips, it’s easy to see he's enjoying every chance he gets to remind us of our downfall.
I grind my teeth, wondering if anyone will notice if we accidentally feed him to the Bloodcursed.
He glances over his shoulder and gives a low, short whistle at his men, and they begin coming toward us.
Father swings back to us. “Let's get moving. My ass and legs are aching from the saddle, and I want to hear everything about how King Tibout died. I've been hearing some strange rumors about your court, like a breach of Bloodcursed and fairies. Boys, maybe my arrival is exactly what Shadow Court needs.”
He rides up ahead of us as though suddenly he is in charge. My insides sear with fury, and when I glance over to Luther, the corded muscles in his neck twitch.
Gods, it may not be the Bloodcursed that kills our father after all.
Chapter 12
Ahren
“Get the fuck out of my
