𝐒𝐲𝐧 ┃𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

67. 𝑃𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑛 𝑆𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡

Syn

"Tonight is a very important night for the King," Matilda said slowly as if my ears couldn't keep up if she was speaking like a normal person. I hated when people did that with me. "You need to be on your best behavior, Syn. I'd like for you to be able to stay out of that damn cell," she sneered, her wrinkly face crinkling up into one of disgust as she straightened my tie.

"I'm always on my best behavior," I reminded her. She smiled, raising a brow as if she didn't fully believe me.

"Sure you are," she said. She tugged on the cuffs of the disgusting baby blue button-up irritating my skin and tightened the "family" cuff link the men in the family were supposed to wear. It was a circular pendant with an engraving of the letter "S"; no doubt meaning SinClaire.

They could've been more creative if you asked me. But it hardly mattered. I didn't belong here. I would've rather been some nameless boy living in the alleys of Jeradua than carry this name- first and last. It was a bit repetitive, Syn then Sin...but Julius wanted to prove a point. At least that's what my mother told me. My true father relinquished the right to name me at birth, and my mother gave that "honor" to my stepfather. Dumb decision.

A name that wasn't so on the nose would've been a lot better, in my opinion.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Syn?" She asked. She stuck her long and lanky fingers into a jar of gel and held it out to my hair. Before she could touch me I grabbed her wrist and shook my head. Her eyes widened in shock, a strange look appearing in her eyes before she faked a laugh and sighed. "I need to fix your hair for dinner. I don't want your father to have a reason to get upset with either of us."

I let go of her arm and shook my head. "He's not my father."

She sighed. "He may have his problems, but that man is your father. He's been here with you for the past eight years."

"I did not ask him to."

"You didn't have to," she said.

"You know who my father is, Matilda."

"Well then, where is he?"

Her question gleamed over in my mind. I didn't have an answer for her. It had been so long since I'd seen him, I hardly knew what he looked like. My mother told me he asked about me often so I knew he was curious about me. Yet he never visited. No birthday gifts, no intervention when I was being confined to the four walls they liked to call my bedroom. It was a room with no bed...it quite literally denounced the very definition of what a bedroom was.

Julius said it built character. And for as long as I'd been living there one would think I had all the character in the world but no one seemed to think so. I was called boring by most children that visited the palace. I couldn't fathom why they would think that. I was rather interesting inside my own head.

"I have something for you," Matilda spoke up, snapping me out of my head. I looked up at her as she toggled with the tie around her apron, and after a few moments she pulled out a wooden statue...with wings. "Here."

I held out my hand and she placed the tiny wooden carved statue in my palm. The carving was poorly done, shavings from the wood still hung around the etchings and I was sure if I held it the wrong way I'd get a splinter. "Wow," I said plainly. "What is it?"

"I was in the market earlier this week in Juva," she began, a large toothy smile on her face. "And there was a man on the side of the road ranting scriptures like a madman. He was selling these little things- carving them himself with a knife...while on the street! Can you believe it?"