The crown is too big. Too uncertain, too precarious, too close to teetering off the edge. My head is no place for it, but I can't bring myself to take it off. Not when I've worked so hard for it.
Mother nestles it into place, and a curl falls into my eyes. "How shall they die?"
My lips tug. "I've always wanted to see Cal fail in the arena."
She chuckles. "Vengeance to the last, my son."
"I want to see them." The words rush out, breathless and undignified. "Before they die. I need them to know I hold their lives in my hand, and for them to beg for mercy."
Mother smiles. "Then make it so."
I need no more prompting, draping my cape over the medals Mother had pinned on my uniform. None of them are mine, nor were they Father's, a collection passed down from king to king. I learned their feats in a classroom, propaganda Cal gobbled and I plowed through. How it must burn, for him to see them on my frame. To know his might is little more than my footnotes.
My ability is so faint I barely feel the silent stone, a gray shadow overhead and a glisten on the walls. How many Arvens were drained for it? How many died, whether by purpose or accident?
The cell is dimly lit, but I can still discern their bodies. How her head has nestled in his neck, sleeping with soft snores. Their feet entangle as if huddling for warmth. My head crawls. "In another life, I might be jealous."
Cal leaps from the floor and against the bars, hands outstretched to break my neck. I can't stop myself from flinching, even as he flails against the iron. I nudge the crown back into place. "Save your strength, brother. You will need it soon."
My blood pounds as he clutches the bars, wringing them as if he could tear them asunder. "Will it be you in the arena?" The words drip with poison. "Do you even have the nerve?"
I chuckle, eyeing Mare in the back of the cell. She stares at me, shaky, but unmoving. She will never dance for me as she did for him. I don't want her to anymore. "We both know I could never beat you with ability. So I beat you with my head, dear brother."
"Mavey." Cal gnashes his teeth, and I hope it hurts. "How could you do this to Father? To me? To her?"
My head tilts, and the crown slips. "A murdered king, a traitorous prince. So much blood." I almost crow, Mother's face dancing in the corner of my vision. She was proud of me, when I left her kneeling. How I saved myself from weakness forever. "They weep in the streets for our father. Or at least, they pretend to." Most are poor actors, ones without my years of sculpting and perfection. "The foolish wolves wait for me to stumble, and the smart ones know I will not." Mother's face flashes again, and I almost flinch. "House Samos, House Iral, they've been sharpening their claws for years, waiting for a weak king, a compassionate king. Oh, how they drooled at the sight of you!" I clasp my hands, pressing them to my heart. "Think about it, Cal. Decades from now, Father would die slowly, peacefully, and you would ascend." Bile floods my mouth. "Married to Evangeline, daughter of fangs and steel, with her brother at your side. You wouldn't survive the coronation night."
Cal goes rigid, scoffing. "Don't tell me you did this to protect a dynasty."
"Are you really surprised?" The question I came here to ask, one I know he will not answer. "Poor Mavey, the second prince. The shadow of his brother's flame. A weak thing, a little thing, doomed to stand to the side and kneel." My eyes find Mare again, and something twists beyond my control. "Betrothed to a girl with eyes for another, for the brother, for the prince no one could ever ignore." There is no stopping the words now, the bloody gash that seeps onto the floor. "You took everything that should've been mine, Cal. Everything."
