Red Waters: The Unseen Alliance

Chapter Forty

11 YEARS AGO

The castle hallways were alive with warm, golden light as the servants bustled around in preparation for the evening's grand feast. Young Arto, barely thirteen but already carrying himself with the natural poise of royalty, paced the corridor, dressed in his finest tunic, embroidered with the intricate crest of his family. His face was alight with excitement, knowing the evening was meant to honour him—a celebration of his official naming as his father's heir.

As Arto scanned the crowd, his gaze fell on Kiernan, lingering in the shadows near a stone column. With a bright, genuine smile, Arto waved him over.

"Kiernan!" Arto called, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to envelop the entire hall. "Come on! You've got to sit at the high table with me tonight. I told my father it wouldn't be the same without you."

Kiernan's jaw tightened, though he forced himself to approach with a polite nod. Inside, his heart was a knot of mixed emotions: resentment, bitterness, and the lingering ache of betrayal he could never quite forget. He hated how easily Arto seemed to take everything for granted—the love, the title, the loyalty of the people Kiernan believed belonged to his own father.

"Oh, don't go out of your way on my behalf, Your Highness," Kiernan replied, the title slipping from his lips with a faint, mocking edge. His tone was controlled, almost measured, but he couldn't quite hide the bitterness lurking behind his words.

Arto laughed, oblivious to the undercurrent, and clapped Kiernan on the shoulder. "Come on, no need for all the formality. You're practically family." Arto's grin was so open, so genuine, it made Kiernan's resentment curdle further.

Kiernan gave him a tight smile, his face carefully composed. "Yes, practically," he muttered. But his mind seethed with unspoken anger. His father had been family once too—Arto's father's own blood—and yet he had been sacrificed for the crown.

Arto noticed the tension but misunderstood it entirely, leaning in with an encouraging grin. "I know it must be strange for you sometimes. It can be... overwhelming," Arto said softly, almost as if offering a kindness. "But as we grow up, you'll see. There'll be a place for you, too. Just like there's always been."

Kiernan bristled at the words, hearing only the condescension and pity laced within them. A place for me? he thought bitterly. Always beneath you, always second. He bit back a scathing remark, swallowing his resentment, and instead offered a stiff nod.

"Thank you for your... generosity," Kiernan replied, the words laden with sarcasm that Arto, again, missed entirely.

Arto's attention was called away by another guest, Kiernan lingered by the pillar, watching him with an intensity that bordered on hatred. Arto's kindness only amplified his anger, as if every well-intentioned smile and friendly gesture was a reminder of everything Kiernan had lost, of the stolen legacy he believed was his.

As he leaned against the cool stone pillar, seething beneath the mask of civility, Kael bounded over with his usual energy, his wide grin cutting through the tension that hung around Kiernan like a storm cloud. Barely a year younger than Arto, Kael seemed utterly unfazed by the royal pomp of the evening. With an irreverent grin, he nudged Kiernan's shoulder.

"There you are, lurking in the shadows like always," Kael teased, throwing a mockingly suspicious glance at him. "Shouldn't you be front and centre, basking in all this... royal glory?"

Kiernan shot Kael a sidelong look, his expression tight, but he couldn't fully ignore the mischief in Kael's voice. "I'll leave the basking to Arto," he replied flatly, though the edge in his tone softened, if only slightly.