Threads of Fate

Chapter 42 ~ To Be Among the People

    The village was in sight by late afternoon. There had been no further signs of any warriors or travelers, though they hadn't eased their pace. They finally let their mounts slow to a walk when they were just outside the village, not wanting to draw more attention to themselves by appearing on edge and in a hurry, although Azael still felt the prick of watchful eyes.

    Perhaps they should have brought Kahari with them, given how her presence had eased a Human's apprehension before. He did his best to appear unintimidating regardless, granting small smiles to any Human who caught his gaze. None of them looked at him in recognition for which he was thankful, but also disappointed.

    He'd never felt detached from his people in Arcan, but that didn't mean they felt the same. A King's face should be well known to his people. Or rather, a future King's. How could he expect his subjects to entrust him with protecting their homes and lives if they didn't even know what he looked like?

    "You're quiet," Tissaia murmured. "What are you thinking about?"

    Azael swallowed, the empty space on his hip where Orilight had been now leaden with its absence. "That I need to spend more time among my people. I'm grateful they don't recognize us at this moment, but don't you think it's important for a King or Prince's face to be well known to their people? And vice versa, my people should be more well known to me."

    "I agree. Has it given you ideas for when you return to Arcan?"

    He didn't miss the pointedness of her wording. "Yes. I think I'll spend less time in Arcan when I can spare it. But with what that male claimed about my father...I'm not sure how much time that will be."

    "Have you ever thought about usurping him?"

    "I'd be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind, but that's not how I want to inherit his crown."

    "Even if it's in the best interest of your kingdom?"

    Azael glanced to the side of the street as a small girl pointed at them with a sudden exclamation. Her mother snatched her arm and drew her back, her lips moving in a firm admonishment before she cast a distrusting look at the Fae.

    "Many tyrants have come into power with sweet lies and false promises, claiming their actions were in the best interest of their kingdom," he answered quietly. "I will not be one of them."

    "Your father could live another thousand years yet. Maybe even two." 

    "I'll only be two-thousand years then myself. At the prime of my life. That would be a good age to become King."

    "And until then you'll just remain in Mavron's shadow, letting him overturn every decision you make because of his petty spitefulness?"

    Azael didn't answer. He knew his reasons for his decisions, but to help Tissaia understand would take more time than they currently had. No, he didn't intend to remain in his father's shadow forever. This entire journey had proven to him over and over again that he should be doing more for his people, and he would.

    But he couldn't take away the one thing that gave his father's life any worth. Much as he disliked the male, he was still his father, and he was the only family Azael had left. Somewhere deep within himself was the little boy who had once looked up to Mavron and found no shame in resembling him.

    He would come up with something though. He couldn't allow his people to suffer because of his own sentiment. Perhaps there would be a way to give his father the illusion of being King, while taking all of a King's responsibilities onto himself.