"If you're going to stand there and stare at me all day, then we'll get nothing done," Alaric chides.
Renit has felt rage in recent weeks, mainly directed at his father, but a brand-new batch of emotions slams through his chest as he stares at a dead man walking. The prince mourned this man, stood next to his grave and bowed his head in appreciation for a commander that deserved better than what he received.
When the soldiers said, 'to hell with him', Renit was the one that forced them to mourn. For every commander is remembered with honor even if they gave no acknowledgment back. His death had been swift, a mere slice to the throat, but in the darkness of the cellar, Renit can't tell whether that wound was a fake. The cut might have been too shallow, he couldn't tell at the time as someone threw him back into the fray of battle.
Alaric has risen. All this time and he wasn't dead. He's alive and a leader of the rebels.
"You left your soldiers to die," Renit snaps. "You faked your death, and for what? For this?"
There's one thing that always bothered Renit about the commander. His ability to appear unfazed in any given situation. Clearly, that hasn't changed. Alaric puts one foot in front of the other, seemingly walking on a tightrope with no fear, and lifts his head, hair cast of silver, to meet the eyes of the banished prince.
That's at least one difference in the commander, his hair color. Someone had to know he faked his death, leading him to conceal his identity when he had once been a natural blond. "Did you really subject me to serving your father for hundreds of years? He's killing innocents, prince, and—"
"I'm not a prince," Renit interrupts.
Alaric looks between the two witches and searches for answers in Bren's expression but finds nothing. There is so much to explain and so little time they don't have to waste if they plan on doing something rather than sitting here all day.
"Well, then I suggest we take a seat. There's plenty to discuss." Alaric waves a hand over to the two leather sofas in the corner, separated by a low table with a glass top.
Renit never once cared for Arego and longed to watch the village burn, but upon seeing his old commander move in before the spirits have settled, bringing in his own belongings, causes a twinge of guilt and need to protect rise within him. Roux doesn't want someone coming into her home and making it their own; the least Bren could do is force the commander to live somewhere else. A cellar is as valuable as any.
Ignoring Alaric's offer, Renit folds his arms over his chest. "The least you could've done is left this room empty. This isn't your home, nor does any of this belong to you," he warns.
"We could say the same for you. The only reason this village is empty is because you came through here and raised hell," Bren snaps. Hot breath flares from his throat and mixes in with the flame of his power, veins glowing red underneath his skin.
All attention goes to Renit and more eyes than there are in the room are watching him, waiting for a response. "My father forced me to do that. If I didn't, he would have stripped me of my title right there. I had to obey."
That isn't enough for Alaric, who says, "Now you understand why I faked my death. I needed to get away from your father. Truly, you see it now."
Renit, still feeling the twinge of a king's control, almost doesn't acknowledge his father's wrongdoings. He remembers Roux, alone and lost, and nods. If he has to work with these rebels, then he will. But only for the purpose of getting back to her and bringing her back to the witch she once was. There's no other purpose for Renit. Once this is over, the rebels will be such again. His enemies.
YOU ARE READING
Aligning the Forgotten ✓
Fantasy[Book 3 of the Grounding the Storm series] Renit's worst nightmare has come true. Roux isn't at his side, and he's banished from his throne and his crown, leaving him nameless and on the run. While trying to escape his father's cruel reign, he has t...
