“I’d say you should sleep on it,” Nevander says. “Tonight has been stressful. I’m not at my best.”
“You think I’ll calm down,” Seren accuses, and Nevander doesn’t reply.
The criticism is jagged. The expectation heavy. Seren can’t tell how much truly lingers in Nevander’s silence, and how much is the invention of his own insecurities. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Seren will never live up to this impossible title.
Nevander’s the only one who wants him to. And Haelwen, but she’s dead. Everyone else? The courtiers would scheme for or against anyone in Seren’s position. Primrose would conduct her rites according to tradition. The palace and trees would slowly resonate with another prince’s footsteps.
Seren wanted the power to mend what he could of his broken family. He could still do that. His position is probably more secure than ever, after Morana’s failure.
He’s just too tired for centuries of this.
“You’re right.” Seren rubs his eyes. “I’m not at my best. But I need more than a night’s sleep to fix that.”
“I can clear your schedule for tomorrow,” Nevander says, ever helpful. Inescapably so.
“Clear yours,” Seren says. “I don’t want to see you for a week.” It must be true if he can say it, but it still hurts.
Only a breath before Nevander bows his head. “All right.”
Too easy. Perhaps Nevander understands that Seren needs space. A chance to figure out his own wishes without the constant pressure of Nevander’s devotion.
Or perhaps Nevander simply sees a loophole.
“And don’t secretly follow me,” Seren says sternly.
Refusal tightens Nevander’s jaw again. His hand shifts, like he’s preventing himself from reaching out. Seren’s sense of helplessness surges. He doesn’t want to be alone. He wants Nevander to follow him. But he can’t continue like this. He knows what Nevander is about to say before—
“I’m sworn to protect you,” Nevander grits out.
Seren’s temper flares. “Then I release you from your vow!”
Power lashes out. His words slice through trembling air, and Nevander staggers. A gust of hurt, laced with shards of panic, whips Seren back.
The pain vanishes as Nevander ruthlessly secures his shields. He can’t hide his sudden anger, though, or he doesn’t try. His voice chills as he turns away. “Rest well, Your Highness.”
“Nevander,” Seren says, urgent, worried.
Nevander doesn’t slow. The goldwood doors crack shut behind him, leaving the room in hurt silence.
Seren stumbles towards the nearest sofa. His legs can’t carry him that far. Instead, he sinks to his knees, trembling, beneath the painted family he never met.
Haelwen, regal on her throne. The golden wisps of light must symbolize the memories she gathered. No indication of Zavriel and Briar’s talents. Perhaps they were too young to discover them. Ten-year-old Briar is shown with a tidingbird. He would probably like Harmony.
See what could have been, the painted faces seem to taunt. Look at what you’ll never have.
Seren exhales, breath sharp with regret. He hadn’t expected to release Nevander’s vow. He hadn’t known his words held such power. He hadn’t meant to hurt Nevander.
Yet the vow itself has hurt Nevander long enough. Nevander should be grateful, which means he’ll resent Seren for it instead. Seren has enough experience with emotions to know that.
Much good it does him. Seren averts his gaze from the portrait. His gloved fingertips dig into his lace-clad thighs. All this finery fits him perfectly. He’s the one that doesn’t fit.
For a few delusional weeks, Seren thought that he mattered. But he’s too weak to fight his own battles, too slow to find different solutions. He watched helplessly as Nevander risked his life for a title Seren wants and hates in equal measure.
Meanwhile the other revelers watched in breathless anticipation. They cheered Nevander’s victory, but they would have cheered Morana as well. They have no reason to want Seren in particular as king.
Seren’s next breath falters into a sob. He never thought he’d miss Wymond so fiercely. Edith and Alard might have hated him, but they never expected duels to the death.
A tender weight settles over Seren’s shoulders. He yanks around, poised to snap at Nevander. But there’s nobody in the room. A soothing, familiar presence eases a fur blanket around Seren.