Page 13 of Courting War
A thick and sticky silence filled the air between the friends. It was hot and burning and felt like Kellyn’s soul was being tarred and feathered.
All three of their expressions were different versions of horrified. Emmett’s face was red hot, and filled with fury, Cecile’s was a dance of sorrow, and Kellyn’s was an image of horror.
“I hope you have an explanation for that,” Kellyn’s father said, catching up with them, a horde of vultures flanking him.
One vulture was Gallagher, with a feral smile spread across her gleeful features. She bathed in disorder and pain. “How truly terrible. You’re going to die, probably horrifically; you must feel so curse—sived.” She said the word cursed like cursive, and Kellyn’s mouth dropped open.
She did this.
She intentionally switched out the typed pages with cursive handwriting. The large loops and self-indulgent lettering could easily have been Gallagher.
“You did this?” Kellyn’s voice crackled like embers.
“We can fix this.” The queen approached with her head held high, holding the dignity of the gods on her shoulders.
Kellyn’s proud mask slid across his face. “There’s nothing you can do, Mother.”
“The idiot announced it in front of the entire country.” The king’s words twisted off his tongue. “There is nothing we can do except watch our eldest—and heir—die before our eyes.”
“I see you have such little faith in my abilities.” Kellyn sucked in a breath and stilled his movements, glowering at his father. “I am the commander of your best forces. I’ll be fine.”
“Even if you were the most skilled Theoden Champion in the last 500 years—which you’re not—you still couldn’t win the Sacrifice without the aid of a god, and since Theodra hasn’t bothered to show up—”
“There must be a divine reason for all of this,” the queen interrupted.
“Divine reason?” The king scoffed. “The idiot couldn’t read the correct name. It seems pretty simple to me.” A muscle in his jaw feathered. “Perhaps this is for the best. How can we have an heir of Theoden, a country built on strategic intelligence, who can’t even read?” he said, the last bit through his teeth and lower than a whisper.
The words hit like a spear to Kellyn’s heart, but he lifted his chin and raised an eyebrow as if none of this small talk meant anything to him. He was forever the arrogant, unbothered prince.
“Iwan,” the queen scolded, her eyes darting to everyone who didn’t know Kellyn’s secret.
“What’s done is done. No one can change it. I’m the champion.” Ice slid over Kellyn’s countenance and under his breath so that only his parents and friends could hear what he said, “At least now you will get an heir you’re not ashamed of.” He said sternly, “If you would excuse me, there is much to prepare.”
Without waiting for a response, Kellyn strolled out of the ballroom, heading to his room. His friends followed in silence. They knew better than to discuss any of this in the hallway—in the open. One never knew who was eavesdropping. The paintingshad ears in the palace. As did the doors, walls, and sculptures. Not literally, although given the gods’ unknowable abilities, no one truly knew the depths of their spying.
The gods knew far too much for their own good, but they weren’t omniscient.
Once the chamber doors clicked shut behind them, Emmett rounded on his friend and demanded, “Why did you do that?” The boy’s face was the red of a firestorm. “I could have done it. You didn’t have to be so damned proud and arrogant. I don’t need your protection.”
Kellyn glowered and flexed his feet like a feline preparing to strike. With such remarks, Emmett very much needed protection . . . from the prince.
“You stole my glory,” Emmett continued. “This was my chance to prove myself. My chance to die honorably and join the heroes of old in the Valysian Fields.”
“I—what?” Kellyn’s frustration simmered as the strength of the words hit him, a bleak understanding settling into his bones. The name on the paper—the true champion—was supposed to be Emmett. It made sense. Emmett was first in their class of the Agoge, Cecile was second, but Kellyn was seventeenth. He would’ve been ranked far lower if not for his unmatched talent in physical challenges. But Emmett was intelligent, strong, honest, and clever. All traits valued beyond all others in Theoden.
“I’m not weak,” Emmett said as the shadow cat butted her head against his legs—always trying to comfort, especially in times of high stress. “I’m a warrior like you, and I’ve earned my place among the aristocracy in Theoden.”
The class system in the country worked on merit and inheritance. Either someone was born into the upper classes or earned their way in through works and talent.
“I didn’t, you—” Kellyn began.
“Oh,” Cecile interrupted, staring at the paper. “It’s in cursive.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Emmett yelled.
“Nothing,” Kellyn bit back, “nothing. That’s enoughprotesting Emmett, I didn’t believe you could do it. But I can.” The lie slid off his tongue seamlessly; after all, he was an expert liar. Kellyn didn’t want to lie to his best friend, but he’d do anything to protect his secret—including hurting Emmett. But under no circumstance could he find out.
“You arrogant, pompous asshole,” Emmett growled, and Kellyn’s insides caved in. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that I was far superior in our classes.”
