Page 80 of A Sword of Ice
Uric was used to these displays. The two Fae had been together for so long, they knew one another’s moods, their pasts, and knew how to care for one another when the use of magic took its toll.
“I am no prince!” Laughter roared from his chest that he knew would embarrass him later. “No one heeds my demands when I only want to protect them from a worse fate.” He struggled, slipping one arm free that he used against Uric, punching against his friend.
“They do not know the cost of being royal,” Uric supplied. “They know nothing except their own foolishness.”
Valerio felt his body begin to sag against Uric’s as the energy began to leave him though the need to wage violence still thrived in his chest.
“What if she’s right?”
That was the worst part of this whole thing. What if Iona was right about it all and the Fae were not being killed but experimented on by humans?
Now Valerio had the suspicions to investigate in order to confirm or deny those claims, but he could not. Because his orders were to find the Elementals. He did not think one life was more important than others, especially when they had so little Fae left anyway. All Fae were important, Elementals, Seelie, and Unseelie alike. He did not want to pick and choose who to save, or what life to place over another.
The Elementals were important, but so were the Fae trapped in camps. Being a royal meant he was forced to prioritize who he was going to save. It meant hiding behind the shadows of King Ashera and following orders he did not like because to disobey a king meant death, even if it was his father. His cruelty extended even to Valerio and if he died, he’d not live to help those who needed it another day. There would be no one left to temper the king’s erratic moods.
“How can I call myself their prince if I am not willing to save them from such a fate?”
The urge to destroy slowly abated from Valerio’s body. The trembling ceased until he regained his full senses. That was when he became aware of his position. Of Uric pressing Valerio’s body tightly against him, rubbing soothing circles against the panes of his abdomen with one hand.
His pillowy yet sharp scent invaded Valerio’s nostrils, and it brought with it a certain level of comforts that only best friends could.
“You do not know if what she speaks is the truth,” Uric said quietly, his voice fully pulling Valerio from the mania. “We would risk a lot if we followed that theory only to discover it was not true.We cannot risk it.”
His words severed the doubts, and yet the guilt still did not ease.
Valerio sighed and straightened, pulling away from Uric and turning to face his long-time friend. Those black eyes were filled with worry, and Valerio tried easing it with a smile.
“I am fine.”
Uric didn’t look convinced. He reached out and touched him, his grasp warm and… caring.
Valerio breathed in through his nose and when he let it loose, he opened his eyes. Uric’s stared back at him, the depths telling a story that Valerio did not want to hear. It was a vulnerable expression, born from a weak moment. Uric was otherwise unreadable, kept his emotions tightly locked away behind blades of steel as sharp as his scent.
It was only in these rare moments when the two found themselves alone that Uric dared drop those defenses to look at Valerio like he was more than just his prince. More than just his friend.
It burned something inside Valerio’s soul, something painful. Because he knew what the look was, what it meant, what it longed for.
It was something he could never return.
Valerio pulled away from Uric and watched his friend’s expression fall. He did not like feeling like a cad, did not like feeling like he was hurting the one Fae who cared more about him than any other. But the heart was a fickle thing and had the ability to misinterpret the touch of a friend for something more.
Valerio would not do that.
“You are right,” he said firmly. “We cannot risk it.”
Uric’s perfected hardened expression slammed over his features. A tightness pulled at his whole body. Like he could read Valerio’s mind, knew what he was thinking, and a part of him hated his prince for it.
“I need to speak of this to my father, regardless.”
As if summoned, or waiting at the top of the stairs for this moment precisely, Weylyn stepped down. His golden eyes glittered with mirth over a broken, bruised nose that Ryker hadn’t bothered to heal. Not that Valerio blamed him.
“The king wishes to speak with you.” He smirked in Valerio’s direction, and the prince had to fight not to grit his teeth. Every interaction with Weylyn was slow torture. Yet he was forced to put up with him.
Valerio didn’t need to respond, didn’t need to give his permission. Weylyn’s golden eyes flared, rolling to the back of his head, and his magic reached out, pulling Valerio in.
Weylyn’s magic was an aggressive force. It felt like his subconscious was being pulled through a dark tunnel, suspended in nothingness. He wondered if this was what Weylyn felt when he used his magic, if he paid the price with his inability to move, see, or hear anything on the outside. He never asked but knew the Fae could read the question from his mind anyway.
Then he heard his father’s voice ringing out loud and clear, like an echo through his mind.
