Non-Heir (The Black Mage 0.5)(10)

The boy picked at a burr in the pup’s coat.

“I know this ‘un misses you when you’re gone.”

Darren scowled and withdrew from the pen. He didn’t want to know it was attached, not when he was trying so hard to ignore the way he looked forward to these visits.

The kennel master gave the prince a long look. “You know, your highness, the king plans on you and that brother of yours picking one of the litter as your own for the ‘unt—”

“No.” The prince’s reply was instantaneous.

“But—”

“It is kind of you to keep it on, Heath.” The boy let go of the fence and started toward the doors. His life was a series of choices, and in this, the rule was clear. “My father wants a hound. So I will pick a hound.”



“And your archery, how is it coming along?”

“Very good, Father.” The crown prince sat a bit straighter in his chair as he lifted his chin to meet his father’s scrupulous gaze. “Today I shot one hundred and fifty yards.” Blayne hesitated for just a moment before adding, “And I hit four of every five targets.”

Darren glowered at the king’s right. He knew what was coming next.

“And you?” Lucius turned his steely gaze on his youngest.

“Well.”

“I was asking for a number.” The king’s tone made the room turn as cold as winter. Blayne sunk low and turned his attention to his plate while Darren set down his drink, his fingers numb.

“One hundred, Father.”

“Only a hundred after five and a half months of training? I expected more.”

The boy ground his teeth. “I didn’t have two years with the commander to guide me.”

“Your brother isn’t training to be a knight. You have had four years under Sir Audric training for that blasted school.” The king’s voice was a growl. “A knight should be best at all weaponry. There is no excuse for your negligence.”

The ten-year-old gave his father a forced smile. “Yes, Father.”

“Tomorrow during the hunt, you will not partake. We will say you injured your arm in practice and you will only speak to the others when directly addressed to praise Blayne’s performance.”

“You don’t want me to shoot?” Darren had been training for months on end, every spare second of the day. He might not be as good of a shot as Blayne, but he was certainly better than other kids in his year. Even Sir Audric had remarked on Darren’s incredible progress.

“We can’t have the court witness any blemish on the Crown. Your poor skill would only call embarrassment to our name.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” The boy knew he was treading in dangerous waters, but he couldn’t seem to stop the words from spilling out. “Why have me participate at all?”

“Because you are my son and you will do what I say.”

Darren hated those words. Just another rule dictating his life, and now stealing the one dream he had. He ate the rest of his roast in silence and listened as Blayne flourished under their father’s approving remarks. What a change from just a few years before.

The boy hated the both of them at that moment.

When he was finished with his dinner, Darren didn’t wait for the others to finish. He knew it would upset his father, as did most things, but the boy didn’t care.

Lucius’s voice rang out, hard and sharp when Darren reached the door. “I will be informing the lords you have a broken arm, Darren. Should you report to the stables without one, I will have the guards break it in three places instead of one.”

The boy paused a moment as fear took hold of his lungs, and then he made himself continue on. To a bystander, he would look careless, unaffected, aloof. It was the only face he knew, the only one that was safe.

He made it all the way to his chamber. Then he let the mask fall. Roiling anger hit him in a wave, followed by a sick sense of shame that the man could still make him feel fear after all this time. The tremors started in his limbs, and he sunk to the floor, clutching his knees to his stomach until the darkness passed.

“Heroes don’t show fear.” He whispered the words over and over. But just then, it didn’t seem to make a difference.

There was a knock on Darren’s door much later that night. It wasn’t locked, so by the time he rose, Blayne had entered the room. The older boy’s gaze fell to the red rims around the younger boy’s eyes.

“Darren, I’m sorry.”

“You were so eager to please Father, you didn’t think twice about me.” The boy fixed his older brother with a glower. If Blayne had not detailed his shots, the king would never have compared his performance to Darren’s. If Blayne had just replied “very well,” the king would never have asked for specifics.

“What is a broken arm,” the boy added bitterly, “so long as it isn’t your own?”

“I never wanted that!”

“Well, you certainly didn’t prevent it.” Darren pointed toward the door, indicating for his brother to leave.

“I...” The heir wore an expression of guilt; he wasn’t used to being the one to blame. “You don’t know what he’s like!”

“You are a coward.” The words were cruel, but they were true, and both of the boys knew it.