Non-Heir (The Black Mage 0.5)(2)

Blayne once said those were their true faces. Darren agreed.

After what seemed like hours, the man finally set them free. Both boys were tired and hungry, and while they were required at the palace tailor for new clothes, Darren convinced his brother to steal away to the kitchen first. Dinner wouldn’t come for three more hours, and with Blayne by his side, the servants would listen. They hated Darren. Their children always tattled.

“We should go soon.” Blayne’s eyes darted nervously toward the servants’ passage. He hated being late. Their father always said a king was on time.

The boy made a face. “You always worry.”

“You could stay.” Blayne swallowed. “You don’t need me here.”

Darren peeked out at the cook, Benny, who was scowling in his direction. He would never yell at the two boys for being in his quarters, not so long as one of them was the heir. The moment his brother left, the man would take the treats away.

“Just one more?”

The younger prince didn’t care if they got caught. Blayne was the worrier, not him.

“Where is he?”

Their father’s deep baritone came thundering down the hall, followed by the clatter of boots. For a moment, Darren’s stomach clenched tight, and then Blayne was shoving him through the servants’ quarters.

A second later Blayne was gone, jerked back out into the light as the door slammed shut behind Darren.

“You were supposed to be fitted for tomorrow.” Their father’s voice was low; Darren cowered behind the wall. He knew what that tone meant. The king had an audience.

“Where is your brother?”

“I… I d-don’t know.”

“And I suppose this little trip to the kitchen was your idea, too?”

The boy could hear Blayne’s quick intake of breath. He always grew quiet around their father. He sought to appease the king with obedience; Darren knew it would never work, and so he never tried.

Still, it was better not to provoke the monster.

Darren wondered why Blayne hadn’t told their father the truth. The servants hadn’t said anything, but of course, they wouldn’t unless addressed. That was another rule.

Darren held his breath, waiting.

“Are you lying to me, boy?”

He heard his brother’s gulp and then an even quieter whisper. “N-no.”

The king made a dissatisfied tut with his tongue. “Come with me.”

“Yes, Father.” Blayne’s last word came out a squeak.

The boy pressed his ear against the wooden panel. There was the crunch of boots as the man turned to the door, and then his brother’s hurried steps to match the longer stride. A minute later, when Darren was sure the two were gone, he turned the handle and peered out into the light.

The cook was already bustling around the stoves, attending to his preparations now that the king had left the room. The air was thick with the scent of baking bread and some kind of roast.

Darren’s stomach growled. The servants scowled in his direction, resenting his continued presence.

The boy reached out to steal one last apple tart and bumped against one of the serving knives. It came tumbling down, but his nimble fingers caught the hilt just before it reached the marble floor.

It was a bit too big for his hand, not meant for a child, but he liked the heft of it. And it was better than the sticks he used when he was pretending to be one of the guards. Wielding it made him feel like a daring thief or a knight. He could be a hero like the ones in the fantastical tales the nurse used to read before bed.

And so he took the knife and the tart and scampered out of the room, no one the wiser.

Darren was just licking the buttery crumbs from his fingers when he reached the Crown’s hall. It was a bit intimidating with its stone walls and swirling red and purple tile.

Two men in matching gray mail watched him as he scurried toward his chamber door. His steps echoed across marble as he ducked his head and made his way past. The knife was hidden in the back of his too-big boots. He needed to hide it before he went to the tailor, that man looked for reasons to tattle to the king.

Darren reached for the handle, which was still a bit too high without standing on his toes, and he heard a thud. His hand stilled as it happened again, followed by a whimper.

All at once, the boy’s victory was gone, and in its place was a racing heart. It slammed hard against his ribs, over and over. His palms were sweating and there was a burning in the back of his throat. He wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening.

But he couldn’t.

Darren was good at pretending, and perhaps he would have been able to, but his brother had just lied. For him.

“Just imagine you are somewhere else.” That was what Blayne had told him the first time it happened. It was their way of coping with the monster in the dark. The secret they shared. Sometimes together, other times alone.

But now Darren couldn’t pretend. Blayne could have made Darren share in the blame and the consequence, but he hadn’t.

He just wants people to like him. Blayne always wanted to please. The boy supposed he wanted his little brother to like him too.

The problem was it had worked, and now the guilt was weighing Darren down, keeping him there. He knew what he had to do. He had the knife.

Maybe this time will be different.

It wouldn’t change anything.