Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(4)

“Alfie,” Luka said, his voice curt. He turned his gaze back to the queen. “I’ve acknowledged him. May I be excused now?”

The queen extended a hand toward him. “Luka . . .”

Luka narrowed his eyes. “Why should I say hello when he didn’t bother to say goodbye?”

Alfie flinched and stepped forward, but Luka raised his chin as if daring him to come any closer.

The king rose and squeezed Alfie’s shoulder, giving him a stern look that said, Leave it.

“Luka, you may be excused.”

“Gracias,” Luka said, his eyes ghosting over Alfie as he nodded at the king and queen in deference before turning on his heel and disappearing out the library doors.

Alfie took another step forward, intending to follow, but his father held him back.

“Give him time to cool off,” the king said. “He took your leaving quite hard.” He gave Alfie a pointed look. “That situation is yours to remedy, but first we must talk.”

When Alfie’s mother nodded in agreement, Alfie sat back down, his eyes still trained on the doors. Knowing that Luka would try to stop him from leaving, Alfie had taken the coward’s way out and boarded his ship without a word. He knew he deserved Luka’s anger, but the hurt in his eyes still stung Alfie like a slap to the face.

The king’s voice pulled Alfie out of his reverie. “There is so much to say, so much we must do to prepare you for the throne.”

Alfie bristled. This was not the first time his parents had spoken of preparing him to become king. It’s what had driven him onto his ship and away from home. Still, each time they mentioned him replacing Dez, it was a new wound, raw and stinging.

“We have not forgotten about Dezmin. We never will.” The queen turned away from Alfie, her voice catching. Alfie’s chest ached at the sight, but then she met his gaze again with a blazing look. “But we must put our people before our grief. You have taken your time away, but now you must prepare. You are the crown prince, first in line for the throne. You must accept this. For your kingdom’s sake, if not your brother’s, entiendes?”

Alfie gritted his teeth and forced himself to say, “I understand.”

“We are on the verge of making history. In only a few months we will meet with our greatest enemy for the first time in generations and make peace,” the king said, motioning up at the mural. “Putting the feud between Englass and Castallan to rest and becoming allies will prove that we have risen from the ashes of this kingdom’s past of slavery to become an unquestioned world power. But Dez’s death,” the king said, his eyes shining. “It has made us appear unstable, unable to protect our own. It raises questions about our political standing and what we offer as an ally. So we must prepare you and present you as a prince who is ready to become king. First to Castallan and then to the world. We will begin in two days’ time by hosting a dinner party with the highest nobility of Castallan in honor of your return. The Equinox Festival is four days from today and, as always, we will host a ball to celebrate—the perfect opportunity to present yourself to the entire kingdom as its future ruler.”

Alfie’s heart clenched like a fist at the thought of being presented as Dez’s replacement. Even if Dez were truly gone, the world would surely laugh at a prince without a future being responsible for the future of an entire kingdom. Why couldn’t they see that he could not do this?

“But, Father,” Alfie finally said, wringing his hands in his lap. “My mind has not changed. I still believe that Dez may be alive. We do not know for sure if—”

“Alfehr!” his father thundered. Alfie’s spine straightened against his chair. The queen put a hand on her husband’s shoulder while the king took in a shuddering breath. “I will not have you entertaining these fantasies. You cannot continue to ignore the truth and your responsibilities in favor of a delusion.”

“But—” Alfie began, but his father silenced him with a look.

“Those who were discovered to be part of the coup that took Dez from us have been apprehended and imprisoned in cells in the Clock Tower for the rest of their despicable lives. The families of the three who led the operation—Marco Zelas, Alonso Marquez, and Maria Villanueva—have all sworn fealty and renounced their kin who went against the crown. There is no stone left to turn. No route left to explore. Por favor,” he said, his voice so beseeching that it hurt to hear it. “Let your brother rest in peace.”

Alfie looked down at his lap and gritted his teeth again to stop himself from arguing. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach for the flask of tequila hidden at his hip, to mute the turmoil burning in his chest. He was the only one who’d been with Dez when he had been taken. They had been in the Blue Room, a parlor in the east wing of the palace, discussing how to best ask their parents about taking a long trip abroad with Luka for Dez’s twenty-third birthday, before his time would be swallowed by learning the ways of a king.

As they strategized, the double doors of the room flew open and a girl who looked barely older than Alfie stepped in. Her name was Xiomara Santoro, he’d learned after his brother was lost to him forever, and it was a name Alfie could never forget. Behind her, two guards were slain on the floor, blood pouring from their open necks. Dez pushed Alfie behind him, protecting him, until the very end.

In the space of a breath, the girl raised her hand and splayed her fingers. The ground beneath Dez opened into a darkness so complete that it seemed unnatural, unreal. Alfie had watched Dez fall into the hole, his eyes full of fear, his hands reaching up to Alfie and Alfie reaching down a moment too late. Before he could leap in after Dez, the hole closed. By then, a group of guards had the girl pinned to the ground while Alfie fell to his knees, speaking every word of magic he could to break open the floor and find that dark void the girl had conjured with her monstrous propio. But it came to nothing. Under interrogation the girl had admitted the names of those who’d enlisted her to kill the royal family. His brother was gone because a group of nobles had wanted to take the throne for themselves. The whole kingdom wore its grief like a veil. The marketplace was full of paintings and baubles in memory of the fallen Prince Dezmin. Nobles from every corner of the kingdom were lining up to prove their loyalty to the royal family, afraid to be sent to languish in the Clock Tower with those found guilty of treason. Castallan had become a raw, exposed nerve, flinching at the slightest touch, raising its hackles at any sign of trouble.