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Crown Prince
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ALLEI (AUGUST) 1, 1538
One day after Prince Terosh’s Kireshana journey
Prince Terosh’s Private Quarters, Royal Palace, City of Rammon
Prince Terosh Minstel stalked back and forth across his bedchamber. He had spent the night in a Royal Guard camp and returned to Rammon in the morning. His father had hardly let him rest since stepping foot in the palace. Even stealing a moment to dispatch Dr. Dentelich on a mercy mission had taken considerable effort. A steady stream of celebrations left Terosh’s head buzzing, and though his body wanted sleep, his mind wouldn’t let him.
He idly picked up Reia’s banistick from where he had placed it and considered the many young noblewomen he had just met. They couldn’t match Reia’s wit, wisdom, or beauty. Their efforts to get his attention were pathetic. He must have caught at least six young women who had mysteriously lost their balance.
You’d think the palace floors were riddled with graveground.
Reia would laugh at them and him. The more he thought about her, the more he missed her laughter, smile, and even anger. He remembered her cool hands changing the bandages on his back. He longed to hear the cadence of her voice, hold her and gaze at the stars, or just see how firelight changed the color of her hair.
Can I live in the palace without her?
“No!” Terosh clutched the banistick.
She had promised to await his answer. He had been more than ready to give an answer that moment, but now, his conviction had grown. The palace, the power, and the pride of being a prince paled next to the terrifying thought of living without Reia.
Is this love?
No wonder Tate looked miserable. If his connection to Dr. Koffrin had been a fraction of what coursed through Terosh, her death must have been devastating.
As if thinking of Tate conjured him, he appeared in the doorway to Terosh’s bedchamber looking ill.
“Don’t.” Tate’s single word order held warning and affection.
Terosh tossed the banistick onto his bed, rushed to his brother, and braced his right arm behind Tate’s back.
“What’s the matter? You’re shaking and sweating ... and you smell like a vat of wine. How much did you drink?”
“Not enough,” Tate mumbled.
After lugging his brother over to his bed, Terosh dumped him onto it, belatedly hoping the banistick wasn’t beneath him.
“He does this at least twice a week, though few know about it,” said Aster Captain Gina Kelter.
Terosh whirled. His right hand searched for his kerlinblade but found only the ceremonial sword he had worn to the mid-afternoon banquet.
“Explain, Captain.” Terosh glanced at Tate to make sure he hadn’t moved. When his attention returned to Captain Kelter, he found her still standing in the threshold. Terosh waved her in. Tate’s presence had already disturbed his solitude.
“You’re dismissed, Captain,” Tate called in a surprisingly clear voice.
Another glance confirmed he still lay flat on his back in the middle of Terosh’s bed.
The Melian Maiden commander bowed to Terosh.
“I’m sure the prince will explain. I will be outside if you need anything.” Her eyes begged him to help Tate.
Terosh blinked, trying to figure out what had just happened. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he folded his arms across his chest and focused on his brother.
Tate lay half on the bed with his legs dangling off, arms splayed like one exhausted with life. His chest rose and fell slowly. Suddenly, he lifted his head and opened one eye.
“Is she gone?”
Again, the normality of Tate’s voice struck Terosh. He sighed away the worry and allowed irritation to replace it.
“Why are you avoiding Captain Kelter? And how did you fake being drunk?”
“The woman’s been like a second skin for the last few months,” Tate grumbled, ignoring the questions. He opened his other eye and propped himself up on elbows. “She thinks I’m suicidal.”
“Are you?” Terosh demanded. He uncrossed his arms and ran a hand through his hair.
“Sometimes, but that’s beside the point,” Tate answered. “And I wasn’t faking,” he added, brushing at his sleeves to straighten them. “I just wasn’t compensating with anotechs.”
Letting his arms fall to his sides, Terosh watched as Tate’s clothes straightened. The rich fabric of Tate’s robes shifted shades of green from nearly yellow to almost black, depending on how the fabric bent. Sometimes the intricate patterns of gold, silver, red, blue, and yellow threads would disappear, only to reappear at a different angle and shape. The sheen of sweat dried, and Tate’s blond hair sorted itself into neater waves.
The casual use of anotechs annoyed Terosh, but he admired his brother’s control. Terosh waited patiently for Tate to explain.
Sitting cross-legged on Terosh’s bed, Tate tilted his head and regarded him.
“I know I have problems. I’m dealing with them, but I don’t want to see you hurt this way.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The girl. The Ranger. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Reia?”
“If you love her, let her go. Drive her off if necessary.”
Feeling like he’d been struck, Terosh knit his brows together.
“You’ve seen her and probably know everything about her, and yet you expect me not to love her?” Once again lacking something better to do with his arms, he resorted to crossing them.
“I expect you to do the right thing,” Tate responded.
“The right thing being ... what exactly?”
Tate sent him an I-just-told-you glare.
“You know what happened to Deanna. I loved her. I married her. I even had a child with her, Terry, and now, they’re gone.”
A memory of Kezem’s package seared Terosh’s mind. He unfolded his arms and stared at his hands. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he studied the bed, the banistick, the floor, and anywhere that wasn’t Tate. The anotechs let him feel the waves of pain rolling off his brother.
“I understand.”
“You don’t,” Tate replied. “And I hope you never have to,” he added softly. Then, clearing his throat, he confused Terosh by announcing, “I’m getting married soon.”
Head snapping up, Terosh’s expression turned incredulous. He let out a bitter laugh.
“You’re here warning me away from love, obviously still hurting, and telling me you’re about to get married,” he summarized, shaking his head.
“That’s right, but it’s not love this time. It’s duty.”
Terosh stared at his brother. They had spent countless nights as children sneaking into each other’s private quarters and playing pranks on the guards. They had shared everything, including the promise to marry for love.
“But you promised.”
“That was a long time ago, Terry. A lot has happened since then. I kept my promise and only ended up with pain. This time, good will come of it.”
“How?”
Tate let his legs dangle off the bed.
“The Mitra will ally with us if we help them avoid the Blood Harvest.”
A fuzzy memory of Master Sedir’s history lesson came to Terosh.
“New blood,” he said, recalling the only thing that would suspend the Blood Harvest.
“Do you know what that means?”
“You’re marrying a Mitran princess.”
Tate shook his head.
“It’s more than a simple exchange of promises. New blood means I become Mitran by marrying Princess Alikai. The marriage will forge an alliance that will hopefully keep both planets free from GAPP.” A bitter smile formed. “It means instant kingship, though not of Reshner. I can only return after producing an heir to take over the throne. Even then, it’ll be at least fifteen years before he will be old enough to rule. I’ll be a stranger.” He stopped speaking, then chuckled. “Gods help us if we don’t have a son. The Mitran aren’t quite as progressive as Reshner about rules of inheritance.”
The implication seeped into Terosh. He sat heavily upon his bed.
Tate stared at the floor, hands clasped together.
“In a few weeks, father and I will go to Mitra. Six days toward the core and everything changes. It’s likely I won’t come back.” He met Terosh’s eyes and touched his upper arm. “That makes you Crown Prince, Terry. If anything happens to father or he steps down, Reshner is yours to rule. You will be king.” He squeezed once and let go.
Dreams of escaping to the mountains with Reia shattered. Terosh felt the loss deep in his gut. Emptiness spread through him. He became hyperaware of everything. Time meant nothing as scenes from the Kireshana replayed in his mind then crumbled to dust.
“I’m sorry,” Tate said sincerely. “I wanted to warn you, so you could tell her. Do you have some way of finding her or should I send a messenger?”
“Purple fire,” Terosh responded listlessly.
Tate stood up.
“Come, I want to show you something.”
