Chapter Two

Micah had never seen the palace in his adult life, at least not up close like this.

Recognition lingered at the back of his mind as he observed the unbelievably large structure. It was familiar to him, yet it also seemed like the first time absorbing the fine details.

From a distance, he noticed the primary material that made up the structure was white stone and glass. Upon closer inspection, his assumptions proved correct.

The stone was regal and mighty, stretching high up into the air with extravagant curves and flashy arches. There were exaggerated depressions carved intricately into the stone and oil rubbed balconies on the top floors out-looking the capital.

It appeared as if every single corner was touched with caring and attentive hands.

Micah stared at the structure through lowered lashes, impressed, but unwilling to admit as much. He especially admired the stained-glass windows with their vivid and lovely colors. Colors he’d never seen replicated before. The doors on the palace were also large—majestic—and striking.

Everything about it was remarkable and so regal.

“Don’t look so disgusted,” Kai observed with amusement. “It’s okay to admit the palace is an attractive building. I’ve always admired it.”

“Your tastes are superficial,” Micah countered.

“Easy now,” Sachiel interfered, his body and tone uncharacteristically rigid. “I’ve warned you that King Calder is far from pleased with your little outing. The least you can do is tone down your animosity and feign submission.”

“Feign submission? You’re asking the impossible from him,” Kai replied.

Micah hardly took much insult to the comment. In fact, he took it as a compliment.

“I know,” Sachiel replied, exasperated.

They were all tired. Irritable. Upset. Micah felt particularly short-tempered and cynical. It was noon and they’d just returned to the capital. Upon their arrival, Sachiel ushered them together and informed them the king wanted their presence immediately. And not a second later.

Micah hadn’t slept well the past few nights on the train, nor had Kai. All they’d wanted to do was shower and sleep, though they found themselves standing before the palace, covered with dust, grime, and cooled sweat.

Sachiel led them up the stairs to the main entrance, bypassing the guards with ease.

Micah tried to collect his wits. It was a struggle, his mind foggy —tired— though he believed he’d succeeded enough to face his father.

Fortunately, he had several weeks to prepare himself for this inevitable meeting.

As they walked into the entryway of the palace, Micah couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming up the tall walls and toward the arched ceilings. Underneath his feet, the floors were glossy and pale in color. Marble, he supposed.

They walked for a distance, past the meticulous columns, past the floor to ceiling windows, and towards a noble door. The door, carved from rich cherry wood, swung open and Sachiel led them inside.

Micah passed the royal guards positioned on either side of the door, dimly realizing that they bent low in a gesture of reverence. They only did that in the presence of royalty.

His presence was not a secret any longer, he realized with a sudden spasm of anger.

“Kai Edlen.”

There were so many people gathered inside the throne room with airs of high nobility and unparalleled influence. Micah didn’t know where to look first. Kai took the lead, seemingly accustomed to the situation. Micah followed immediately after, succeeding his comrade’s footsteps with intentional slowness.

“Your hair,” the young woman admonished, examining Kai’s shortened locks, which ended just underneath his ears. He’d cut it to reprieve the hot, humid days of the outer regions. “It looks so common— oh!”

She trailed off abruptly as her eyes focused keenly on Micah.

Crimson stained her cheeks as she turned her shoulder, engaging the other young females in hushed, excited conversation. They giggled quietly, their pleasure evident, their fascination kindled as they watched Micah closely. Some performed perfect curtsies, while others were far too engrossed to move at all.

The fascination did not stop at the group of women. Whispers spread across the throne room like wildfire at the mere sight of Micah.

Kai turned and gazed at Micah, hardly impressed. “Of course they’d like your hair.”

The young man stopped suddenly and got down on one knee. As his tall frame lowered, Micah got an eyeful of King Calder sitting indolently on his throne. Father and son locked eyes and Micah stiffened, feeling a sense of…

What was it?

Anticipation?

Curiosity?

Perhaps a little bit of both.

The noise in the throne room silenced immediately as all eyes turned towards them. They watched him curiously and skeptically. He paid them no heed as he dropped his satchel on the ground with a heavy thump and bowed low at the waist.

“I apologize for our uncleanliness and poor presentation, Your Majesty,” he started dryly. “We were reprimanded and pulled abruptly from the train before it could even stop. I’m afraid bathing didn’t quite fit the itinerary.”

Kai turned slowly and stared at him as if he’d lost his head.

Suddenly, a high-pitched scream sounded next to Micah. He turned, on edge, though upon witnessing the cause for alarm, he smirked. A large desert spider, that had clearly hitched a ride in Micah’s bag, had crawled from its confinements and loitered near the young women.

They grouped together, staring at it as if it were an abomination.

Micah took a step forward and crushed it with the toe of his boot. It crunched audibly and he intentionally dragged his foot, smearing blood across the pristine, white tile.

“Careful now, those are venomous spiders.”  

They were harmless, really.

The young women stared at him in alarm. Before he could say anything further, he felt the presence at his back.

The man was like an obstinate beacon. Every inch of his body prickled agreeably under the man’s attention.

Micah despised every second of it.

He slowly turned to Josiah, locking eyes with noble orange. The hatred and the temptation all returned upon seeing Josiah again. Micah wanted to be closer, to wrap his hands around the man’s throat. To possess him. Dominate him. Hate him. Consume him. The sensations were so strong, he had to curl his hands to hide their tremor.

“Micah,” Josiah greeted quietly, seemingly recognizing Micah’s stare for what it really was. The man preened in his own, elusive way. “Welcome home.”

The Igni king took a step towards him and then another.

Micah stiffened at the proximity, his pulse climbing up his throat. Only, Josiah breezed past him and approached the raised dais.

He seethed at the man’s back.

Calder stood up, drawing Miah’s attention. The king nodded to someone across the room. Gradually, as if that gesture was enough of a command, everyone began to clear out of the throne room. Their gazes lingered and the whispering intensified.

Soon, only one man stayed behind. Judging from his hard look at Kai, Micah assumed it was Seaton Edlen, Kai’s father.

“You may rise, Mr. Edlen,” Calder bade. He lingered at the top of the dais, observing the two military cadets. “It is a pleasure to see you both back at the capital. Though your leave was abrupt and rather untimely.”

Kai stood from his kneeling position but kept his head lowered submissively.

Before Micah could ask who, exactly, saw their departure as untimely, Seaton took a step forward, his gaze repulsed as he stared at his son.

Micah supposed they didn’t make the best impression. Their combat boots were unpolished and dirty, their clothes sandy, stained. The shemagh around their necks sagged, smelling of sweat and heat.

“You look…” Seaton shook his head, nearly a loss for words. “Like a desert rat. It is shameful you even dared step foot inside these walls looking like that. Your hair. What did you do with your hair?”

Micah grinned widely, his disdain roused and his amusement growing.

He’d nearly forgotten society wore their hair long as a badge of honor.

How very silly.

Kai looked up at his father. “It’s far more practical in the desert, father.” He looked at Micah. “Besides, I have reason to believe it will be quite the fashion trend.”

Judging from Seaton’s taken aback expression, Kai’s sarcasm was not characteristic, nor appreciated. The older aristocrat swung his attention to Micah, immediately focusing on the shit-eating grin.

“So this is Micah Egan,” the man observed quietly. He clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve heard much about you, not all of it is positive.”

“I imagine your source isn’t very reliable if you’ve heard anything positive.”

At Micah’s cheek, Seaton barely batted a lash. “I agree,” he said. “I am looking at the evidence right now. You have had a very bad influence on my son ever since the academy started.”

Micah wanted to hold his tongue, though he wasn’t one for a filter. Especially when it came to egotistical nobles who looked down their nose at him. He hated that superior expression on Seaton’s face and sought to erase it.

“Oh, I would argue that, Mr. Edlen,” Micah started quietly. “There are many times I’d like to be a very bad influence on your son. He obstinately resists my charm.”

Kai exhaled next to him with sheer disbelief.

Seaton’s face pinched an awful shade of white.

He turned his heel sharply, towards Calder. “I see you will have your hands full, Your Majesty,” he nearly yelled, undoubtedly upset and at his breaking point. He bowed stiffly. “I bid you a good day. Kai. Come.”

Micah watched as the two retreated out the door with a slam.

Recognizing it was finally time to confront the two men at his back, Micah gathered his strength and turned, gazing at Calder and Josiah with a guiltless expression. Calder stared at him as if he truly did not know how to react.

Josiah, on the other hand, simply seemed entertained. The king turned to Josiah in silent accusation. Not finding anything remotely incriminating in that direction, he turned back around, seemingly a loss for words.

“Well,” he started after a long silence, “I see you inherited your uncle’s finesse for acerbity. We will have a good time correcting that, I’m sure. Otherwise, a particularly remarkable first impression at court. Truly.”   

His eyes dropped to Micah’s bag and the dead spider on the floor.

Micah offered a coy smile. “I see acerbity also runs on my father’s side.”

Calder’s eyebrows rose sharply. “You are…truly a challenge.”

“Forgive me.” Micah took a stance and clasped his hands behind his back, feigning bravado when his pulse raced crazily. “But I fail to remember giving you the impression that I wanted to be on display. Though, in my absence, it appears as if that was decided for me.”

“Fair enough,” Calder consented with heavy mockery. “You did not have any say in the matter, now you are acting out with the intentions of soiling your reputation the first few seconds upon entering the palace.”

“I saved a group of girls from an insect.” Micah looked back at the gore on the floor. “I hardly see what is so damning about my actions.”

“You know very well I am speaking of your crude behavior to Councilman Edlen.”

“I only return what has been bestowed upon me.”

“Enough!”

Micah blinked, surprised when Calder’s voice resonated furiously around the throne room. Across the room, the fountain rippled, as if sensing the water Elemental’s frustrations.

“Bravo,” Josiah congratulated slyly. “It appears as if you are managing the situation with your son famously, Calder.” The man had since taken position on his throne, watching the proceedings and doing nothing to hide his glee.

“I’m sure you find interacting with him quite the entertainment.”

Josiah tapped the armrest of his chair upon Calder’s contemptuous observation. “I do. He and I get along very well.”

“Hardly,” Micah countered.

Calder pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath, as if mentally realigning his approach in order to accommodate the unexpectedness of Micah’s bold temperament. The man was not accustomed to this; he was not accustomed to Micah. He was just as thrown over their reunion as Micah was.

It was uncharted territory for the both of them.

Calder dropped his arm and his sapphire-like eyes focused keenly on Micah. The intensity was enough to make the younger shift.

“I apologize, Ezra. This is not how I intended our first meeting to go.” His expression morphed into gentle regard as he walked down the dais. “I am very pleased to see you again. After so long, it’s jarring to see you grown up. You’re a young man now.”  

He stopped just before Micah and raised his hand slowly.

Though Calder gave enough fair warning, Micah did not move away from the hand that cupped his cheek. He stared into his father’s eyes, seeing true sentiment.

It felt odd standing before Calder.

And Josiah.

After his upbringing, with Ember instilling dislike within him for these men, he had never believed he’d stand before them under these circumstances. Circumstances that propelled him to want to get to know these men. Interact with them.

Though he didn’t particularly like or trust them, destroying them without proper cause was no longer a driving and blind compulsion.

That was Ember’s fevered desire and Micah was not her puppet.

His strings never felt so slack.

“What happened?” Calder inquired quietly.

Calder’s fingers climbed further up his jawline, towards his hairline, nearly touching Micah’s wound. The man’s gaze then lowered, catching sight of the bruises. Without warning, Calder tugged at the heavy scarf across Micah’s neck, revealing the finger-like bruises across his neck.

Micah stiffened as he felt Josiah’s penetrating stare across the room.

“Who did this?” Calder demanded.

“It was a simple misunderstanding,” Micah informed.

“A simple misunderstanding does not leave handprints like this,” Calder argued fervently. “Who did this?”

“Your concern is appreciated,” Micah said in a tone that indicated otherwise. He realized Calder would not drop the matter until he dispelled it. “However, they’ve been dealt with. It’s done.”

“They?” Josiah asked idly.

Micah’s jaw tensed and he looked over at the Igni king. The man rested a curled hand against his face as he watched the proceedings with lazy interest. His eyes, however, pierced through Micah with anything but idleness.

“Did you truly deal with all of them?” the man probed. “No… loose ends?”

Micah narrowed his gaze suspiciously. “It’s done,” he repeated.

A sudden, predatory smile crossed the man’s lips. Otherwise, Josiah made no other comment or indication of the situation. The man knew something, Micah realized, though he wondered how that was even possible.

Daemon.

“I wanted you both present today, as it appears I have been intentionally left in the dark for quite some time,” Calder started, unaware of Micah’s wandering mind. “Clearly, you’re reacquainted with your uncle. When did you first interact with him, Ezra?”

Calder took a step back to observe both Micah and Josiah with startling concentration.

Clearly, he’d wanted them both present in order to gauge their reactions, their stories. Sniff out any deceit or underhanded ploys. Micah did not fault the man for being mistrustful and spiteful. Josiah had, after all, kept Micah’s presence a secret for so many years.

“Just before last term began,” he answered, not seeing any harm with the truth. “He collected me from Region 20 and brought me to the capital. That was the first time I’d seen him since living at the palace.”

Josiah smiled.

“Region 20 was where your mother took you,” Calder implied.

“Ultimately.” Micah paused. “We jumped frequently in the beginning, traveling further south as we ran out of gold.”

Calder observed him solemnly, unhappily. “Evidently, you tracked them.”

Here, his regard focused exclusively on Josiah and stayed there for a time. Surely, after so many years suffering in each other’s close company, Calder could read more to Josiah’s expression than just simple impassiveness.

“You knew he was in Region 20,” Calder continued. “Ripe and prime for the picking just in time for your academy. The same year you were assigned Chairman.”

“It took a few years to find them, but yes. I knew where they were.”

Lies, Micah noted.

It hadn’t taken years. Josiah had claimed he’d located Ember and Ezra almost as soon as they left the palace walls.

“In what way, exactly, did it play in your favor to keep their location a secret?”

Josiah dropped his hand and stood from his throne. “Do you want to know my intentions, Calder? I will save you the trouble of conceiving possible scenarios.” He walked down the dais with intentional slowness. “I didn’t want Ezra to be raised as a prince. I didn’t want him coddled. Spoiled. I didn’t want him to feel entitled.”

Micah watched the two, intrigued as they faced off against one another, seemingly forgetting about his presence.

“You had no right,” Calder hissed.

“I had every right,” Josiah countered evenly. “I had just as much right to his upbringing as you—the Talise family. After all, he is also the heir to my old kingdom and the Azeri family.”

“You and I were raised as princes,” Calder insisted vehemently. “I had the situation handled. I knew what I was doing.”

“On the contrary, when I arrived at the palace, things had already turned sour. Ezra was innocent enough, though he was getting to the age where he started observing and retaining things at a rapid pace.”

Josiah glanced at Micah before refocusing on a fuming Calder.

“You weren’t the problem. It was the boy’s surroundings. He was only a child and they all walked around him as if he were a god. He wasn’t only a prince. In their eyes, they prophesied he’d unite two races together. They would have ruined him.” 

Micah hadn’t considered it that way, though Josiah’s words were true.

So very true.

The man seemed especially passionate about it as well, as if it were a personal misconduct against him that the people would have tainted Micah into a spoiled version of himself.

“It wasn’t ideal,” Josiah said, “but when Ember left, I humored her. I took my chances that things would turn out for the best.”

“She was sick!” Calder argued. “She was mentally unwell.”

“Why?” Micah interrupted tenaciously.

Calder and Josiah were facing off with each other, yet Micah refused to stand as a sole and silent bystander. This was his life. His mother. His mother who’d been both physically and mentally unwell.

However, he’d never understood the reasons why.

He focused on Calder. “Was she mentally unwell because she found out about your infidelity?”

Calder stared at Josiah before he turned to Micah.

“I was never raised with the principle of monogamy, Ezra.” The words were factual and detached, but something lingered there, a pain that Calder hid well. “But that didn’t mean I didn’t treat her well, or that I do not regret my behavior. Nevertheless, she became unwell rather early in our marriage. During her pregnancy and before she found out about my infidelity.”

Josiah’s mouth twisted. “One could argue, because she conceived Ezra during her wedding night, that she was miserable during your entire marriage. Not just early on. Perhaps it was not her pregnancy, but rather her husband.”

Calder hardly paid the man any heed as he continued to focus on Micah.

“Many Healers assured Ember and I that some women often became depressed after giving birth. It is a common, but unspoken disorder. She was rather young. A child, really, when she had you. Her depression only seemed to have gotten worse, which is why it is a wonder your uncle allowed her to take you.”

A depression after giving birth.

Micah never heard of such a thing, but perhaps Calder was right, perhaps women tried to hide the condition.

Especially the queen of the empire.

He supposed he could understand, to some degree, why his mother had always been so disheartened. He didn’t know anything about the condition mentioned, but it was enlightening to finally hear a theory behind Ember’s state of mind.

It was also a bit distressing to know he’d been the cause of it.

While it was undeniably unintentional, Micah still felt an irony that he—something she held so close with possessive greed—was the direct cause of her condition.

But according to Josiah, she had been the one to set the nursery on fire.

Micah just didn’t understand it. Perhaps she really had been insane.

“And yet, her son remained the only thing that kept her sane,” Josiah remarked softly, as if reading Micah’s thoughts. “I had eyes on him. I knew she’d never truly harm him.” The man gradually began to loop around father and son. “He’s known hunger, pain, and suffering. The true harshness of the world. He’s had to grow up fast, but his destiny demands it be that way.”

“That’s a cruel punishment. There were other ways,” Calder said.

“You would have never tolerated anything of the sort.”

“Of course not! Because he’s my son!”

“It was necessary.” Josiah circled Micah, looking at him directly. “I monitored you, but it wasn’t constant. I apologize for any unnecessary harshness life has put you through. Damaging you was not my intention. If I had damaged you, Ezra, then I have failed you in that regard.”

Micah lifted his chin and levelled the man with a cold look. “You’ve failed me in more than one regard, Josiah.” 

They both knew Micah was referring to the situation with Keegan.

With the Magi.

Josiah narrowed his eyes. “That is an ignorant accusation. You are my priority.”

“Why? Because I’m your Chosen?” Micah countered with deathly calm.

Calder made a noise in his throat. “You did all this because he was your Chosen, didn’t you?” the man accused. He then released a startled, cruel laugh. “You have a warped sense of entitlement to his upbringing because you wanted a perfect match. Someone who would not recoil from your depravities.”

Micah directed his attention away from the two men, holding his tongue.

Josiah had no claim on him. Not anymore. Not after Micah discovered his Chosen was not Josiah.

So why didn’t he inform Calder of this? He could have.  Something told him he would open up new avenues to Calder and give the man a higher ground above Josiah. So why… didn’t he?

He could feel Josiah’s gaze on him. The man waited patiently, anticipating Micah would enthusiastically deny their status as Chosen. Only, Micah remained silent.

For reasons unknown to him.

“Something like that,” Josiah responded to Calder and moved away to circle the room again. “Now that we’ve thoroughly discussed why I kept Ezra’s location a secret, I’m sure we can move on, no?”

Micah did not turn, but he was aware of Josiah pausing near his bag and intentionally lingering. If the man found out about the books, Micah would receive harsh reprimand and the books would be confiscated.

Alternatively, knowing Josiah, the man already knew of the books and merely preferred to toy with Micah.  

“You and I are not finished with this—”

“I don’t imagine we are,” Josiah interrupted. “We can discuss, in finer detail, the difference between one son, who was raised appropriately, against another bastard son, who was raised by the palace. One can find his way out of a bag, the other cannot.” He waved his hand casually. “That should be a conversation for another time. I’m sure Ezra is impatient to get some rest before term starts.”

“That is rather considerate of you,” Micah commented dryly, far more amused over the man’s comment about Ladon than he let on. “I would have assumed you’d consider my exhaustion a necessary hardship of life that builds character.”

Josiah didn’t respond right away, when he did, he was just as sarcastic as Micah. “That would be pain and suffering,” he corrected. “It is vital to remain well-rested.”

Despite himself, Micah’s lips curled in amusement.

Calder walked over to the dais with a pinched expression. “You two are far too alike. I anticipate that it will try my patience.”

He lowered himself onto the stair, a very un-king like gesture. Yet he somehow managed to perch upright with a ridiculous amount of regality. The man just reeked of aristocracy even when he tried to give off the opposite impression.

“Keeping you separated—”

“You may try,” Josiah invited with an all-too guileless solicitation.

Clasping his hands over his knees, Calder diverted his attention from Josiah to Micah. “Ezra,” he called quietly. “Where is your mother?”

Upon mention of his mother’s current whereabouts, Micah stiffened. “That question would be best directed elsewhere,” he replied darkly.

Calder’s gaze landed directly over Micah’s shoulder, indicating Josiah had moved closer. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“Ember remains elusive,” Josiah informed. Somehow, despite his typical indistinctness, Micah could sense the truth in his statement. “My attention has been elsewhere. She is of little importance at the moment.”

“Do not underestimate her,” Micah cautioned, feeling a bit irked at their dismissal of Ember. “She is resourceful and she has enough resentment for the both of you to cause damage.” He caught Calder's stare and inclined his head. “She raised me to resent both you and Josiah. I hardly think that should come as a surprise.”

He could see it in Calder’s eyes.

Like Josiah during their first interaction, Calder assumed Micah was Ember’s marionette. While Micah did enter the capital with Ember’s plans cumbersomely pushed up his sleeve, they quickly became uninspiring and unrealistic when Josiah got to him first.

“Ezra—”

“I have no intentions of taking the throne,” Micah intervened. “You don’t have to constantly watch your back. As far as the public discovering my identity, I did not intend to reveal myself either. That was your decision and a poor one.”

“A poor one,” Calder tested the words, most likely unfamiliar with anyone outright criticizing his judgements. “And why is that?”

Josiah brushed shoulders with Micah as he approached the dais.

“They will have undue expectations,” Micah responded with a distracted look towards the Igni lord. “They will expect a prince readily assuming his position. I would hate to disappoint them, but it’s necessary that they don’t assume anything from me.”

Calder stared.

There was no better word for it.

“You are under false delusions, my son,” the man finally proclaimed. “You were conceived for this very—” He cut himself off abruptly.

“Yes?” Micah inquired lazily, already knowing what the man intended to say.

Calder’s lips pinched. “You were conceived for this very purpose.”

“Subtle,” Josiah praised from his perch in the corner.

“You are old enough to realize your mother and I married out of convenience and political necessity,” Calder defended adamantly. “We conceived a child in order to bridge the gap between two, opposing races.”

“You mean…you and mother didn’t marry for love?” Micah inquired softly.

Initially, Calder appeared perturbed at the question. He then saw the defiance in Micah’s gaze and his expression darkened into one of intrigued contemplation.

“You may believe I am ill-informed,” Micah began coldly, “but I am not entirely clueless. I understand the reasons behind your union with Ember. I know why you had to conceive an heir. Emotions were set aside, free will questionably intact, all for political motivations. For power. For control.”

For the first time since their discussion, Micah stirred.

Perhaps he was too tense in the beginning, too unfamiliar with the atmosphere. His confidence seemed to return, for he approached Calder with the intentional slowness of a predator.

“Nevertheless, I think you greatly overestimate my influence on this kingdom. The Igni men and women who kneel readily before Josiah would never consider me their next king. Just the same, the pompous nobles who follow you would not hesitate to gut me as soon as I took the throne.”

“A slow transition is imperative,” Josiah agreed. “It is a sensitive situation. Not only for the people of the kingdom, but for your own safety.”

“You’ve already impacted several younger individuals,” Calder declared. “Sachiel tells me you are quite the charmer. Our generation will not be around forever.” He motioned to Josiah. “There needs to be a shift in power. Josiah and I will be by your side.”

Micah couldn’t help but scoff at that. “You and Josiah acting in accord?”

Co-parenting?

Agni, wasn’t that rich?

“When it comes to you, I believe we share a common goal.”

Highly unlikely.

Looking at both men, Micah couldn’t help but smirk widely. Yes, they both wanted the same thing. For him to take the crown. After the crown haloed his head, their interests would fragment and their own games would begin.

There was one thing Master Idris correctly deduced that night of Keegan’s death.

Micah stood in the middle of Calder and Josiah. Their game of tug-of-war would most certainly be trying, but it was a challenge Micah would readily accept. He had his own influence, his own ropes, after all. He wagered his influence would be just as consuming as their own.

Nonetheless, the idea of the throne did not appeal to him.

“No. I don’t want the throne.”

Calder frowned deeply. “Ezra.”   

“Give him time, Calder,” Josiah suggested slyly. “The boy is clearly overwhelmed and cannot handle the situation right now.”

Micah bristled. Before he could deliver a scathing remark, Calder stood up. “Josiah, please give me a moment alone with Ezra.”

Josiah bowed at the waist with a flourish. “Your Majesty.”

Micah watched him narrowly as the man passed and proceeded down the aisle towards the doors. Micah remained stiff, upset as he redirected his attention to Calder. The man watched him closely, knowingly.

As soon as the door closed, Calder spoke. “I will say it again. You and your uncle are too similar.”

“I don’t consider him my uncle,” Micah argued. “Nor any sort of parental figure.”

The king contemplated for a moment. “What do you consider him?”

Micah’s mind froze upon the question, never asking it himself.

Just what did he consider Josiah? An enemy. A fierce ally. A constant reminder of how much Micah needed to achieve in order to become an equal. Prey. A clever and unsympathetic deceiver. A temptation. And a possessive comrade. Josiah was all those things, yet how could Micah put those contradictory feelings into words?

“I haven’t decided yet,” he settled with.

What he had with Josiah was equivocal.

Even to him.

Calder nodded. “Even so, while you two are remarkably similar, I can sense something inside you that is far more…” he trailed off, as if a loss for words. “Innocent?”

At Micah’s scowl, Calder corrected himself.

“Kind,” he determined. “You are far more sympathetic than Josiah, than your mother, than even myself.” He stepped closer to Micah. “Perhaps I’m wrong, but if I am correct, I don’t want to stifle that particular characteristic of yours.”

“Sympathetic,” Micah repeated, offended. “I’m far from it.”

“Oh, I imagine you can be quite cruel. It is in your blood, after all,” Calder said. “But I also imagine you are very loyal and oftentimes sympathetic to those who cannot defend themselves. Am I wrong?”

“I find it impossible you can accurately judge my character when we’ve only interacted for a matter of minutes,” Micah informed.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ve asked others.” Calder smiled thinly. “I want you to be a part of this regime, Ezra. I think you’d make a fine ruler someday with training and a little bit of guidance. I will give you time to think things over, so long as you and I come to a consensus.”

Calder suddenly grabbed his shoulder and squeezed firmly. His opposite hand cupped Micah’s cheek and he smiled mysteriously.

“I can remove you from the academy. I can make you a nice wing here at the palace to keep you occupied for days on end. Alternatively, I can give you time. You may remain attending the academy, and you do not have to make any sort of pledge to the crown.”

A slow, answering smile stretched Micah’s lips. Calder could never hold him here at the palace.

But let the man think as much.

He would play it Calder’s way. “What do you want in return for time?” he inquired.

“A few public appearances.” Calder removed his hand from Micah’s cheek with intentional slowness. “And for you to be aware of your reputation while in public.” The hand on his shoulder did not relent until Micah nodded once. “There must be things you are passionate about, things you’d like to change in this empire. Surely the idea of being a pretty face on display becomes tolerable once you realize the power you possess.”

“If I was truly invested in playing the part, I’d change a great deal of things.”

Calder laughed once before turning and moving toward his throne. “I’m sure you would. I look forward to hearing your ideas.”

Micah remained unimpressed with his diplomatic answer. “Ideas that need to be passed and approved through the Royal Council first.”

His father walked back to his throne, his long, blond hair cascading down his back. “You will soon realize that you can make anything happen, Ezra. Whether it be a popular or unpopular idea.” He walked up the dais and sat on his throne.

Upon his perch, he appeared like an animated doll.

Unthreatening, coldly handsome, and guiltless.

A decorated face to represent the kingdom.

In reality, the man held power and secrets Micah did not truly comprehend just yet.

Blue eyes softened as they gazed down at Micah. “I am very pleased to see you returned to me, my son. I look forward to getting to know more about you. I wish you a good term at the academy.”

It was a dismissal if Micah ever heard one. He merely inclined his head and retreated toward his bag. As soon as he picked up his satchel, he noted the ridiculous weightlessness. The books were gone.

He laughed disbelievingly.

“If ever Josiah grows too difficult to handle, I will remove him from the situation.” Micah didn’t know if Calder possessed a sixth sense, or that he’d seen Josiah extract the books earlier from his bag.

No matter.

“I can handle Josiah.” Micah pressed a palm against the heavy-set doors, pausing. Considering. He turned back to Calder. “Though I appreciate the offer.”

Micah exited quickly.

Ember’s strings had completely loosened their hold on him, only for Calder’s strings to take their place, ghosting across his flesh with the barest touch of forewarning. It was an intuition that things would never be the same. Calder said he’d give Micah space and time, but those were sugar coated words for preparing him for the throne.

Micah truly didn’t know what to feel about accepting the crown.

It would bring power, certainly, but it would also bring constant attention.

He bypassed the onlookers who lingered outside the throne room as quickly as possible. His eyes remained forward, diverted, having no interest in satisfying their curiosity. Exiting the front doors of the palace, he spied Sachiel standing outside the carriage, waiting with a curious gleam in his eye.

“Your Highness,” he greeted with a sarcastic and taunting bow, “your carriage awaits.”

Micah’s stare was lethal. If he didn’t know what—who—waited for him inside the carriage, he would have put Sachiel in his place. As it were, he entered the dark carriage readily, determined to face off against Josiah.

“Where are they?” Micah demanded, slamming the door on Sachiel’s face.

Josiah inclined idly against the cushioned seat of the carriage and merely motioned to the seat next to Micah. There, directly to his left, sat all three books.

Unharmed and fully intact.

“A very intriguing subject,” Josiah commented casually. “Not quite interesting enough for me during my own studies, but I imagine it holds some sort of personal sentiment for you. I encourage your readings on the subject.”

Micah schooled his features if only to prevent the suspicion from coming through. “It’s Noir Magic,” he said. “You vehemently warned me against it.”

“This is a particular branch of Noir Magic that is…” Josiah paused, his eyes falling onto the trio of texts. “Cleaner than most.”

Demonology.

Exorcism.

Micah wanted to delve into the subject after his skepticism regarding daemons. No matter how Micah looked at things, Josiah was not human. He couldn’t be. Master Idris and the Magi had their reasons for proclaiming Josiah a creature.

For his own frame of mind, Micah wanted to thoroughly digest the subject. 

Only, Josiah didn’t seem threatened nor upset with the decision. Micah would not ask the man for answers any longer. He’d find out for himself. He’d identify if Josiah were a human or a daemon by the end of term.

“You’re still upset with me,” Josiah observed.

“Upset,” Micah tasted the word, noting the bitterness it left on his tongue. “Upset would mean I have occurrences of uncontrollable anger or bouts of frustration. I feel nothing but the acceptance of what you did and how that impacts our future relationship.”

“A relationship you consider shattered.”

He reiterated the words Micah used before the end of term. The very last words Micah had spoken to him before today. He was pleased he’d made such an impact that Josiah brought it up in conversation.

Micah remained silent. Josiah already knew the answer.

“Just because something shatters does not mean it falls apart,” the man said quietly. His eyes flashed like dying embers of a fire. “It remains imperfect, yet still in place.”

“In place, but desperately struggling to remain intact when even the slightest disruption comes around to shake the pieces loose.” Micah leaned against the seat and watched the man across from him. “Imperfect, yet unstable.”

Josiah’s teeth flashed and Micah felt his pulse race satisfyingly at the depravity. “I prefer imperfect and unstable to seamless and predictable.”

“I don’t trust you,” Micah informed abruptly.

“Nor should you have any reason to,” Josiah countered. “Though it is challenging for you to accept, your safety is my most pressing priority.”

“Amidst teaching me hard and cruel life-lessons.”  

Josiah leaned forward suddenly, his eyes bright. “Tell me you would have preferred it any other way. That you would have wanted to grow up within those glass walls, waited on hand and foot, praised at how pretty you were with your innocent blue eyes. How you would save the kingdom with just a mere smile.”

Micah repressed the urge to smirk.

He wanted to find fault in Josiah’s role in his childhood, but he couldn’t. Granted there was bitterness. A sense of sorrow of what could have been. Yet the man had a valid premonition that Micah would have grown up spoiled. Egoistic.

Micah reluctantly acknowledged the truth in those words. He’d be sheltered, hardly prepared for the future situations that he may find himself in. He would never give the man any credit for that, however.

Josiah had other things to answer for, mainly Idris and Keegan.

“I didn’t know you found me pretty,” Micah said instead.

As much as the carriage allowed, Josiah rose from his position and advanced. His proximity brought forth an air of decadence and dark excitement. Micah stared defiantly up at the man, refusing to acknowledge the pleasant tightening in his lower stomach. The antagonistic feelings he felt for the man only heightened his pleasure.

He hated him. Wanted him.

Josiah was all-consuming in his demand to infiltrate every aspect of Micah’s life.

Looming above Micah, Josiah hovered mere inches from his face. A hand curled around Micah’s throat, covering the bruises with his own claim. “Pretty?” the man questioned huskily, his lips so close to Micah’s own. “No. I find you sensual.”

Micah stiffened, feeling his cock stir and immensely despising Josiah for it.

He remained still and stubborn under the man, refusing to close the agonizingly small gap between them. He did not back away either, intent to meet the orange gaze with tenacious boldness.

The fingers around his neck tightened, Josiah’s own excitement evident.

The Igni king released a hissing breath of frustration before he loosened his hold and dropped his gaze to Micah’s neck. The focused sensuality fell way to focused determination. A slight tingling around his throat informed Micah that Josiah was trying to…

Heal him?

He made a noise of surprise as Josiah then pressed his fingers near the open wound at his hairline. The dull throb of pain slowly eased and cooled, no longer an irritant.

Impossible!

Noir Users were incapable of healing. Healer Destan said it went against their very nature of black magic. Josiah even admitted he could not heal. Yet it appeared as if he had recently learned. The very notion of Josiah learning something just for Micah’s benefit brought forth implications he did not want to consider right now.

Josiah’s fingers suddenly found his throat again and squeezed.

The man forced Micah’s head back until it connected harshly with the carriage wall. He applied enough pressure around the throat that it made breathing difficult, but not hard enough to leave bruises.

Josiah leered, crowding him. “I’m the only one who gets to mark you.”  

Micah breathed slowly, steadily, refusing to gasp for air. Curling his fingers around the man’s wrist, he dug his nails into the skin, pleased when Josiah hissed. The man pressed his lips against Micah’s ear before finding his earlobe with his teeth.

Carelessly, he bit down, inspiring a moan from Micah.

“I will consume you.”

The hand around his throat abruptly vanished and Josiah exited the carriage, bringing the hazy delusions and heavy debauchery with him. Micah leaned forward and snarled angrily into his hands, feeling his cock strain against his trousers. He raked his fingernails through his scalp, frustrated.

The man wanted to consume him.

Josiah didn’t realize he’d already accomplished that feat.