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Chapter 4: Chapter Four

There would be people who would hail him ashore with false pretenses of friendly harbor and secure passageway. They had their own intentions, however. Sometimes those intentions would prove more treacherous than braving the harsh, unforgiving waters.

Micah felt as if he were treading water in a sea of blood-sucking politicians.

Mind games between Calder and Josiah intrigued him—excited him—and encouraged him to try to keep up with such an unfamiliar pace, yet when it came to the sheer mass of other individuals waiting to sink their claws into Micah, he grew agitated. Restless. There were too many strangers.

Too many moving pieces.

Though he was bred for this, trained for this since a child, he felt as if things were happening far more quickly than anyone anticipated. Yes, he could charm and dance just as well as the rest of them, but it was still jarring. He’d gone from a captain of a military academy to a royal heir courting a throng of antagonistic and deceiving nobles. Said nobles had the advantage of already knowing so much about him.

He would have liked to bounce ideas off Josiah.

Upon realizing that particular desire, he’d forcibly pushed it away. It was infuriating how much he wanted to despise the man, yet still wanted to be in the same proximity.

“My mother is eager to have royalty over for dinner.”

“I thought I was on probation until I received her approval.”

Cain hardly seemed deterred at Micah’s sarcasm. “You are. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t royalty. She was preparing all week.” 

Micah wanted to inquire if she truly prepared all week or if the house staff did most of the work. He kept his tongue, however, and pulled at the high collar of his attire. The suit belonged to Viktor, as he was the only member on the team with similar stature as Micah.

It wasn’t royalty wear, neither was it perfectly tailored to fit his frame, but it would do just as nicely.

Gradually, they rolled to a stop before a large property.

Like all the other residential households situated close to the palace, it was a three-level row home. Nonetheless, while the design was identical to all the others, it was still extremely large and offered a sense of superiority. Rich, gray stone and majestic granite dressed the exterior. Unmistakably, it was exceptionally expensive.

Cain exited the carriage first, holding the door open for Micah.

As he stepped onto the sidewalk, he assessed the quiet boulevard and the quaint streetlights. From his position, the lights appeared to run off electricity. Certainly a benefit for the inner ring nobles. A part of Micah wanted to go through the property and discover what other inventions lay within the walls of a nobility household.

Were they as equipped as the academy? More so?

The front door opened before they even reached the top of the stairs.

“Master Cain.” An Unda man with balding hair bowed low at the waist. His eyes then flickered up at Micah. “Your Highness.” The bow gradually deepened. “Let me show you to the parlor. This way, please.”

Cain and Micah shared a look as they followed the butler.

Designer paper decorated the hallway walls. Micah considered the gold-leaf designs and the muted greys. It had to be the latest fashion, yet as Micah tried to appreciate the décor, he found himself hating it more and more.

Large, ornate tables stood against the walls. On top of the glass countertops lay more glass and crystal sculptures. Quartz and sterling silver mirrors, and artwork depicting the Water God’s spirit animal—the egret—hung and decorated the walls, appearing as if they all competed to draw the most attention.

Micah couldn’t picture Cain growing up here. Or any child, for that matter.

The butler suddenly stopped in front of an open double door, clasping his hands behind his back as he waited patiently for Cain and Micah to enter. Cain hardly hesitated.

“Hello, Mother. Father,” he greeted as he walked into the parlor. He turned to usher Micah inside. “I’d like you to meet Mi— Prince Ezra.”

Stepping into the parlor was a welcoming change from the entryway. It was cozy, with the roaring fire and the muted textures of hardwood and rough stone. It was a man’s room, Micah noted as his eyes bypassed the cigars on display and the assortment of hard, amber liquids on the cart.

He then turned to look at the man and woman who stood from their chairs.

“Your Royal Highness, it is an honor.

He felt like a stranger standing in someone else’s shoes as the two individuals bowed low and curtseyed in complete and perfect submission. To him. It was a struggle to regain his senses, though he did so with poise.

As he recovered, the reluctance he’d felt in the carriage suddenly disappeared. In its place was an eager sort of thrill as he stepped into his assigned role.

“I am grateful you opened your home for me this evening.” Even if he hadn’t passed their test just yet, he inclined his head just slightly to acknowledge their formal greeting. “I appreciate the invitation.”

She straightened from her deep curtsy first.

Undoubtedly the matriarch of the family.

Micah imagined Cain’s mother being tall and intimidating. Considering Cain’s impressive stature, it was the first image he’d conceived. Only, she was anything but tall and strongly built. She barely reached Micah’s shoulder. Her gown draped her petite figure and hugged her narrow waist. She wore a deep burgundy; a surprising color Micah assumed was a political statement.  

Her long, honey-blonde hair wrapped intricately over her shoulder. Not a single strand of hair showed her age, not even at her temples. Her face, equally ageless and flawless, revealed sharp, yet attractive features.

The woman was beautiful, and judging from the sharp, observing eyes, Micah imagined she was quite intelligent.

At her side, her husband towered over her. He had a larger frame that appeared to have softened over the years. Muscle-mass turned into body fat and the height seemed stunted, as if he’d lost a few inches. Clearly, he was years older than her, yet he possessed softer eyes that indicated he might have taken the role as the nurturing figure in the household.

“Mi— Prince Ezra,” Cain started, struggling yet again over his name and title. “I’d like you to meet my mother, Councilwoman Cordelia Abital.” She curtsied again, this time not as low, nor as long. “And my father, Mister Trent Abital.”

A councilwoman.

Micah assumed Cain’s mother was influential, but he hadn’t known she was a member of Calder’s Royal Council.

Ember informed him an Igni woman sat on the Council, but she hadn’t mentioned an Unda woman. Perhaps Cordelia occupied the seat after Ember’s leave from the palace.

For a woman to occupy the Council was a very impressive occurrence. Because there were so many highbrow aristocrats on the Unda side, all predominantly male, Micah surmised that Cordelia was a very special woman who undoubtedly fought relentlessly to claim a seat.

“It is a pleasure meeting your acquaintances,” Micah responded truthfully, his interest piqued.

Cordelia deliberated over him, conspicuously tracing over his features with consideration. Her mouth pressed together with approval. “We are very pleased you could make it tonight.” She placed her hand on her husband’s arm. “Would you care for some wine, Your Highness?”

A man moved in the back of the room, as if trained to go about life unnoticed. In his hands, he cradled a bottle of wine with the label exposed deliberately. 

“Aged since the war ended,” Trent informed matter-of-factly. “We thought it fitting and rather ironic to open it tonight with you here.”

He offered a good-hearted chuckle.

Cordelia offered her husband a barely veiled look of fond exasperation. “Please, sit, Your Highness.”

She gestured to a winged-back armchair next to the fireplace and Micah graciously followed the suggestion.

The fire was warm, familiar. 

“Please call me—” he paused for a breath— “Ezra.”

The evening would get far too long if they kept addressing him as ‘Your Highness’. He watched as the butler poured a glass of wine and handed it to him. Though Micah didn’t care for wine, he accepted it graciously, recognizing it as a gift from his hosts. The liquid was dark—nearly black—and it had a very spicy aroma.

For a moment, Micah considered the glass held delicately in his fingers.

It would be so easy to kill him this way.

A poisoned glass of wine.

The only thing preventing his skepticism from growing into suspicion was the fact it was easily traceable to Cain’s parents. His team knew he was dining here this evening. Calder would easily draw the necessary conclusions. Surely, the Abitals liked their freedom far too much to kill him with poison.

“Cain has told us so much about you,” Cordelia started. She perched herself elegantly on the arm of her husband’s chair and accepted a glass of wine. “Top of your class. Team captain. A very skilled swordsman.”

“I’d say!” Trent added enthusiastically. “Your duel at the festival was impeccable! Absolutely entertaining!”

Cordelia placed a hand on his shoulder as if to calm him. Micah watched the exchange with wary amusement. Cain’s father seemed like a rather laid-back man. Rather informal as well, at least compared to his wife.

“I’ve had an excellent instructor,” he replied modestly.  

“Yes, Councilman Sachiel.” Cordelia said his name with a hard tone, though she smiled to soften her countenance. “We had hoped to hire him to instruct Cain as a child, though he was already predisposed with other students.”

“Well, whomever you hired did a good job with Cain.” Micah looked over at his teammate, finding it unsurprising to see the boy nursing his glass of wine with a quiet contemplation. “He’s fearless.”

Cain looked up with surprise and offered a small smile.

Micah never made it a habit to hand out compliments to his team. He wanted them to continue pushing themselves without relying on Micah’s approval.

But he suddenly recalled Keegan’s words to him on the train to the Terra Kingdom. The boy had vehemently told Micah everyone, including the team, yearned for his attention, for him to see them. He claimed there was something about Micah that drew others to him. It had unnerved him then.

And it continued to unnerve him now.

“That is very generous of you.” Cordelia inclined her head purposefully towards her husband. “Trent was a warrior during the Unda and Igni war. He taught Cain how to wield a sword.”

“A very decorated warrior, I see.”

Micah gestured across the room where he could see the medals displayed behind the bottles of liquor. It was as if they served as a reminder—an afterthought—until the liquor poured and the memories returned. As if proving his assumptions that those weren’t all happy memories, Trent offered a bitter smile.

“They gave those out to anyone who was unfortunate enough to survive.”

Micah found he very much liked Trent Abital.

“I understand you grew up in the outer regions. Region 20, if I recall correctly?” Cordelia changed the subject swiftly. “You must have a very broad understanding of many aspects of our kingdom.”

Right to the interrogation.

Micah smiled thinly and sipped at his wine. “Yes and no,” he started, putting on his best politician suit with a dash of humility. “I understand the outskirt regions far more than I do the capital and inner ring. It was an adjustment to move back here, but I found interacting with nobility the best way to learn about this culture.”

She approved, though she wasn’t finished. “You are a sympathizer with the outskirt regions, then.”

sympathizer.

Micah pondered on the title, a title the nobles were most likely using to describe him as they spoke among their colleagues. He wondered if Cordelia was insinuating he was more inclined to favor the Igni people over the Unda people. In which case, he needed to specify his neutrality to race and emphasize his empathy for the region itself.  

“When it is an everyday occurrence to see a corpse lying out in the open because of hunger, yes, I suppose I would be a sympathizer to the less fortunate.” Micah noticed Cain looking up from the corner of his eye. “I don’t believe the inner ring is educated enough with the ongoing struggle in the outer regions.”

Cordelia watched him steadily.

A mask of infiltrated impassiveness.

Until—

“I agree,” she said. “There is hardly any education on the matter, and the opinions on the subject are rather boisterous for being so ignorant.”

Micah inclined his head. “Ignorance often speaks the loudest.” 

Her lips twitched with amusement and she looked at Cain and then her husband. Both of whom did not seem inclined to jump in the conversation anytime soon.

“I’ve also been told you have a penance for speaking rather sardonically.” She considered him closely, her blue eyes sparkling with a rapacious gleam. “Even on your best behavior, I can see that particular trait show through.”

“Either you are particularly apt at seeing people or I am an abysmal guest.”

“Very much the former,” Cordelia replied pleasantly.  

Her posture became far more relaxed. Her eyes softened. Her expression turned agreeable. Under Micah’s ministrations, he charmed her. It was remarkable what he could accomplish when he actually tried to play nice with people, he mused.

“It is a pity you need to defend yourself against the nobility here at the capital,” she continued. “They can be rather vicious in their beliefs. Subjected and unproved beliefs, I should say. I hadn’t much of an opinion upon your sudden reappearance, though Cain spoke highly of you. I had to meet you for myself.”

“To want to have firsthand knowledge on the subject you are taking a stance on is an admirable trait,” Micah said. “It is regrettable that more people do not possess that same principle.”

Cain was staring at him as if he did not recognize him.

Cordelia appeared elated.

Trent was out of wine.

Micah gazed at the small family, feeling something shift inside of him. A confidence he did not recognize, nor ever think he’d possessed. His mother trained him for this, though he hadn’t thought he’d actually execute her political dances. He could be like all the other politicians. He could do this.

While he generally liked the family, found them to be fascinating, that did not stop him from feeling empowered for successfully twisting things in his favor. No wonder Calder and Josiah got a thrill for scheming and manipulating people.

“Madame, dinner is ready.”

“Ah.” Cordelia stood from her position with ridiculous grace and everyone hurried to follow suit. Another demonstration of just who was the head of the family. “Cain, why don’t you and your father go along? Prince Ezra and I will be in shortly.”

Cain looked quickly to Micah, gauging his reaction.

Appreciating the boy’s consideration, but more than capable of taking care of himself, Micah simply nodded. He watched as father and son escaped the parlor and quietly shut the doors behind them.

“You certainly look and act the part of royalty,” Cordelia said bluntly as soon as they were alone. She offered Micah another long, sweeping observation, her features hard, considering. “You are very much your father’s son as well as your uncle’s nephew. To imagine, so many generations of royalty meshed in one young man is truly remarkable.”

“With the exception of sitting on a decorated throne, royalty blood does not give me any sort of advantage,” Micah responded carefully, but with intended purpose. “I’ve had to work just as hard as anyone to get where I am today.”

“I recognize that,” she acknowledged swiftly. “It is one thing that will play to your favor in court. You’ve experienced hardships many of us couldn’t even imagine. Most would admire your features, but I find your rough edges most attractive.”

It was then when Micah realized Cordelia Abital did not expect total traditionalism from him.

She wanted something different, something jagged and irregular. 

The woman took a step closer.

Though she had to peer up at him, she managed to appear tall despite. “I don’t know much about you,” Cordelia confessed quietly. “I only have my assumptions, the stories I hear from Cain, and tonight’s performance. I don’t know your political views. But until I find something that I cannot possibly stand by, you have my support. I only have one question for you.”

Micah maintained eye contact, intrigued with the small woman.

“What is my son like, Prince Ezra?”

He expertly covered his surprise.

He hadn’t anticipated the question, though he supposed it was a very important test for her. Micah mulled over the question, choosing silence as opposed to long-winded descriptions of one of his cadets. He could go for flattery. He could go for the truth. He decided, in this situation, Cordelia would detect any fabrication of the truth.

“Cain is reserved, unassuming,” Micah finally admitted. “He is a mere afterthought.”

Cordelia’s face revealed absolutely nothing at the harsh words.

“He is an afterthought until he says something surprisingly perceptive. He watches and he observes. He doesn’t fill space with his voice, but rather his presence.” Micah remembered the ribbons. “He is a gentle soul.” He smiled thinly as the warmth slowly bled back into her face. “Because of this, I thought he’d be a terrible warrior,” Micah admitted. “Yet he was the one who surprised me most during our first mission.”

“How so?” she inquired unemotionally.

“He was willing to strike down the enemy without so much as a hesitation. The others on the team were unable to accomplish that feat. Cain is very protective and loyal to the ones he considers his friends and family.” 

Cordelia stared at him.

Silenced.

She exhaled a bit shakily and offered a tight smile. “A true leader does not count the men who serve him, but rather perceives them as if they were his own reflection.” Cordelia offered a deep curtsey. “Come, let us feast, Your Highness.”

Micah watched as she ventured over to the door and opened it for him. He’d clearly passed her test and he felt pleased he’d used the truth to gain her favor. The truth could be powerful, he deduced.

Just as long as one knew how to use it properly.

* * * *

“You’re late.”

It seemed like a mantra for many individuals in his life. Or perhaps it was merely the truth and Micah needed to get a pocket watch.

Sachiel watched as he entered the training arena, mere minutes past their agreed upon time. The dinner with the Abitals went longer than expected, but Cain remembered his sparring lesson and smoothly excused him from dessert.

Unfortunately, Micah hadn’t had time to change.

Sachiel stood on the padded mats, barefoot and prepared with a staff in hand. “How was the dinner?” he inquired innocuously.

Micah stripped off his jacket in one stride and toed off his shoes one at a time. He unbuttoned the high-collared tunic and discarded the outfit over the bench.

“Pleasant. I never had experienced oysters before.” 

He wasn’t even going to ask how the man knew about his dinner with the Abitals. The aristocratic network was a gnarly ball of twisted grapevines and intricate connections. Micah had no interest in trying to make sense of it. It was only vital he remain cognizant that nobility scrutinized and reported his actions to other aristocrats.

Nothing was secret nor should he ever assume otherwise.

“Quite the little politician.”

“Hardly.”

Sachiel’s eyes gleamed as he blatantly observed Micah disrobing to his undershirt. His attention lingered around his waist, as if anticipating the belt going next.

“I was under the impression His Majesty would have to drag you to the throne kicking and screaming.” Slamming the end of the staff into the mat, Sachiel leaned against it eloquently. “Now you’re making dinner plans with Cordelia Abital, the spitfire councilwoman of Calder’s Court.”

“People are beginning to react to my inactivity,” Micah said distractedly as he removed his formal gloves to reveal the fingerless gloves underneath. “I don’t particularly like those reactions, so, I’ve decided to start moving my pieces in order to control the situation.”

Sachiel’s lip twitched. “You may word it with fancy allegories and the like,” he murmured amusingly, “but you couldn’t be any more opposite than your father and uncle.” Blue eyes narrowed pleasantly. “You actually care for others. It is truly endearing.”

Micah grabbed his staff and walked onto the mat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do you deny that the mistreatment of Kai Edlen was your catalyst to take things seriously?” Sachiel inquired far too innocently.

Micah twirled the staff around in his palm and readied himself in a defensive stance. “I’ve always taken things seriously.”

At Sachiel’s continued scrutiny and immobility, Micah tightened his hands on the staff before loosening his hold. He straightened marginally and frowned at the other man.

“I didn’t ask Kai to sacrifice anything for me.”

“Yet he did.”

Micah released a low breath. “He moved before I was ready. I cannot feel responsible for the repercussions of his actions, though I am willing to appreciate his sacrifice and make that sacrifice worthwhile.”

“You will make others wish they had followed Kai.”

“No,” Micah whispered. “I will make them regret not following me.”

Sachiel smiled with teeth. “That’s my boy.”   

The other man finally straightened and swung the staff through the air, nearly hitting Micah in the head. He backpedaled quickly, throwing his staff up and blocking another rapid attack from Sachiel.

Forced on the defense, he marveled at the man’s intensity tonight. A smart remark was at the tip of his tongue—a scathing and biting insult—before Sachiel caught him across the jaw. Micah, taken aback with the level of ferocity Sachiel displayed, landed on the ground with a hard thud, his skin burning across his face.

“You’ve grown lax, Ezra,” Sachiel informed mournfully, rearing up and bringing his staff down on Micah’s fallen form.

Dazed, and taken off guard, Micah blocked the attack with his staff. He twirled the weapon in his hands, interlocking Sachiel’s hold and tugging the man down.

Forced to bend at his waist, Sachiel grunted when Micah rammed the heel of his foot in his gut. Maneuvering his body in a backward somersault, Micah leaped to his feet, ducked beneath the attack, and slapped his staff against Sachiel’s abdomen.

The man rolled with the hit, keeping up with Micah as he assaulted him with an array of difficult attacks.

“Faster!” Sachiel demanded as he blocked another one of Micah’s strikes.

The Unda warrior lunged abruptly for his legs, testing him, tempting him.

Unfortunately, Micah took the bait as he always seemed to when it came to low strikes.

He jumped.

“Do not leave your feet!” Sachiel went for another attack at his feet, relentlessly, and Micah jumped again. Only this time, he executed a backflip. “Flashy and entirely unrealistic in a sword fight, Your Highness! You—”

Micah cut Sachiel off as he nearly caught the man across the face.

As Sachiel ducked, Micah pivoted and moved with the man. Executing the Igni form, he relentlessly chased Sachiel around the mat, playing the role of the aggressor and relying on his physical strength.

Though Sachiel was on the defense, his movements were controlled and quick. He caught Micah’s overhead strike and used his momentum against him. Without warning, Sachiel executed an aggressive attack rarely seen with the Unda form. Forcibly maneuvering Micah’s arm in an odd angle, he slapped his elbow, forcing his fingers open around this staff.

Sachiel then pressed his weapon against Micah’s throat, immediately calling for the end of the duel.

Micah stared at the man through lowered lids.

“See what I mean?” Sachiel inquired loudly.

Frowning, Micah pushed the staff away from his throat. He had no idea what the man was talking about, nor could he understand the look of victory across Sachiel’s face. The man was breathing heavily and sweating, an uncommon sight.

“He fights as if he’s bored.”

The voice sounded behind him, turning the sweat down his back into ice.  

Micah turned, spying Josiah standing near the exit of the stadium, tucked in the shadows near the underbelly of the observational stands. His posture, with one shoulder leaning against the wall, indicated he’d been observing for quite some time.

“I am pleased you see it as well.” Sachiel gloated.

“Why?” Micah demanded icily.  

“You need stoking.”

“Stoking,” Micah repeated. “A fire needs stoking, not a person.”

Sachiel offered a mysterious smile, completely unconcerned at Micah’s growing ire. “On the contrary. You do better when you fight in a real battle. You’ve been regressing. While it is impossible to reenact a real battle, I considered the next best thing.”

Micah was at a loss.

“Lord Josiah is the only one who can get under your skin. Light a fire under you, so to say,” Sachiel said. “You won’t want to lose to him, yet I find it unlikely you can beat him.”  

“Not with the display I just witnessed,” Josiah added smoothly.

Trying to control his anger and offense, Micah calmly picked up his staff. “I see.”

“We are doing this in order to make you better, Ezra,” Sachiel explained. “I imagine things at the capital will get far worse before they can get better. Threats. Attempted assassinations. This is for your own safety.”

“I cannot work with him,” Micah hissed, throwing his hand in Josiah’s general direction. “He is impossible.”

Agni, he hated the man.

Last term, he’d asked Josiah to instruct him with the Elements. However, the Igni king had avoided him remarkably well after the request. It was as if he were trying to prevent Micah from discovering he was an ice Elemental and that they were not Chosen.

Fortunately, Micah found that out regardless.

“Councilman Sachiel.” Josiah’s silhouette detached from the shadows and advanced towards the platform. “Let me speak to him alone. You’ve been very helpful.”

Micah watched the two with thinly veiled abhorrence.

They acted as if Josiah had never banished Sachiel from the capital those many months ago. They were both genial. Both in unison with the other. All under the guise of helping Micah get better.

As Sachiel left without another word, Micah forcibly turned his eyes on the man across from him. Josiah gazed at him impassively, though one would be a fool to miss the smug amusement.

“Throwing a fit will not win you any favors.”

“If I throw a fit, you’ll know it,” Micah retorted spitefully. “That was not a fit.”

“I cannot tell the difference with petulant children.”

“I’d rather be a petulant child than a conceited old man.”

Josiah frowned. “That’s rather unfair. I’m hardly that old.”

Micah’s mouth twitched as the man made no effort to deny his vanity. “You’re old enough to be my father. I call that fairly old.”

“Fortunately, I am not your father.” Orange eyes turned half-lidded as they examined Micah. A surprising amount of depravity darkened his features into something akin to lust. Desire. “That would be rather taboo, don’t you think, child?”

“As if it isn’t taboo enough.” Micah yearned to see inside the man’s mind, to see what could cause such tangible hunger. “Assuming you are my uncle and—”

“And not some daemon possessing your half-uncle?” Josiah interrupted innocently. He cocked his head. “How are the studies progressing, by the way? Are you an expert exorcist now? Shall I watch my back? Examine the floor before I walk across it? Be wary of any and all rugs?”

“You mock me now, but you’ll see.”

“A master of the spirits and entities,” Josiah whispered. “You would be magnificent.”

Micah regarded Josiah, perceiving the rather content expression underneath the mask of stony impassiveness. If he had to ascertain Josiah’s current mood, he’d assume the man was in very high spirits. Could he be conceited enough to think the high spirits were because of him? Perhaps not conceited, but he’d be foolish.

Pathetic. 

“I see Calder opened your gilded cage and allowed you a short respite,” Micah muttered scornfully.

“Soon, you will be locked within the same lavish confinements. Alone. With me. Poor child.” Josiah appeared positively elated at the thought. “I will make certain Calder loses that key. A prison with you is no prison at all.”  

“I look forward to it,” Micah challenged.

That pleased Josiah.

The man advanced slowly, nonchalantly, though there was nothing casual about the intensity of his gaze. As he raised his arm, his fingers ghosted alongside Micah’s tender jaw, the same place Sachiel struck him earlier. It reminded Micah of Josiah’s ability to heal. A surprising gesture Josiah gifted him during their reunion.  

“How was it possible to train yourself to heal?” he inquired.

Spidery fingers caressed his skin before Josiah dropped his hand.

“It was merely a case of channeling my animosity towards the fool who marked you. Black emotions, black magic.”

A simple answer. A vague answer.

Clearly a mockery of the truth. Not quite a lie, but not the entire truth either.

Micah watched as Josiah clasped his hands behind his back and leisurely made his way around the dueling platform. The man was always restless. Always moving. Though he could be as motionless as a stalking predator, he seemed to favor constant motion as he assessed things from every angle. The man moved with purpose.

Despite Micah’s taunts, the pride Josiah carried was not pompous. It was mature and poised, grounded on trials barely conquered and attained. Micah imagined Josiah suffered through several trials in his lifetime. Trials that had hardened him and had turned him cynical.

“Did you ever tire of the day-to-day political agenda?” Micah asked, truly curious.

Josiah paused in his pacing. “You’ve only just begun, child.”

The amusement was evident.

“I need to work for the crown.” Micah rotated on his heel and faced Josiah. “With such a high reaching objective, asses need to be kissed and flattery will pour from my lips like ill-tasting vomit. It will grow… tedious.”

“Tedious, if not fatal,” Josiah teased. “I was never in your position. My power was unquestionable. I watched as politicians played power plays with each other, all vying for the opportunity to be closer to me. When I got bored, I’d play along.”

Resuming his slow, controlled pacing, Josiah motioned towards Micah.

“You, on the other hand, are scrambling from your absence in court, trying to pick up torn allegiances in hopes of tying them to yourself. Ladon is a threat.” Josiah paused. “Though he is a bastard, he is Unda and the king’s son. The Unda nobles hold the power here. If you are eliminated, Ladon will take the throne.”

“It would be like another Calder. No change. No possible threat to their highbrow society,” Micah said with clear aversion.

“So?” Josiah drawled. “What will you do? You’ve already indicated displeasure dancing amongst the ranks of nobles and trying to woo them all. Truthfully, I find the very idea distasteful and offensive. It is unbecoming of a prince to beg for his people who are sworn to him by birth.”

When Josiah worded it like that, Micah wondered why he’d even considered it in the first place. He was not a salivating dog. He did not need to kneel at the feet of nobles just to await their loyalty. It made him appear reliant.

Weak.

“Of course, there will be nobles you will find worthy enough to seduce to your side, yes. When you successfully court one to your side, there is a high possibility that one will encourage two to follow, and so forth,” Josiah said. “Do not chase the ones who want to be chased just to see you kneel. It is unlikely their loyalties will ever change. Yet, when you take that crown, it is inevitable they will have to bow to you.”

Micah tried to search for any underhanded tactics with Josiah’s advice. Surely, if they found each other on the opposite side of court one day, the man would want to start early and try to give Micah poor guidance.

Yet he couldn’t find anything particularly damning.

Micah should continue courting, but not to the extent he’d feared he would need to perform. He was the born royal heir, after all. A monarch did not have to convince people to kneel when it was obligatory to do so.

He’d have to continue being political. He’d have to continue wooing, but he would not scramble desperately.

“Undoubtedly, there will be assassination attempts,” Josiah continued.

“The nobles who are against my position are quite outspoken. They wouldn’t be so candid unless they thought such attempts at my life would be successful.”

“Most everyone is oblivious to your immunity with the Elements. I imagine your Edlen and Sachiel are loyal because they’ve caught a glimpse at the power you possess.” Josiah raised an eyebrow. “People are inclined to follow others if there is power involved.”

Though Micah wanted to believe Kai followed him for reasons other than his power, he couldn’t argue with Josiah’s logic.

“I don’t even know the extent of those powers.”

“That is why I plan to teach you how to use your Element.” Josiah stopped in front of him. “Though your dueling was subpar tonight, I am not concerned it will take long to correct. You’ve just grown complacent. As Sachiel indicated, you are an adrenaline fighter.”  

Micah hardly had to think it over.

“When do we start?”

Conjuring his Element was haphazard. Once he’d acknowledged his power, it seemed to come readily, especially in battle. When the adrenaline was gone, however, he struggled to frost over a mere cup of water.

“Your enthusiasm is endearing. But you still have some ways to go before we begin.”

Disappointed, but veiling it, Micah watched as Josiah smiled smugly before purposefully retreating off the dueling platform.

“Is Calder calling you back home?” he called to the man’s back.

“If you’d like me to spend the night, all you have to do is ask.”

A slow hiss escaped from Micah’s lips, startling Josiah enough to cause the man to look over his shoulder. “You’re a smug bastard.”

Josiah hummed low in his throat. Agreeing. “Goodnight, Ezra.”

As the man exited the stadium, Micah deliberated the space the man once occupied. There was something unnervingly ordinary about the reverberations of Josiah’s presence. It took him a moment to recognize it.

His mind felt clear.

His head wasn’t pounding uncontrollably.

There was no migraine, no torment. Not like it usually was when left alone in Josiah’s presence.

Narrowing his gaze, Micah slowly withdrew the warm, persistent pentagram from his trouser pocket that he’d placed there earlier that evening. The silver pendant gleamed defiantly, and as Micah touched the face of the pendant with his fingers, he drew his hand back out of unease.

Just as he’d imagined.

The metal was hot to the touch.

Micah exhaled sharply and clutched the pendant tightly in his palm, ignoring the pain as it dug into his delicate bones. He simply tightened his hold, closing his eyes and focusing his rage on things he could control.

Nonetheless, there was one thing he kept returning to inside his head.

The man parading as Josiah wasn’t his uncle.

And he really wasn’t human.

He had to work quickly.

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