Gold.
He could smell it a mile away. Everything in his home smelled of the disgusting material. So, it was no surprise to him when his father blew open the doors to his temporary chambers as he bathed. He had smelled the mans foul corruption down the hall-three halls away.
He had no deity to pray to, not one he could think of in that moment anyway. There was no happy thought or nursery rhyme that could make his fathers presence bearable in any sense of the word. As he sunk deeper into the warm bath, his thoughts drifted aimlessly, landing on the Princess. He knew his father was there to groom him to behave tonight, and he understood why.
Being in her presence was intoxicating. It commanded him to sit and listen to every word she spoke, analyze every curve of her body, every flick of her purple eyes. His father had warned him not to make eye contact with the Princess, that she was deformed and she would bewitch him. His stomach fluttered like a woman in courting every time he thought back to when their gazes had met. She could have commanded him to stop breathing and he would have died before disobeying her.
“Corvus,” Lord Hafixir spoke, waving off a pair of handmaidens to take a seat alongside the brass tub. He placed a golden ringed finger in the water swirling the herbal leaves that smelled of mint. “You met the Princess’ gaze, didn’t you, son?”
All he could do was nod, watching his fathers hands for any move to strike. The old lord wouldn’t have the mercy to remove his rings, even to his own son, so Corvus prepared himself to launch from the bath in an instant. He swallowed, finding his voice, which had nearly disappeared. “Yes, Father. I’m sorry.”
“Boy,” Corvus flinched when his father clenched his fist, then sighed. “You are braver than I. Tell me, what was it like? Could you feel it-the power of the Prime Family?”
“Yes,” He admitted. He felt like a moon circling the sun. If she pulled him in, he would incinerate, yet her beauty beckoned him to do so nevertheless. “It was . . . divine.”
Divine. That word couldn’t even begin to spell out how her magic felt to him. it was a beacon, burning brighter than a million stars. Energy so raw and rich it could never be contained. That was what it meant to be a Prime. Closer to being a God than mortal. Yet it carried a familiarity to it, much like his own magic. The Gorat family was commonly known as the last Necromancers, but her aura was similar to his-dark and beautiful.
From within his vast golden robes, Corvus watched his father produce a smaller, slightly shinier golden garb. He held it up for him to see it was an intricately sewn surcoat embroidered with his signature colors, violet and black. His family crest, the raven’s head, was pinned to the breast pocket.
“Dry off and put this on,” His father smiled, proud of himself and his flashy wealth. Though he didn’t want to, Corvus pulled himself from the waters warm embrace, shivering as the Sardathelian cold hit him. Goosebumps ran along his entire body as he waddled away, cowering in the nude under his fathers judgeful eye.
He dried himself off and slipped into the surcoat and trousers, pulling his fine leather boots back on to protect his shaking feet. Water droplets splattered on the floor when he turned to face his father. Lord Hafixir never tore his eyes from his son.
“Did you come to watch me dress, father?” He cleared his throat.
“You’re growing into a man.”
The words echoed around the room, the same one’s that had been spoken on his twelfth birthday. Corvus’ stomach tied itself in knots. Those words had been the beginning of Hell, the first step in his exile from Handir. When the gates to his fathers mansion had shut him out, for what, he thought, would be forever. Even now, he was still shocked that his father had reached out to him in the first place. Even more so that he returned home to be welcomed into open arms. But not the arms of his mother.
“Why am I here?” He asked, rushing to speak before he had the chance to back down.
His father stared at the marble floor. “The day you . . . left, your mother-she tried to negotiate a deal with a Bogart to protect you.”
The day he was exiled.
“She was a fool, your mother,” Lord Hafixir sighed. “But I loved her. And I like to think she learned to love me back after bearing two sons.”
His father was no romantic. Not once in his life had Corvus seen his parents smile at each other, let alone spend more than five minutes together where they weren’t fighting. This wasn’t right. Before, his father could never stand to be with him more than a day; they were going on two weeks.
“What I’m trying to say is…Is that i made a little mistake, sending you away.” A mistake? Publicly denouncing him, forcing him to brace the wilds of Beryl with nothing but the clothes on his back-that was his fathers idea of a little mistake? Corvus raised his eyes to his fathers face, the elder man was stoic.
Never show emotion. His fathers most important rule of manhood. Control over the mind and body had to be absolute, which was never Corvus’ strong suite. He had bawled like a baby when he learned of his mothers passing and was glad his father didn’t know about it. But this was a new low for the old lord. Admitting he was wrong was another rule of manhood; never do it.
Corvus wiped his face of emotion-a blanket of nothing as he refolded his towel. “Thank you, Father.”
The words burned his throat as they came out. It was like swallowing hot iron. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, but that was good enough to please his father. The lord waved off the thanks and stood with a grunt.
“Enough of the sentimentalities, we aren’t a flock of women,” he adjusted his own golden cloak and robes. “And you are not here to enjoy baths and wine.”
Despite his fathers hesitation, Corvus managed to hold in his rage. Beating around the bush stoked his core’s burning fire. He didn’t understand why he was here or why his father seemed so nervous, and part of him didn’t want to find out.
His nostrils flared as his father approached, placing his pudgy, round hands on Corvus’ shoulders. High-pitched alarms bled into his ears, jarring his heart. His magic flared under his skin in warning. Though their magic was the same, his father’s always made his skin crawl with tension. It was older and much more powerful than his own, an embodiment of death itself.
“The bank has run dry, son,” his father refused to look him in the eye. “You and your brother are the only chances we-I have at saving it.”
Corvus face crinkled with a guttural laugh. He laughed so deeply that he had a hard time catching his breath. “What do you expect me to do about that, Father?” He wheezed.
This was the best news he had ever received. He was called home for the first time in four years and it was because his family was just like everyone else; dirt poor. Oh, how the tides had turned.
“Currently, there are twenty seven courtable women out there, two of which are members of the Prime family,” His fathers words stilled him as if pressing a knife to his throat. “As far as Prime King D’mitri is aware, we are still the wealthiest family in the country. You and your brother are the most qualified eligible bachelors in the land, therefore it is only right that the Prime King’s daughters be married to at least one of you.”
Lord Hafixir waved towards the heavy oaken door where the faint sound of dancing music wafted down the hall. The party was starting.
“You mean to milk the Prime family dry to stoke your own greed? What? Have the people finally realized you’ve been beguiling them all this time?” He scoffed. “Why would you drag me into this nonsense? Lyle is more fit for royalty than I could ever be.”
“The Sardathelian King is planning to propose a marriage tonight, I am sure of it!” Lord Hafixir roared, spit spraying across the room“You must offer first!”
“This does not involve me-”
“-it is your birthright!”
Corvus’ lips pressed into a thin line as he bit his tongue. He chose his next words carefully, knowing every word would be a death sentence. “It’s only my birthright when it benefits you. I am not your son. I am only another one of your investments.”
With that, Corvus’ clicked his heels and bowed his head, dismissing himself from his fathers wrath. His mind ran rancid with emotions as he followed the sound of laughter and music towards the ballroom. Pausing just outside the grand stained glass doors, he straightened his back, in a mockery of regaining his composure. Then, he pushed the doors open to brave the heavy crowd beyond.
Never show emotion. Never let them know what you are thinking.
ns 15.158.61.21da2
