No natural magic, no threads of power.
Nothing, and yet he was powerfully handsome, powerfully charming, powerfully witty, powerfully sharp, powerfully kind. He was—
Impatient, thought Alucard, and the prince pulled him down into the bed.
Just then, someone pounded on the door.
“Send them away,” said Alucard, breathless, but then the knocking ceased, and Rhy must have known what was coming because the prince dragged Alucard close and, instead of kissing him, pushed him roughly into the mountainous curtains beside the bed.
Alucard gasped, and nearly spat out a curse, when the door swung open and Kell walked in.
Kell, the prince’s older brother.
The king’s adopted son.
And a royal pain in the ass.
“You look flushed,” he said, his tone flat as wood and just as humorless.
Even through the curtains, Alucard could see the shine of Kell’s magic, silver as starlight and bright as a forge.
Alucard Emery was one of the most promising magicians in the empire. He could already wield earth and air, was learning water, too. He would become a triad, one of the few people who could control not one element, or even two, but three.
He had spent the last decade learning to wield his power.
And Kell made him look like a child fumbling in the dark. All because he was Antari, born with magic in his blood. It came to him as naturally as breathing.
Alucard hated him for it, though in truth he would have hated him a great deal less if he weren’t also such a bastard.
Rhy cleared his throat. “I was dreaming,” he said.
Alucard could hear the smile in his voice. He held his breath, felt the silk shift a little. The next thing he felt was Kell’s power, forcing him bodily out of the curtains.
“Well,” said Kell, crossing his arms. “I must be dreaming too.”
Alucard straightened, brushing off his hands. “I didn’t realize I was in your dreams, Kell.”
“Only my nightmares,” said the prince, raising a copper brow. But it was the eyes beneath that unnerved Alucard.
One blue, the other black.
He turned to Rhy. “The king sent me to fetch you.”
Alucard snorted, and Kell rounded on him.
“Do you have something to say, Emery?”
“I’m just marveling. Is it some spell that compels you, or did you choose to be an errand boy?”
Kell glowered, but Rhy spoke first.
“Tell him I was asleep.”
“I will do no such thing.”
Rhy furrowed his brow and drew his mouth into a pout, and even though it was a farce, Alucard found himself impacted, wanted to wipe the lines from the prince’s face, to kiss away the crease between his eyes, to make him smile. It was a kind of power, he thought, even if it was not magic.
“Come on, Kell,” said Rhy.
“Yes, come on,” said Alucard. “Prove you’re not a little—”
“You forget your place.”
“Not at all,” said Alucard. “It is, of course, beneath your brother.”
His face cracked sideways.
Pain, swift and bright, bloomed on his skin. Kell hadn’t moved, but the air had moved, like a palm, against his cheek.
His own power rose, like heat. The floorboards groaned, the air began to churn, but Alucard only touched his face.
“You will regret that,” he said. “It is a crime to strike a noble.”
“The king is downstairs, waiting for his son. You could go down and plead your case. But then, he might want to know what you were doing in his bed.”
Rhy laughed, but there was not much humor in it. The breath escaped like steam, simply seeking a release. “I’ll be right down, Kell. I promise.”
Kell didn’t move. “I’ll wait,” he said, flicking his fingers. The discarded crown flung itself back into Rhy’s hands. “And you better change your shirt.”
Rhy looked down. “Why?”
He turned away. “You’re missing a button.”
* * *
The royal palace was traced with spells.
Some were there to keep things out, and others to keep things in, and a few to simply keep the massive structure looking its best. Alucard could see the threads of all of them, and thus could find the seams, the places where they did not reach.
He slipped out of the palace and onto the street.
The Night Market rose to one side, tents spilling golden light into the street, the air filled with meat, and song, and scented smoke, but Alucard turned the other way, and walked past the palace grounds and onto the bridge.
He paused near the center and looked down at the crimson light of the river, a thousand threads running like silken fish beneath the surface. He smiled and held one hand over the side, the water rising to meet his fingers. It was then he caught sight of the gold streaked along his wristbone, remembered the touch of Rhy’s lips against his skin.
He cupped the water, rinsing the gold dust from his hands, his throat, his face, washing away the last traces of the prince before he went home.
II
The Emery estate sat just above the northern banks.
Alucard passed through the open gates and looked up in time to see a shadow sitting on the steps. His heart seized, but it was too small to be Berras. Gold hair trying to escape its braid, a dress bunched around her knees, his little sister, Anisa, sat at the bottom of the stairs, scowling at the courtyard floor.
He thought she must be angry, or hurt, but as Alucard drew close, he saw she was concentrating. Her magic danced around her in strands of vivid blue, and she bit her bottom lip as she squinted at the ground between her shoes, coaxing the dust into tiny sandstorms at her feet.
Alucard sank down beside her on the step.
“You’ve been practicing.” He brought a hand to rest on his sister’s hair. “What are you doing out here?”
“Father isn’t well,” she said. “And Berras is in a mood.”
Their father hadn’t been well in years, and their brother, it seemed, was always in a mood. He held out his hand, and the wind whipped beneath his palm, twisting itself into a small cyclone.