Anisa stretched out her hand, and he guided the curl of wind beneath her palm.
The cyclone held a moment, wobbling slightly, and Anisa let out a small, delighted laugh.
But it trailed off as footsteps sounded at their back.
The cyclone fell apart as Alucard turned and saw a shadow in the open doorway.
Berras.
They say that blood binds tightest, that family matters most. But if Alucard felt anything for his brother, it wasn’t love but fear.
Berras Emery was not powerful. His magic hung wisp-thin around him, rose and fell in brittle filaments. But what Berras lacked in magic, he made up for in temper. In muscle and bone, in hands on skin, brutal and inelegant.
“Go inside, Anisa,” he said.
She opened her mouth, as if to argue, but Alucard touched her arm. “Go on,” he said. “And I’ll tell you a story before bed.”
Anisa rose and ran inside.
He would have gone with her, but Berras blocked his way.
He had their mother’s coloring, the dark hair, the storm-blue eyes, but in every other way he was their father’s echo. The set of his jaw, the way he flexed his hands, the judgment in his voice.
“Where have you been?” he demanded.
“Out for a walk,” said Alucard, feigning levity. “It’s a lovely night.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“It’s not a lie. Look up—you can see the weather for yourself.”
“And did the weather leave that gold streak along your jaw?”
Sanct.
Alucard fought the urge to reach up and wipe away the kiss.
“You caught me,” he said, forcing a smile. “I went down to the Blessed Waters. I know, not an establishment fitting my station, but the women there know their way around a bottle and a body.”
“You came from the palace.”
“No, I—”
Berras punched him hard in the stomach. The wind rushed out of his lungs.
“I told you not to lie.”
Alucard resisted the urge to reach for magic.
It would only make things worse.
“I will not let you ruin our name.”
“Oh, I assure you,” growled Alucard, “I haven’t ruined it at all. The prince uses it quite fondly.”
Berras slammed him into the doorframe, one hand wrapped around his throat.
“You are an Emery, not a whore. Whatever passed between you, it is done, little brother. It must be. There is no future in it.”
He let go then, and Alucard slumped, dragging air back into his lungs. He brought a hand to his throat.
Berras was right.
A prince could do as he pleased, indulge in lovers, feast on anyone who caught his fancy, but in the end they were both nobles, and nobles needed heirs.
In the end, it was nothing but a dalliance.
A flirtation that had run its course.
“Do you understand?” demanded his brother.
Alucard closed his eyes. “I do.”
“Good,” sneered Berras. Alucard exhaled, hoping he was done. And then Berras added, “Prove it.”
III
The carriage jostled as it went over the bridge.
Alucard kept his gaze on the window, the Isle glowing red beyond. It was that or be forced to look at Berras on the opposite bench. He was dressed, like Alucard, all in white, the Emery colors picked out in the blue trim of his coat, the silver buttons running down his tunic. Alucard wore a blue-and-silver scarf at his throat, to hide the bruising left by his brother’s hand.
The carriage pulled up in front of the palace.
A servant drew open the door, and Berras nodded for Alucard to step out first.
He didn’t move.
If he stayed in the carriage, if he didn’t go in, he wouldn’t have to—
“Out,” ordered Berras.
Alucard rose and climbed down. Berras followed, a silver walking stick in one hand. He held it not by the carved bird handle but by the staff, like a weapon.
A dozen carriages circled before the palace steps, the arriving guests all dressed in white, like priests. A tradition of the Summer Feast.
They were ushered inside, to the Grand Hall, a three-story ballroom of polished wood and shimmering crystal, a domed glass ceiling, and balconies that ran in filigreed bands beneath.
The terrace doors had been flung open to let in the summer air, and in the center of the hall, candied fruit spilled over banquet tables, gold platters piled high with meats. Summer wine poured from fountains and glittered on every passing tray.
Berras handed Alucard a drink.
“Smile, Brother. It is a party, after all.”
Alucard’s fingers tightened on the glass. Inside, frost spread across the surface of the summer wine.
He drank it in one freezing gulp and searched the room for Rhy.
The king and queen stood at the center of the hall, making pleasantries, but the prince was not with them. He scanned the hall and caught sight of Kell up on one of the balconies, perched like a crow. He searched the staircases, the dancing forms, but there was no sign of the prince, and Alucard held his breath and hoped Rhy had taken ill, hoped—
But Rhy Maresh had never missed a party.
Or a chance to make an entrance.
He arrived on the stairs in a crisp white suit and cloak, dripping gold. It lined the inside of his cloak and collar; it covered every clasp and trim. It hung from his ears, and painted his lips, and shone in his eyes.
He was dazzling.
And, for a brief, wonderful moment, Alucard forgot why he was there, forgot everything except the prince on the stairs.
And then Berras’s walking stick dug into his back, and he remembered.
“Put an end to it,” he said, “or I will.”
Alucard forced himself to move, and the silver cane fell away.
He should have felt lighter then.
Instead he just felt sick.
Alucard crossed the room toward Rhy. And Rhy, unknowing, came to meet him.