He felt the drop of blood run like a tear between his eyes, down his nose.
Two words, and the Antari could turn him to ash. To ice. To stone.
“You wouldn’t,” he hissed.
Kell drew a mark on his forehead.
“As Tascen,” he said, and the air lodged in Alucard’s chest, the world rocking violently sideways.
And then he was kneeling on the grass, the night sky wide and dark, clouds blushing with the reflected light of the Isle river.
They were in the palace orchard, between two rows of trees.
Alucard shuddered, relieved to find that he could move again. He staggered to his feet.
“Go home,” said Kell, already turning away.
“I have to see him. I have to explain—”
Kell stopped. “Do you care for my brother?”
“Yes!” hissed Alucard, exasperated.
“Then save your sweet nothings, and say them in daylight.” Kell turned back, his gaze piercing, even in the dark. “If he is nothing but a prize, a way to pass the time, then leave, and stay away.
“But if it is love,” he added, “then come back, and make your feelings known in the presence of the king. Court him in the proper way.”
Alucard shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is now,” said Kell, drawing a symbol on the nearest tree. “As Tascen,” he muttered, and then the world simply parted, and he was gone, leaving Alucard alone in the dark.
He sank back to the ground, his head in his hands.
If it is love.
But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.
Alucard could not afford to fall in love.
And so he’d told himself he wouldn’t. Told himself it was like summer fruit, savored in season but hardly mourned in winter. Told himself it would be nothing but a fun affair, a way to pass the warmest months.
He’d told himself every time he left Rhy’s bed.
Every time he felt his pulse quicken at the prince’s touch.
Every time he blushed at the prince’s smile.
He’d told himself—as if his heart would listen.
That traitorous heart, now thudding in his chest, beating out the answer like a drum.
Because, of course, it was love.
He was in love with the prince of Arnes.
And he would have to tell him. And the king and queen. And then, somehow, he would have to tell his family. But what could they do, if the Crown approved? Perhaps it would be enough. Perhaps he would be free.
Alucard fell back against the grass and sighed. He closed his eyes, whispering the truth to the trees in the orchard, testing it on his tongue.
He thought of staying there, waiting for dawn, but his clothes were rumpled, the shoulder of his coat torn, his hair a wild mess of curls.
He could not stand before the king like this.
What a shabby suitor he would make.
A suitor. The thought of declaring himself left Alucard breathless and dizzy, his confidence flagging in the dark. But he closed his eyes and thought of Rhy, summoned the prince as if he were a piece of magic.
Those gold eyes lit his way across the river.
That warm voice carried him home.
He was in love.
The knowledge hung like a chain around his neck. And yet there was a warmth to the weight, like armor in the sun.
He was in love.
He scaled the wall of the estate, swung his leg up onto his balcony, the words beating in his chest.
He was in love, and in the morning he would say it.
In the morning—
The blow came out of nowhere.
He stumbled, his vision going in and out, taking his attacker with it. Berras flickered, then resolved.
“I warned you, little brother.”
He swung again.
“Wait,” said Alucard, throwing out his hands. He knew he couldn’t stop his brother with words, or fists, but he had earth, he had wind.
The air wrapped like rope around Berras’s wrist, holding it at bay. But what his brother lacked in power, he made up for in brute force. He tore his hand free. Alucard stumbled back, but not fast enough.
Berras slammed his forehead into Alucard’s.
He reeled, blood in his eyes and a high ringing in his ears.
“Stop!”
A flash of blond hair, magic rising like steam as Anisa surged into the room, but she was too young to fight with magic, too young to shape the wind into more than a gust, as effective as open palms shoving at a wall.
Berras turned and struck her once, across the jaw. Anisa stumbled back, as much in shock as in pain, and Alucard summoned enough wind to push her back into the hall, then forced the door shut between them.
She pounded on the wood, her small voice pleading, “Don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him,” as thin as a breeze, and just as useless.
Berras turned and kicked Alucard in the chest, slamming him backward.
He hit the wall with a sickening crunch, pain exploding through his shoulder and side. He staggered, trying to summon magic. The floorboards groaned, and the air churned, but before he could make sense or shape of it, a voice cleared its throat in the dark.
His father sat on the edge of the bed, fingers curled around his iron cane. When he spoke, his voice had all the warmth of stone. “What a disappointment you are.”
“Father,” gasped Alucard, pain lancing every breath. “Please, let me explain.”
He tried to twist free, but Berras wrenched his ruined shoulder until the world went white. He screamed, in pain and rage, and the whole house trembled.
“I thought you could be bent,” said his father, lifting his iron cane. “Clearly, you must be broken.”
The last thing he saw was the metal slicing through the air, before everything went black.
V
When Alucard was nine, he fell from the garden wall.
The next day it felt as if he’d bruised every bone in his body, though none of them were broken.
This was worse.