Philip had said he’d talk to Kris yet again about his behavior, but the prince couldn’t be tamed. He’d do it again. When he did, Frankie would catch him.
And the explanation he’d demand would be the end of them.
Breakfast was strange without Mark.
Kris and Tommy sat in the blue parlor, overshadowed by the grand room, the gargantuan table, and the empty space their brother had left behind.
In the days since Mark had moved with Ava to the outskirts of Kira City, a disconnect had formed between Kris and Tommy. As if the knot of their bond had come loose, and like beads on a string, they were starting to separate along the cord. It was an ache at his very core to realize the absence of one brother put space between them all.
“Good night?” Tommy asked quietly, skewering into his potato hash.
“Yeah.” He glanced up, but Tommy wasn’t looking at him.
It was never a good sign when Tommy avoided eye contact with his own family.
“Just went to the Bearded Bunting.”
“You like that place.”
Kris reached for more toast. “They don’t make a big deal about me being there.”
Back home, he and his brothers had never made a habit of eating breakfast together, instead weaving through each other’s morning routines with silent companionship. But he’d grown used to it since arriving in Kiraly. Now three had become two, and it was like the whole meal was spent waiting for Mark to arrive.
“You?” he asked.
Tommy raised a shoulder. His attention stayed on his plate. “Fine.”
“Reading?”
He nodded. “I’m going through our family history.”
“Cool,” he said, in that way that betrayed he wouldn’t personally find it cool to spend his nights like that, but appreciated that his brother did. Reading and researching was safe.
They kept eating.
Guilt niggled at him in the brittle-edged silence.
Tommy had been distant since Kris had declared he’d replace Mark as king. At first, Kris had pretended not to know why. It was a good thing, wasn’t it? Mark could be with Ava and Tommy didn’t have to face new, high-level social situations every day. No pressure meant no panic attacks. Really, Tommy should be thanking him.
But he knew.
Of course he knew.
“Skip Tommy,” he’d said to Mark that night, and Tommy had flinched beside him. “Skip him and go straight to me.”
Every time he thought of it, that flinch was a lash down Kris’s side.
He didn’t know what to do. Couldn’t take it back. Would make the same call over again, just with more tact. He’d shamed his brother by disregarding his birthright as the second-born son, and the wound wasn’t healing.
“Any other triplets in our family history?” he asked.
Tommy shook his head.
“Any other asshole brothers who jumped the queue to the throne without asking?”
Tommy stilled. His gaze was a mix of caution and censure when he looked up. “Yes. But their version of jumping the queue usually involved murdering the heir.”
Not sure how to respond, Kris pulled a face. “Brutal. So I’m not as big of an asshole as I thought.”
“Yes, you are,” his brother said with quiet conviction.
And there it is. Running a hand over his mouth, Kris lowered his head.
Their silence stretched out uncomfortably, but he didn’t break it. In the tension, he could sense Tommy’s internal struggle, challenging himself to speak his mind, and finally his brother murmured, “You’ve never made me feel useless before.”
Kris snapped his head up. “You’re not useless.”
“I am.” The admission held too much certainty. “I couldn’t do what you’re doing for Mark. I hate myself for that. But you didn’t even pretend I was capable. You’ve always at least pretended.”
Insulted, he said, “I never pretend.”
Tommy angled his head almost mockingly. “Then why did you skip me?”
“Because I wasn’t thinking.”
“No. You were thinking so fast and clearly, that you forgot to humor me.”
Goddamn it. “Tommy . . .”
He knew he was overprotective—and that Tommy resented it—but Kris couldn’t bear to watch him get hurt. Not again. Being a king with severe social anxiety would hurt like hell, so instinct had been to shield his brother from the weight of the crown. And in doing so . . .
Kris had hurt him.
Round of applause for good intentions and shit execution, ladies and gentleman.
“I’m sorry.” Kris leaned toward him, forearms on the tablecloth. “Do you want to swap back?”
Tommy huffed a humorless laugh as the doors to the parlor opened and Philip entered with a newspaper in his hand and a scowl on his thin face.
Kris winced. No guesses what this was about.
Actually. Come to think of it—there were a few things . . .
“Prince Kristof,” the advisor said coolly, halting a respectable distance from the table. “Prince Tomas.”
Tommy inclined his head, while Kris said, “Morning, Phil.”
The man opened his mouth to continue, then hesitated with an irritated look. “Why do you do that? I’ve expressly asked you to call me Philip.”
“Philip is so proper.” Kris gestured around the room vaguely with his fork. “I don’t want to be stuck in formality every second of the day, so I’m trying to make our working relationship more relaxed. You know, to differentiate it from when I meet stuffy dignitaries with poles up their asses. You do want me to be able to differentiate between you and—”
“Kris,” Tommy murmured, face down.
“Don’t you?” Kris jumped to the finish.
“Fine.” Philip’s sigh was long-suffering. “But training to be king doesn’t mean you can do anything you want.”
“Trust me,” Tommy said, “his attitude has nothing to do with that.”
Kris smirked.
“Regardless, it’s poor form to repeatedly shirk your own guard. Particularly after repeatedly being asked not to.”
“Again?” Tommy angled a narrowed stare at him.
“It’s fine.” Kris glanced at them both. “I don’t need guards. I wouldn’t have to shirk them if we just gave them the night off. They work hard.”
Philip looked aghast.
“Why not?” Kris’s heartbeat grew louder in his ears. Anticipation coiled in him as he casually eyed his advisor. “What exactly do you think might happen to me?”
He’d waited for the right moment to ask, because unless this palace was populated by ignorant fools, someone else must share his suspicions about the deaths of his uncles and cousin. And they were keeping it from him.
“Is there a threat we don’t know about, Phil?” he asked, angling his head.
Tommy froze beside him, then looked up to watch Philip.
“Only if your head’s been stuck in the hay, Your Highness,” the man answered. “Royal-obsessed public. Paparazzi. The usual concerns that are no less valid just because you haven’t yet learned to take them seriously.”
Kris gave a hum. Tommy glanced out the window.