Misael let out a sigh and waved at a servant who dared to move in the corner of the room and draw in his attention. “You—boy! I want another drink. Hurry with it.”
The boy—who looked no older than thirteen—bowed with a quick nod. “Yes, sire, right away.”
Soft chatter returned to the room, and soon the music started playing. With no clear effort from Eryx to conversate with the man and woman of the house, they were also led away, and he was left to his throne and thoughts.
Mostly.
Mattue joined him, stepping behind his throne where he liked to place himself. That way, he could whisper all sorts of things into Eryx’s ear the same way he’d done from the time he was a boy. No one ever thought anything of it, being that Mattue was his advisor. He was also one of his father’s most trusted members of the court, considering they shared blood. And yet, Eryx did not think people realized how manipulative his uncle could be when he wanted. As a young boy, he’d often fallen into Mattue’s trap.
Not so much as a man, however.
“Your father thought you might like the Lady,” Mattue noted. “Her husband was even willing to share her for the evening, had she caught your eye.”
Eryx’s lip curled up at the edge before he plucked the goblet from the arm of his throne and downed what remained of the red wine in one gulp. Setting the gold cup down harder than he should, he let out a dark laugh. “I don’t, and won’t, fuck women he picks for me. I wouldn’t care if she were the queen of the skies—if he picks her, then I won’t touch her.”
“Eryx—”
“It only means he wants to fuck her himself.”
Mattue didn’t even bother to deny it.
There was no lie, so he couldn’t.
Deciding to switch to his advisor tone, Mattue said, “The storms are rolling in—you’ll return to the west court with your father when the rest of the royal caravan begins the trip back. He’s decided. Over the season, you’ll have ample opportunity to consider each and every woman in the land who he believes is appropriate for your position. He wants you to have picked one to marry once the season has passed and a wedding can be had.”
Was Eryx supposed to be listening?
He really wasn’t.
Despite having to listen to Mattue because he’d been appointed by his father, Eryx didn’t actually care to do anything the man wanted or told him to do. Not unless it benefitted him in some way.
Tit for tat.
“Get him to lay off that for a year, would you?” he muttered.
His gaze swept the crowd, searching for someone who should have been milling near the rear of the room like she usually did. His mother, that was. The only person in this entire realm that he gave any care or concern to at all.
“What—a marriage?”
“Yes, that.”
“Eryx, your twenty years have passed. It’s time to marry.”
“I can marry anytime. You posed it like I was meant to pick a woman. Which woman has he already picked for me? I’m sure she’ll be just a respectable and fertile in another year as she is right now, no? I’ll marry no one when this season passes, and if he wants me to marry whichever cunt he’s picked for me, then he’ll wait another year, anyway.”
Hell, his father had probably already had a taste of the woman. Eryx wouldn’t rush to have his.
Mattue sighed. “You seem frustrated. Perhaps you should take the Lady of the house to bed tonight. Drink a bit, then fuck away your mood. The rest of the court would appreciate it, Prince.”
Right, right.
“Undoubtedly not,” Eryx murmured.
He was still searching for that familiar face in the crowd—her clothes would, of course, be a bit finer than those around her, considering she was favored by his father within the court. Something else his mother never did was try to hide what made her so unique amongst the people with whom she was allowed to mingle.
And he couldn’t find her.
Eryx had a feeling he knew exactly where his mother had gone when she’d had the chance to slip away from the room and people. Events like these often allowed her less attention from his father, and she used it to her advantage.
“You have that look—the quietness in you—again,” Mattue noted.
“Do I?”
“Mmhmm.”
Eryx stood from his throne, saying, “If they ask, tell them I went to take a piss.”
“Are you? Taking a piss, I mean.”
He gave Mattue a smirk, feeling the weight of his crown tilt with his head as he met the man’s dark eyes with his own stormy blues when he replied, “Well, as long as that’s what you tell them, then it really doesn’t matter what I actually do, now does it?”
His uncle didn’t respond.
Eryx didn’t really need him to.
• • •
If there was such a thing as love—if it was true and real like fairy tales and myths suggested—then that’s what Eryx felt for his mother. Not the romantic love that women in the realm cooed about when they thought men weren’t close enough to hear, but something else entirely.
A love worth more, maybe.
More loyal.
Far more coveted.
His father spent years fucking his way through slaves before discarding them. A lot like he did to any wife he took, almost all of whom died under circumstances no one really understood when the truth had never been told. A number of his brothers had come from women kept in his father’s harem of slaves, and yet none of them had ever seemed to care for their mothers the way Eryx did.
He wasn’t sure why that was.
Perhaps it was because their mothers hated the children they’d been forced to birth, and his mother never had.
He also didn’t understand why it felt like he could hear his mother wherever he went. Even when she wasn’t with him, she was there. As much a part of him as the blood running through his veins, she was just there. He didn’t tell anyone—they wouldn’t understand—but he knew his mother was aware. She simply wouldn’t tell him why.
“I knew you would be here,” he said, smiling when Anthia turned her hooded head in his direction when the horse approached the water orchard. Rows of water fruit trees stretched through long channels with deep sea water on either side. He listened to the wind whispering through waving branches with low-hanging fruit. The water fruit was best at the start of the storm season. Harvest would happen soon, and the fruit would be good to store for the coming year. “Always your favorite spot, Mama.”
He had her dark hair, twisted with curls down past his ears, while hers was long enough to touch the small of her back when she let it down. He also had her small lips that seemed perpetually turned into a smirk, even when he didn’t realize it. And the sharp lines that made up her delicate features, although from his boyhood to adulthood, his had become harder and more masculine.
“You’re going to ruin your cloak,” he added, dismounting from the horse that he’d taken from the estate’s stables earlier. “It’s not meant to be worn in the rain.”
At least, not the one she was currently wearing. The satin fabric would be ruined by the time he got her back to the house.
“It’s not raining.”