Book 3: Stiff Upper Lip

Hollis

Outside the tent, Candace’s sobs sound as loud as Raven’s screams did not too long ago, but nothing changes in the flow of frantic traffic between the other tents. Almost everyone heads for the largest one, half of them clutching gifts, to pay fealty to the new baby prince.

Something in my chest crumples.

If I was a good person—the man she seems to think I am, if she made the mistake of counting on me—I would walk back into that tent and hold her. Fuck Father, fuck whatever other consequences might follow. The mark on my shoulder certainly agrees, screaming almost louder than her in waves of pulsating pain.

But what she and the mark don’t understand is that being a good person comes second to being a good prince, and I was only raised to do one of them well. The heart whining in my chest is almost a waste of an organ at this point. I’ve let it shrink and wither for so long that sometimes I’m surprised it still beats. So Candace’s sobs