I release my emotion in the curves of a dark-haired girl of violet eyes that always seems to utterly bequeath me.

  We writhe together on her bed, enjoying the lust and hot-blood of youth. Sunlight spills in through shuttered windows in broken lines, falling across the girl’s pale skin in rivets. Her room is dark, and warm, which only seems to intensify my desire. She pulls my head close, pressing full lips to mine, and I drink in the scent of Asha Leinhart. She smells of love, of home and security; I feel my black emotion melt away like morning dew under the afternoon sun. Anger, guilt, anxiety… they all dissipate, replaced with love and longing, and I press against Asha’s lips with increased fervor. Warmth builds inside my groin, and I climax to the sounds of our heavy breathing.

  We fall away from each other and lay on the bed for some time, allowing a peaceful silence to settle over us. The chirping of birds drift lazily through the open window, bringing in the scent of morning and flowerbloom, indicating that dawn has arrived. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, drinking in the fresh scent of pollen. Morning is here. A faint murmur of discontent ripples through me. Morning is here, and that means that Drakos will soon deliver justice.

  The night prior, my eldest brother succeeded in extracting Westen’s confession. I had met him and Clydas, soon after my encounter with Bethen, where we poured drinks and laughed about him, that slave boy.

  “You should’ve been there when we got him, Calix,” Drakos said. “He was soaking some kitchen rigs. Oh, how his face went white when we approached him.” He turned to Clydas, raising his glass to his lips. “He was crying. A man, crying. Little pussy.”

  “Not only that,” Clydas says, amused, “but the prick pissed himself. Can you believe that? He pissed himself!” And my brothers roared with laughter.

  If a squadron of heavy guards had abruptly appeared and grabbed me, throwing me to the ground, I can’t say I would have controlled my bladder in that moment, I think, but yet I smile and laugh along with them.

  Westen had been thrown into a cell shortly after, and left there for several hours. Finally, as the moon crawled high into the black sky, Drakos appeared bearing food and drink. No doubt the Astoma thought of him as his savior. Like it was some grandiose mistake, and Drakos had come to right the wrongs of his unjust imprisoning. He filled Westen’s ears with sugary promises, citing that evidence had been found that convicted him of the murder attempt - which Westen vehemently denied, at least at first. It didn’t take long before Drakos had cajoled Westen into agreeing to a confession. Drakos promised him freedom from the Citadel, and money - enough money that Westen could take his family and do whatever he wanted with his pointless life.

  “You know what he told me?” Drakos’ face was red with laughter. “He told me he was going to Yaspen. Wanted to bring his family along. He thanked me, he did.” Drakos laughed. “He thanked me. What a stupid boy. Stupid ape. He’ll be rotting once the day is over.” And he and Clydas laughed again. It went without saying that Westen will not be catching a ship to Yaspen. Nor will he receive any compensation for his cooperation. More like he will be subjected to Vastus’ torturers and dead within the day.

  At midmorning, they will gather in Trulon’s Square for the verdict, where Westen will plead guilty to his crime. Undoubtedly, he will be shunned - by the commonfolk, by the nobles, and by his own people. The only sanctity Westen has enjoyed in his life is the tight-knit community of the Astoma - even that will be taken away. Guilt claws inside my belly, but I say nothing.

  One boy for the preservation of my dignity.

  I lay in the bed, lost in my thoughts, the cool air brushing against my skin. It is heavenly. I must leave soon, lest I miss the verdict, but I do not want to leave. Just one minute longer, I think, feeling the warmth of Asha’s body next to mine. Just one minute longer. The minutes come and pass, yet I do not move from the bed.

  Asha rolls on her elbow, drawing close. She places a finger on my bare chest, twirling her nail around in short circles. Her smile is a beautiful thing, white and full-lipped. “Well, my prince, it seemed to me that you had extra vigor today.”

  A smile rises to my lips. “Indeed.” I look into her face, see the faint outline of myself in her eyes. I grow lost in them.

  What was I worried about earlier? I can scarcely remember. Ah, yes. The dying girl. Kylen Ventruvian’s hateful words. How had I ever been shaken by them? Unimportant talk from a dying girl. Fuck her. She is probably dead now, now that I think of it. And good riddance to it.

  I remember the dialogue with Bethen, and his stubborn insistence of his innocence. A troubling notion, if he is truly innocent, because I have no idea who else might want me dead - but relieving all the same. If Bethen did initiate the attempt on my life, I would surely have tried to take his life then and there. My honor would call for it. A Kalidii does not walk away from such slights. But I am not sure if I could beat Bethen now. A year ago, yes. But now? Doubt prickles my skin. The feeling is becoming familiar, and I hate it.

  Asha notices the expression on my face and frowns, nestling closer to me. “Calix, what is bothering you?”

  I look at her, at the face I love so much, and wonder if I should tell her. Her face is truly mesmerizing - smooth, white skin, with dark hair and brows that gives her face a contrast not like any other. Her cheekbones are fair, her laugh a joy to the ears, her body a foundation of youth; the highborn ladies that Drakos fucks, even with all of their expensive beauty, pale in comparison to her. If love truly does exist, it must be that I am in love with this girl, because no one else extracts such emotion from me as Asha does. I’ve known her for years now, this Asha Leinhart, and no one is the wiser - I’d die before I’d let Drakos and Clydas know about this girl; or worse, my father. They would hate her, because of where she comes from, and they would disparage me - there is no doubt about that. But I don’t care. They will never find out. I am too cautious. She is mine, and only mine. I will ensure that it stays this way. My struggles roll to the forefront of my tongue, and I nearly tell her then, only just swallowing back the words. She frowns at that, asks me again, and I falter.

  If this feeling that blossoms in my chest is truly love, then why should I hide anything from this girl?

  And so I tell her everything - when I killed the Astoma boy, the exhausting celebrations of my Enlightening, the Valonts proposed betrothal, the attempt on my life and Kylen’s poisoning, Bethen and his threats, Westen the Astoma. I tell her everything but one thing - that Westen is innocent. She does not need to know that my brother will sentence an innocent man to death today. She does not need to know that I will stand by and do nothing about it.

  After I finish, Asha lays there for a while, her eyes quiet and thoughtful. “I have heard rumors of the assassination attempt, naturally. The whole Realm has. But I have not heard that they have caught the man. An Astoma man, you say? Hardly surprising, when taking account of their long-standing animosity with your own family.”

  I glance at her, confused. “It happened during the night, and you were with me the entirety of it. How did you hear?”

  Asha smiles. “And you were with me as well, my prince, but I don’t blind myself to the fact that you have more lips whispering to your ears than I to mine.” A flash of sadness crosses her face, so fast I nearly don’t notice, but I do. I try to avoid mentioning my lineage when I’m around her, and she makes it seem like my lineage doesn’t bother her, but it does. I am a Kalidii, of the greatest blood in the Realm, and Asha Leinhart was born to a tavern wench without the faintest clue of who her father is.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  I cannot be with the girl I love. Instead, I must marry to a girl more child than woman; a girl I haven’t the faintest idea of. I do not want Vira Valont. I want Asha. I know Asha. I understand her wants and needs, her mannerisms, her preferred choice of drink, her preference of sunsets to sunrises - I know her fears and worries, her joys and delights. With Vira, I don’t know anything about her, just that she is young and quiet and of the Valont’s loins. A poor tradeoff.

  “There’s something else.” Asha traces her finger from my breast to the cradle of my neck; I shiver as the fingernail laces upwards. “What is it? Is it the marriage proposal? The life of the Astoma boy?” My silence speaks as an answer. “You must not blame yourself, my prince. Some paths cannot be avoided, however hard you try.”

  “I shouldn’t care that I killed him,” I say. “I shouldn’t. I am a Kalidii. The Astoma are my natural enemies. They are the reason I never chanced to know my mother, or my baby brother. She died when I was five, so I should have some memory of her, but I have none, no matter how hard I try. My father keeps a portrait of my mother, up in his quarters, but I don’t recognize the face of the woman depicted. She is a total stranger to me, a foreigner, but she is my mother.” I bite my lip to stop the quiver in my voice. There is no reason to hide my emotions. It wouldn’t be the first time I cried in Asha’s arms. She encourages the show of my emotion, of all the thoughts and anxieties I keep penned up inside me like an ornate sheath. Asha does not care that I have thoughts unbecoming of a Kalidii prince. She doesn’t scorn me like Trystan or Clydas would, or laugh like Drakos would, or tell me to stop acting like a child and act a Kalidii, like my lord father would. “I shouldn’t care about him. But I do care. The look that Astoma gave me… before I plunged that knife into his heart. It was sadness, such sadness, and fear too… all things I feel. My brothers say killing your first Astoma likens you to a man. They say killing Astoma helps the Realm rid itself of its generic chaff. Makes you a man. I should think like them. I really should, but it appears to have taken the opposite effect. I fear it has left me more child than man.”

  Asha wraps her arms around me, her voice soft and quiet as she murmurs affirmations. She smells of sweat from our intercourse, but it isn’t a disconcerting smell; it makes her smell real, so very real. I relax in her embrace and feel tears threaten, like they often do, but I do not stop them this time. They roll down my cheeks, and my voice catches in my throat, and I sob and sob.

  Asha holds me all the while, not caring as my tears roll onto her arms and legs. “Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, I hate my surname. I hate being a Kalidii. I shouldn’t - every boy and girl in the entirety of the Realm dreams of such a name, and why shouldn’t they? Everyone dreams of royalty. But they don’t understand. What does the surname bring me, besides being a political tool for my lord father to appease his lords? What use does it give me when it brings knives in the dark of night? I cannot sleep in the Citadel, my own home, without fearing for my life. I toss and turn all night, my thoughts black, untrusting of anyone, even the Brasshand. Just wait, you might say. Wait and see what princehood brings me. But what blessings will I receive from my surname? I won’t inherit much at all when my father passes on. Drakos will inherit the throne and become the most powerful man in the Realm. He will become the king. Large portions of the footlegions and fleets will pass to Clydas, and the Capital’s coffers to Trystan. Even Valum will inherit much more than me. I’ll be left with only scraps. I may be granted a few townships, or maybe some ships, if Clydas decides to take pity on me. Perhaps Trystan will grant me some gold from his coffers.”

  “That is a long way away yet,” Asha murmurs, planting a kiss on my forehead. “They are your brothers. They love you.”

  “No, I have little love for any of them,” I say, “and Drakos none at all. It is like I do not have a cock between my legs, and I was born a woman - like Isla and Leone.” I snort. “Chances are, even my sisters will inherit more than me.”

  “You are still Kalidii,” Asha says, and I detect a wistfulness in her voice. “Yes, you are the fifth-born son of Matyx Kalidii, but you still have the blood of a prince in your veins. Nothing can take that away from you. It may not feel like it, my prince, but your name still brings envy to the hearts of the Realm. Every boy in the Capital gleams up at the towering walls of the Citadel and dreams of training in the courtyards, of a jeweled crown. Every girl gazes up at those walls and dreams of soft silk, of rich linen, of a handsome man. Calix, you cannot be replaced. There is only one Calix Kalidii throughout the entirety of the Realm. You have titles, you have beauty and stature, and you have a kind heart.”

  “A kind heart is something I can do without,” I say. My voice comes out thin and reedy. I’m a miserable sight. A part of me cringes inside, hisses at me to be silent, but I do not care. Everything comes off my chest in great swells. “I am born to a circumstance like no other, yet I still feel like this. Do I forget all my blessings? Maybe. But I want more. I want what my brothers will receive, and does that make me a jealous man? A bad man? Am I unworthy simply because I mistaked to be born later?” I quiet, and Asha is quiet as well, running her fingers through my hair. Even though she does not speak, I read her thoughts as plain as written ink on paper.

  She doesn’t know what to say.

  How could she? I close my eyes and wish my words back. I sounded like a soiled, pompous child. How could Asha understand me? How could she comfort me? Our lives cannot be more different than each other.

  She would give anything to be born to such a circumstance like I have. Asha Leinhart is a daughter of a serving girl, and chances are her father was some common soldier that went and died in battle, but not before planting his seed in a stranger in a smoky tavern. Thus Asha.

  Her mother has been dead for years now, taken by disease. For most of her childhood, Asha grew up on her lonesome. It was her desperation that drove her to the brothel, where she made use of the only coin her parents had given her - her beauty. A year after she first began selling her body, Drakos and I entered the very brothel she worked in. It was my fourteenth nameday, and Drakos had thought it was time for me to become a man. This was before the days of Drakos’ own betrothal to Lyn, so it wasn’t uncommon for the princes to frequent such establishments; although Drakos’ wedding to Lyn had not deterred his voracious appetite for whoring.

  I had seen Asha then, although only with sparse glances. She caught my eye immediately, flitting between tables and columns, casting fleeting looks in my direction. She had been one of the few among my own age, and her eyes had captivated me, with those deep depths of purple; but I did not buy her that night. Drakos had made the decision for me. It was an older woman with dark skin like oiled ivory, and a smile like a serpent that had been my first. Even while having sex with this woman, I had thought of the girl my age I had seen in the hallways, with her sad smile and violet eyes. I was filled with the gall of a pompous fourteen year old boy who had thought himself a white knight, and vowed to kill any man who dared touch the girl with such sad eyes.

  I snuck back to the brothel the night after with a bag of gold. I took Asha from the stinking brothel and placed her in a home far away from the tangle of streets and alleys and the choking stench of the city. I still remember that night, three years ago - it had been a calm night, devoid of any wind or other obscurities. I remember buying a farmer’s home with that gold. I remember Asha’s smile when I told her it was hers, away from that damn brothel, away from the city.

  The city…

  I sit up from bed and move to the window, gazing outside. Green pastures sway gently in the breeze, filling the air with soft greens and flowerbloom. Only a few houses neighbor Asha’s, some kindly farmers that relatively keep to themselves. A great forest lays beyond the pastures, a swath of thick trunks and large branches so compact no horse could ride through unobstructed. A single road carves through the forest, twisting and turning, like some twisted river. In the distance, the faint outlines of the inner city can be found over the canopies of red pines. If I squint hard enough, I think I can see the tall parapets of the Citadel.

  A cold breeze sweeps over my bare skin, producing goosebumps, and I become reminded of my nakedness. I dress in my heavy cloak and trousers, garments of clothing so regular and dull no one would care to look at the face within the hood. I only dare to visit Asha at night, when I lock the door to my bedroom and order Klorin to give me no inconveniences. From there, it’s easy to slip out of my window - albeit it’s been nearly impossible lately with the added security around my room. Countless guards roam the courtyard, and even more the hallways - it had taken an obscene amount of persuasion to convince Klorin to stand guard outside my room, and not at the foot of my bed. Tonight, I told Valum to cover for me, and my brother had simply shrugged and agreed, not having a clue where I was going. I had not seen Asha for three days. I longed for her. I could not wait any longer. So I went to Valum, and Valum covered for me. He made up some story about us having some business in a distant part of the Citadel.

  I like that aspect about Valum. He doesn’t need to know everything going on around him. If he thought my favor was odd, he does not voice it. I’d have little chance persuading my other brothers to do the same.

  The sun has risen high in the sky, far above the vast carpet of red pine, emerging from beyond the stone parapets of the Citadel. I sigh inwardly. Westen’s execution will commence soon - Drakos will expect me to be there, and I have no wish to disappoint him. His anger is a callous thing, vile and capricious. I turn from the window and take one last glance at Asha, my gaze lingering on the soft skin of her breasts. Only one minute longer…

  I kiss Asha goodbye, thinking, if only you were born to a different mother, and take my leave, flitting the hood up and over my face. As I walk the winding dirt road that leads back to the Citadel, my nostrils full of the scent of pollen and spring, I prepare to watch an innocent man die.