Chapter 63: A Not-So-Warm Reunion

"Announcing the arrival of His Highness, Prince Xavion!"

Xavion walked down the center of the long hall, his iron armor still stained from the campaign and his wool garments damp from the journey. He paid no attention to the tall stained-glass windows depicting ancient kings battling dragons, nor did he spare a glance at the courtiers gathered along the pillars. His gaze stayed on the dais at the far end of the hall, where the King sat upon his throne beneath the faded crimson banners.

King Aldreth sat slightly slouched against the back of his throne, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest. To his right, Queen Valery sat upright, her posture rigid as an iron rod, her fingers encased in velvet gloves of the deepest midnight blue. Below them, arranged on the lower tiers like statues waiting for a cue, stood Crown Prince Odran and other princes, Valric and Luceran. They watched Xavion approach with that peculiar, detached curiosity one might reserve for a stray hound wandering into a royal kennel.

Xavion stopped ten paces short of the dais, dropping smoothly onto one knee with the practiced ease of a man whose joints had learned to obey without consulting his pride.

"May the light of Otharia shine upon Your Majesties," Xavion greeted, bowing his head.

King Aldreth straightened slightly in his seat, looking down at him.

"Ah, you’re back sooner than expected," the King remarked. "I take it you have good news for us?"Aldreth

"Your Majesty," Xavion began. "The campaign has concluded. The imperial vanguard has been defeated, and their remaining forces have retreated beyond the second ridge. Our supply lines are secure, though the third and fourth infantry regiments suffered casualties during the fighting."

He paused, expecting inquiries about the casualties, the missing soldiers, and the challenges of dealing with the aftermath of the battle.

None came.

King Aldreth merely shifted his weight, his eyes sweeping over Xavion’s dust-caked greaves with the weary indifference of a merchant inspecting a sack of slightly bruised grain.

"You’ve done what was required, Xavion," the King said. "The enemy has retreated, and our territories are safe once more. You may consider your duty fulfilled."

There was no warmth in it. No mention of the lives Xavion had risked his own to protect, or the enemies he had personally fought to keep from reaching their borders. To the man upon the throne, a bastard son with dark magic was simply a tool, like a heavy plow or a siege engine, meant to be hauled out when the ground grew hard and stored back in the damp dark when the work was done.

Before Xavion could rise, Queen Valery leaned forward, a displeased look settling across her face.

"Let us not pretend this required any extraordinary sacrifice," the Queen remarked. "It is the least you can do for the crown and the kingdom, considering every single luxury you enjoy, your title, your armor, the very bread you eat, was provided by the royal family out of sheer charity. You should be down on your knees thanking the gods for the opportunity to repay even a fraction of what this family has spent keeping you alive."

The words left the hall in stunned silence.

The courtiers near the pillars exchanged uneasy glances, none daring to speak. Valric, however, let out a quiet snort of amusement, while Odran showed little reaction, merely adjusting his tunic.

Xavion didn’t flinch. He didn’t stiffen his shoulders, nor did he let his gaze flick upward to meet the cold triumph shining in the Queen’s eyes. He had heard variations of that speech since he was seven years old. Eleven years had passed, and the palace had never let him forget that, in their eyes, his mother’s blood made him unworthy of his place among them.

Instead, he lowered his head slightly, keeping his expression blank.

"As you say, Your Majesty," Xavion replied quietly. "I am grateful for the crown’s continued provision."

His quiet agreement seemed to frustrate the Queen even more. She let out a sharp huff and leaned back, evidently disappointed that he hadn’t given her the reaction she wanted.

"The audience is concluded," King Aldreth muttered, waving a tired hand toward the exit. "Dismissed."

Xavion had made it only a short distance down the corridor when a slow, mocking clap came from behind him.

He stopped and turned around. Odran had just emerged from the throne room, wearing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Their brothers followed close behind him, Valric looking thoroughly amused while Luceran adjusted the heavy gold rings on his fingers.

"Magnificent, truly," Odran said. "You almost looked humble in there, brother. Though I suppose years of practice in the dirt tend to make one rather comfortable kneeling."

"Odran," Xavion called.

"Our most dependable weapon has returned to the kennel," Valric chimed in, pushing off the wall and stepping into Xavion’s personal space, smelling heavily of wine. He looked Xavion up and down, noting the dull, unpolished finish of the breastplate and the faint smell of old smoke clinging to him. "Really, Xavion, you ought to take more care with your appearance before presenting yourself to the King. One would think you spent the entire journey rolling in a stable. Though I suppose that’s only fitting. A little praise from the King doesn’t make you one of us."

"Be careful, Valric," Luceran added with a patronizing grin, stepping forward to clap a heavy hand onto Xavion’s steel-plated shoulder, a gesture meant to assert dominance disguised as sibling affection. "We shouldn’t mock him too harshly. After all, look at the poor bastard. Born with such terrifying, monstrous abilities, and yet completely devoid of anything else that might make him worthy of the royal blood he carries. If he didn’t have his magic-tricks, he’d probably be shoveling horse manure in the lower stables where he started."

They stood there in the empty corridor, three legitimate princes of the blood, arrayed in velvet and gold, trying desperately to draw blood from a man who had spent the morning walking through piles of corpses. They wanted a reaction. A clenched fist, a flashing eye, a single sharp retort that they could take straight back to the King as proof that the bastard was unstable, dangerous, and unfit for polite society.

The three princes had always been like this, constantly looking for ways to provoke him. They were no different from the Queen in that regard. They wanted him to react, but Xavion had learned that refusing to entertain them was far more effective. Once they realized he wouldn’t take the bait, they would eventually lose interest and leave. There was no point wasting his time arguing with people who had already made up their minds about him.

Xavion lowered his eyes to the hand resting on his shoulder. Then, slowly, he raised his eyes to meet the prince’s smug face.

"Thank you for your warm congratulations, brothers," Xavion said. "I will be sure to pass your observations along to the quartermaster. He is always looking for experts on horse manure."

Luceran’s smile twitched, his hand dropping off Xavion’s shoulder as if he’d touched hot iron.

"You always were an insufferable piece of stone," Odran muttered, the pleasant facade cracking for a fraction of a second to reveal the cold, petty malice underneath. "Go wash the mud off before you ruin the carpets. Nobody wants to smell the front lines when they’re trying to eat supper."

"Of course," Xavion said, dipping his head briefly.

He didn’t wait for them to dismiss him. He turned and continued down the corridor, heading for the bridge that connected the main palace to the tower where the spare weapons were stored.

The encounter had lasted less than three minutes. It had cost him nothing. It had changed nothing. It was simply the family, that strange, unfortunate collective of blood-relatives who shared his surname but inhabited an entirely different universe of light and silk, checking to make sure the hound was still chained and muzzled.

Xavion continued down the corridor, leaving the throne room and his brothers behind. A quiet chuckle escaped him.

He couldn’t believe he was expected to call those people his family.