To my dearest companion,
I write this with a heavy heart, but one free of a burden I never realized I had until it was far too late. You have been so gracious and so understanding, and I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me, as I know you would if you were in my position.
It’s hard to say goodbye when you don’t know the next time you’ll meet someone, especially when they’re so carefully intertwined with you. I won’t know how well it will go for us—this strange farewell that we’ll have—but I want to believe that it will be meaningful, wherever we end up going.
If one thing had become clear in the two weeks since departing Goronich, it was that Prince Alizarin loved to tell stories. Especially the stories he and Brex shared.
During the day, while the sailors were at work and other passengers were mostly confined to their rooms, he and Brex would lounge on the bed together while Alizarin whispered tales from Sangara, the capital of the United Felarin Pride-Tribes’ territory. During meals and after sunset, Alizarin would regale the others with snippets of his adventures with Brex, occasionally calling on him to confirm certain details that could have sounded like embellishments. (Though, he never called on Brex to verify any actual embellishments.)
It was an oddly wonderful way to see how Red served as a reflection of Prince Alizarin Aurata of the United Felarin Pride-Tribes, Son of Crim and He of Long, Mildly Unnecessary Titles.
Brex recognized so many pieces of Red in Alizarin, like his flourishes when speaking, his laugh, the way he pushed his chest out. It was as if Red was an incomplete portrait that Brex had stumbled upon and tried to fill in the gaps. And for all of the problems that portrait might have, it was something they made together.
And there it was again.
A little ache, somewhere deep within Brex. A yearning for something he no longer has.
Should he want Red back when he’s traveling with a real, living, observed and provable Prince?
Stop that, he chided himself. There’s nothing to be done now but travel.
Brex forced himself to take a deep breath, then turned himself back towards Red’s story, right as he described running into that burning building alongside Brex and Karna.
“The first thing you’ll see are the Shimadran Towers.” Alizarin pointed along the horizon as he and Brex stood at the bow of the ship. “They’re not the biggest landmark in Sangara, but they are the brightest. That’s what they say on the tours, not that I’ve ever been.”
Brex smiled, squinting to see if the glimmer of those towers had poked through the horizon yet. “And how do you know that?”
“My sister went there once—to help get them some more attention. But she confirmed that it was true when she returned from a visit to Orelasia.”
No towers yet. “You haven’t talked about your family much,” Brex said. “What are they like?”
Alizarin sighed, deflating a little against the rail of the ship.
“I suppose I ought to. We didn’t part on the best of terms.”
“Right, you were kidnapped. Or smuggled, maybe.”
“Even before then…We didn’t get along well. I was a different person then.” He clapped a hand on Brex’s shoulder. “A concept you’re very familiar with.”
Brex smiled warmly up at him. They were roughly the same size, but Brex had grown accustomed to his instincts making him want to feel smaller. Less intimidating. Less frightening. Less powerful. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, but he felt he had to. Slouching his posture, curling forward when leaning like this, even dipping his head in shorter company.
Alizarin had a kind of charisma that made him feel smaller, but comfortably so. Around him, Brex no longer felt like the biggest person in the room, even if he technically was. Alizarin had a way of commanding attention, pulling all the eyes off of Brex, if any were lingering on him. What sweet relief it was, to know for certain he wasn’t being watched.
“Sure,” Brex said. “But they can’t have been that bad, could they?”
Another sigh. His normally bright face turned stoic. “I’m not proud of the man I was then, Brex. I was dedicated to my own pleasure, a hedonist of the worst variety. I even felt entitled to the throne by birthright.”
Brex had read a little about Felarin over the trip, grabbing a few books from wherever he could find them, from booksellers in Goronich to fellow travelers’ collections. But the books themselves were sparse on details about Felarin society, instead eagerly advertising the best shops and restaurants. They’d mentioned the royal family, but it seemed like there was very little history behind them. In fact, Brex couldn’t recall any mentions of the monarchy until after Sangara had entered into treaties with other city-states like Goronich and Harramschall.
And here he had such a well of knowledge, prevented from dipping into it because he didn’t want to dredge up any negativity for Alizarin.
“Aren’t you, though? Entitled to it by birthright?” Brex asked.
“No. I am technically the heir, but—I saw the world very differently then. Power was simply something to collect, and the more I had, the easier it was to keep a firm grip. I was not kind. I did not exercise good judgement. It’s something I’m happy to leave behind me.”
The breeze rushed along them both just as something shimmered over the horizon.
Alizarin’s dour expression broke into a grin. “There it is, Brex! Do you see it?”
Brex watched as the city crept closer toward them, pulling the ship forward. Alizarin was right, the towers came first, a set of four that angled themselves off each other. Then, the markets and their glorious rainbow of colored tents and awnings. Residential districts littered the hills just beyond the docks before a sharp incline into craggy peaks. The whole city felt more vertical, more interested in building on top of itself with the rivers and bays around it serving as huge bounties of natural resources.
Where Goronich was disappointingly warm, the chill from Sangara crept down Brex’s spine and settled itself deep within him. The kind of chill that justifies staying inside and curling up by the fire with your loved ones or your favorite book. Something about it made him remember those winters when he and Tiyash would bake sweets together with her family’s oven.
He’d come so far now. Across the world with a prince. He had to wonder what Tiyash would think of all this. Could she have guessed where Brex would end up? What would she think?
Someday, I’ll tell her all about this. Someday.
As the ship finally pulled into the Sangara docks, Brex started to pick up his belongings, but Alizarin motioned for him to stop.
“We’re not going through the city,” he said.
“We’re not?” Brex asked.
Alizarin shook his head. “The other passengers are departing, but we’ll be taking that directly to the water lock for Castle Carmine.” He gestured toward a smaller boat that could hold at most a half-dozen people. A skiff, Brex had to guess. There were two felarin women sitting in it, dressed in red and silver robes, one with her hand on some kind of device at the back of the skiff.
“And here I thought we were just going to show up at the front door,” Brex said.
“The retainers sent word of my arrival. The court has prepared a celebration for us.” Alizarin flashed a smile at Brex again.
“Oh, that sounds nice,” Brex said with a blush. “I guess there will always be time to see the city.”
Alizarin nodded and squeezed his shoulder again while they waved farewell to their fellow passengers. A mix of dwarves, felarin, and a handful of humans. No orcs, of course. There were never any other orcs on these ships.
Then, after they’d all disembarked, Brex and Alizarin brought their things to the skiff. The two felarin introduced themselves as servants of Castle Carmine, here to escort them to the castle’s private naval entry. One of them placed her hand on a small metal bar attached to the back of the skiff and the boat began to accelerate.
“Is that sorcery?” Brex asked.
“Yes. A simple thing: Rather than having to use the wind, this device from Harramschall allows us to propel the boat with sorcery. The position of my hand guides the direction, and it uses a trivial amount of Resource.”
A trivial amount for a trivial result. It felt like the boat was going barely faster than the current would carry them. At least that gave Brex a bit more time to watch the city of Sangara until it disappeared behind an outcropping of craggy cliffs. Atop those steep rocks stood the formidable Castle Carmine.
Unlike the older buildings of Harramschall stone or Goronich lumber that had weathered with age, Castle Carmine looked spotless from this distance, a grand structure taller than anything else Brex had seen, glorious glass windows stretching between polished slabs of stone. Even as they pulled closer, its magnificence diminished even the natural beauty of the coastline.
Brex was so transfixed that he didn’t notice they were approaching an auxiliary structure, connected by a bridge to the main castle. The skiff slid under a massive archway, the walls stretching dozens of feet upward. As they came to a stop in the narrow pool of water, a door closed behind them. Someone hollered from above and water poured out from the walls.
They’re lifting us up to the top by flooding the chamber, Brex realized.
Every moment seemed to have something new for Brex to be fascinated with. But before he could get too invested, Alizarin clapped him on the shoulder again.
“Watch this,” he said with a wink, then stood in a proud pose, one foot planted on the side of the skiff, chest out, hands at his hips. As the chamber flooded and the skiff rose higher, Brex understood: it’d be a heroic rise from the depths.
And as the light from the open area above them slid onto his grinning face, Brex heard uproarious cheering and clapping. There were a dozen or so people, a handful dressed in fine clothes while the others wore more modest, utilitarian threads, each of them felarin.
Alizarin laughed and stepped off the skiff toward two of the more fashionable members of the crowd.
“Brother! It’s been far too long!” he barked as he spread his arms open for an embrace. His brother met him in kind and the two shared a tight squeeze.
“I could hardly believe it when the word came, Al. Not a day went by where I didn’t long for your return.”
“Nothing could keep me away for too long, Rufus.” Alizarin clapped Rufus on the shoulder and Brex felt a surge of envy before dismissing it. Alizarin turned toward the woman next to Rufus and bowed his head. “Claret, I can’t even recall how long I’ve been away and yet you still surprise me with your evolving grace.”
She held out her hand and Alizarin kissed it while Brex awkwardly climbed out of the skiff to stand a few feet behind them.
“And you surprise me with your evolving charm, brother,” Claret said with a pronounced but subdued nobility to her tone. “While I’m certainly overjoyed to hear of your safety, I’m even more pleased to see your manners have improved.”
“Your disdain wounds me, sister. So much for my safety, it seems.”
She pulled her hand back with a smirk. “Don’t worry too much, I’m just helping you build character.”
While they were exchanging verbal ripostes and parries, Brex took a step forward and felt the telltale tingling resonance of sorcery below his right foot.
He slipped his boot away and saw a single circle of metal on the ground, as if someone had dropped a coin and its face had rubbed away with time. But the silver disk was fused to the ground, like it had melted there.
Alizarin glanced back and flashed another smile at Brex. “Ah, right! Allow me to introduce the man to whom I owe my life. Claret, Rufus, this is Brexothuruk, son of Grotuk, formerly of Clan Ironheart.” He slid an arm around Brex and gave him a squeeze, though not as fiercely as he did with Rufus. Brex’s curiosity over that little metal circle faded as he found himself before living, breathing royalty.
Alizarin had warned him of etiquette between his family and foreign denizens, thankfully. Brex gave a slight bow, knowing better than to beat his chest or extend his hand.
“So it’s your doing that led to our prodigal sibling’s return, ah-hah!” Rufus, up close, seemed just as broad and intimidating as Alizarin, but where Alizarin’s features were smoother and more refined, Rufus seemed more rough and tumble than his brother. Brex didn’t want to admit it out loud, but there was something intriguingly orcish about Rufus. “We owe you a great deal then, because in addition to my brother’s life, now we all have peace of mind.”
“And a family reunited,” Claret interjected. “You’ll have to tell us about your journey in due time. But for your sake, let’s save it for the feast, when everyone is present to hear it.” She held herself with a finer poise than the others present, draped in luxurious linens that hinted at a leaner body underneath. She lacked the bushy mane of her felarin brothers, but her round ears twitched and nostrils flared the same way theirs did.
“I appreciate it,” Brex said, trying not to blush. “I think he does a better job of telling it, personally. I’m just along for the ride now.”
“Well now that your journey is complete, we can show you to your chambers in preparation for the feast. What kind of meat do you prefer?”
He hadn’t considered that question since he left the savannah. Months ago, he could have answered right away, but after so many meals of jerky, cheap vegetables and whatever clean water he could store in his canteen, Brex simply couldn’t decide.
“Beef, from the Harrish Valley if you have any in the iceboxes,” Alizarin said. “I fully intend to spoil him rotten in exchange for everything he’s done for us.”
Claret turned her gaze back to Brex. A predator’s eyes, glimmering with some kind of mischievous delight. “Is that agreeable, Brexothuruk, son of Grotuk?”
“C-certainly, hah,” Brex said, trying to laugh away his own rising tension.
“It will be done, then,” Claret said.
“Come now, we must bring them to the Castle proper and show them their chambers,” Rufus barked with a grin. He waved his arm and everyone in the room shuffled their way across the bridge connecting to the castle, Alizarin keeping a hand on Brex’s shoulder the whole time.
Castle Carmine was arranged in a rather conventional square shape, with one large section elevated above the rest, where the Royal Family and their personal attendants lived. And as Brex followed them up the interior of that section, he couldn’t place exactly what they considered him. Did they read his closeness with Alizarin as familial? Or did he just get promoted to a personal attendant by arriving with him?
On top of that, the hungry gaze that Claret gave him in the water lock reminded him of the fear that’d been sitting heavy in the back of his mind the whole trip: Didn’t at least one of these people betray Alizarin in the first place?
His mind spinning with questions, Brex barely noticed everything happening around him. Servants rushing from room to room with baskets of ingredients and linens, diplomats and officials bowing as they passed by, the ocean breeze slipping in through stone windows to blast him in the face every few steps.
Before he could really take stock of what was going on, he found himself standing next to Alizarin in a room with the biggest bed he’d ever seen.
“Our private chambers,” he said with a grin. A more playful smile from Alizarin than Brex had seen since they arrived at the docks. “I tried to get the suite, but there’s some visiting diplomat from one of the pride-tribes hogging it. I hope this will do.”
The room itself was equipped for the ultimate experience of luxury and comfort. The bed sheets were the softest thing Brex had ever touched. The windows looked out over the entire city on one side of the room and the vast ocean on the other. The cabinets and shelves were stocked with even more linens and a variety of books, all with titles in Harrish. There was even room for a desk and a small table. Even after staying in the relative comfort of inns and ship cabins, this felt a little ridiculous compared to his tiny tent back on the mesa.
And yet.
He couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“Re–” he caught himself before finishing the name. “Alizarin. This is great, really it is. I’m just w–”
“Worried, yes, I know,” Alizarin said with a knowing smile. “You think someone in the castle is responsible for my disappearance those years ago.”
Alizarin stood at the window, beckoning Brex over.
It was a magnificent view. All of the landmarks that Alizarin had pointed out from the ship but closer, in greater detail, surrounded by colorful roofs and tents in the midday sun.
“You’re probably right, Brex.”
Brex perked an ear. “You think I’m right, but you’re not worried?”
“Not as much as you. I’d say I’m just concerned. But think about it: There’s a huge celebration for my return. Father is still on the throne, the question of succession is still up in the air, and if anything were to happen to me now there would surely be a lot of scrutiny. It’s too risky to make such a dangerous move. We will be safe for a long time, Brex. Both of us.
“I think it’s a gamble that failed to pay off. Someone wanted me out of the picture, and I was for a while. But with a return like this, they can’t make a play like that again.”
Alizarin reached out and held Brex close to him as they looked over the city. “We’re not running anymore, Brex. You can relax. Time is a luxury we can finally afford.”
Brex heaved a sigh. “You’re right. We’ve been pushing ahead for so long, it’s hard to think about staying in one place for a while.” He smiled and leaned into Alizarin’s side. “Be careful, all right? Don’t let you guard down.”
“I’ll keep it up, just for you,” Alizarin said.
“Thank you.”
They stood at the window a short while longer, enjoying each other’s company until a knock at the door interrupted the moment.
Alizarin released Brex and walked over to the door while Brex remained. He couldn’t see who was at the door, but their conversation ended quickly. Alizarin even left the door ajar as he started to gather some of his things.
“I’m needed for some of the preparations for the feast. The aesthetistician will be along shortly.” Alizarin reached over and grabbed Brex’s hand kissing the ring with his severing spell.
Brex couldn’t stop his infatuation from growing at such a gesture.
But with that, Alizarin departed, and Brex was left alone in the suite. Alone for the first time in weeks.
It was a disquieting peace. The chill ocean breeze flowing from one window to another, the sound of waves crashing and boats gently knocking against each other in the docks, the bright sun casting a harsh shadow onto the floor.
It was bright, clear, and uncomfortable.
Or am I just uncomfortable because Red left…
Brex stood at the window, watching the tiny specks that were Sangara’s citizens moving about from tent to tent, building to building, ship to ship. He had wanted to wander the streets with Alizarin, learn of felarin culture up close.
But all he had now was a bird’s eye view. A bird that couldn’t dive any closer, trapped in the sky.
Maybe it was the height. Maybe it was his loneliness. Maybe it was just because they had been running for so long. But Brex couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.
A knock came at the door, making Brex jump in fright. He grumbled to himself, sighing as he trudged over to the door. Opening it revealed a sharply-dressed male felarin with a perfectly coiffed mane.
“Good afternoon, I am Sarek, Castle Carmine’s resident aesthetistician. I understand that I am to help you prepare your soon-to-be-extremely-handsome self for the feast tonight. Does that sound correct, Master Brexothuruk?”
Brex balked. “O-oh, you don’t have to call me that. Just Brex is fine.”
“Nonsense, Master Brexothuruk. I can always spare a few syllables for someone of your refined taste.”
“Ah, er. Sure, please come inside.”
As Sarek stepped in, Brex saw that he was carrying some kind of portable chest, rich maple wood framed in shining golden trim, its lone handle firmly in Sarek’s grip.
“Please, do feel free to freshen up before we begin. A clean body makes the process go ever-so-smoothly, Master Brexothuruk.”
Brex wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to hearing that.
“Freshen up…where? And how?”
Sarek set his belongings down on the desk then gestured over to a door that Brex had assumed was for a closet. But when Sarek opened it and gestured for Brex to enter, he saw that it was in fact, the most luxurious washroom he’d ever witnessed.
“Don’t take too long, the feast starts in a few hours and I will need some extra time to give you the proper visage.”
“Er, yes, I see,” Brex said as he closed the door behind him before having the most appreciated bath of his life.
As it turned out, Sarek treated him more like a canvas for fine art than an individual. After Brex had washed up, he found that Sarek had set up some kind of beauty station at his desk. Though, there were no mirrors. Brex was not allowed to witness his appearance-in-progress. First, Sarek trimmed his hair and beard, then shaved along his neck, shoulders and upper back.
“You know, when they told me that an orc would be arriving with Prince Alizarin, I had expected someone less…meek.”
“You think I’m meek?”
Sarek grunted in affirmation. “I shouldn’t be so surprised, though. I don’t think someone as gruff and fierce as a typical orc would get along so well with the Prince.”
Brex held back a grumble. He could be fierce and gruff. It just needed to be necessary, like back at Ziqondi—No, better not to reminisce about that.
“Still, you have a certain charm and poise about you. It makes me wonder if the research I performed for understanding orcish clothing and style will have truly been necessary. You carry yourself differently from the others that I’ve met.”
Brex held still as Sarek dragged the razor along his bicep, feeling conflicted.
“Don’t worry, Master Brexothuruk,” he said. “If what I’ve read is true, that will grow back in a matter of days. But when I’m styling a felarin, we value a nice even coat with a little bit of shine. The best approximation for you would be smooth skin.”
“You can’t shave every–”
“Not everywhere,” Sarek interrupted. “Just where your body will be exposed through the gaps in your robes. Now…” He opened a small book and pointed to a few different drawings of orcs, each of whom looked grumpier and more battle-hardy than Brex ever dreamed of being. “Do any of these hairstyles call to you?”
They were fairly drastic cuts. One had a prevalent mohawk while another had zig zag cuts in his short hair. One was even shaved entirely.
“I think I’ll go with this,” Brex said, choosing the one with his hair slicked forward and up, the closest to his usual style.
“A tried and true cut, you have chosen well.”
Brex had to wonder if he’d say that no matter which one he picked.
After the matter of hair had been properly resolved, Sarek packed up his tools and spun the chest around, opening it from the other side to reveal a few folded stacks of clothing.
“You’re a tailor too?”
“I am an aesthetistician, Master Brexothuruk. If it concerns your appearance, I am trained in it. Now, stand up please.”
Sarek began measuring Brex, taking note of the exact distances between his armpit and his waist, the broadness of his chest, the length of each leg…
Brex let out a gentle sigh as he remembered the tailor in Harramschall. Tatiana was her name, wasn’t it? She sold him those clothes with all the pockets, and they’d been so useful for keeping all of his spells separated. Didn’t he promise to go back and buy something from her when they parted ways? That’s right, when he bought a shirt for Red, who was standing outside the window fogging up the glass.
What a strange thing to remember, now of all times.
“Excellent, that should provide a wonderful fit. I’m glad I brought the largest sizes with me.” Sarek presented a few sets of colors to him. “Which of these speaks to you?”
Brex’s hand hovered over some orange and yellow combination, but ultimately he chose a mix of light blue and purple.
“Ah, the evening sky palette. Excellent choice.”
Sarek unfurled a set of robes for Brex to wear, holding up the shoulders so he could slip his arms in. Unlike the sleeves of his old outfit from Tatiana’s shop, these fit almost perfectly.
“Just a few more measurements…”
Brex caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and he had to admit that he liked what he saw. It emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the height of his torso. He felt bigger than before, but not in a restrictive way. He was properly big. Comfortably big.
Something tugged at him deep inside.
Was there a way to feel like this all the time? Is this how felarin felt as they walked the streets of Sangara? How humans and dwarves feel when they–
“Off one more time, if you please, Master Brexothuruk.”
“Oh, of course.” Brex slipped out of the robe again, checking his reflection again while Sarek made his final adjustments.
His hair looked perfectly lined and styled, not a strand out of place. His body’s musculature was easier to spot without the roaming body hair on his shoulders and arms. Something made him feel more orcish this way than he’d ever felt before.
And he wasn’t sure if he liked it.
“Sarek?” Brex asked. “How much do you know about orcs?”
“Not as much as I’d like,” he said, making a quick cut and then threading a needle. “I prefer to keep abreast of culture and society for any individual who comes to visit, but I admit orcs were near the bottom of my priority list. Their territory is halfway across the world and I never expected to meet one of you.”
One of you.
After a snip for the final cut of Brex’s outfit, Sarek began packing up his aesthetistician’s kit.
“That should serve you well for the feast tonight. Do give my regards to the family. I hear they’ll be feeding you Harrish beef tonight. What a treat.”
“Will you be at the feast?” Brex asked.
“Perhaps, if there is space. There may be diplomats more deserving of my seat if the family decides they need to wine and dine for the sake of advancing the pride-tribes’ priorities.”
“Advancing the priorities?”
Sarek smiled. “Dinner will always be a simple meal for me. But if we can secure rights to a trade route by pouring the right bottle for a visitor, it is my duty as a citizen to offer my place at the table. It’s simply the way of the felarin.”
Brex feigned understanding. “I see.”
“In any case, do take care, Master Brexothuruk. If you have any need of my services, just send the word.” Sarek bowed, picked up his kit, and left the chambers.
And again, Brex was left alone with his thoughts.
He ran the fabric of the robes through his fingers. Soft but sturdy. Not easily torn, yet still hangs well off of his frame. Reliable.
Looking for something to do, Brex began unpacking his modest collection of books, placing them into the empty space on the shelves alongside the others. His books’ ragged and worn covers stood in stark contrast to the perfectly kept and horribly dusty volumes alongside them.
And then he plucked Scary Stories for Steel Hearts from his bag.
I thought I left this in Harramschall somewhere…
He sat at his desk and opened the book, reading the first story about a young girl who encountered a gilded wolf’s skull in the woods outside her home that spoke to her in a foreboding voice.
Soon, another messenger arrived at his door to escort him to the feast. He was barely halfway through the story, but the sun was already beginning to hang low in the sky, so he changed into his robes and accompanied them to the dining hall.
Brex stood outside a door, anxiety seeping into him faster than ever.
Beyond was the dining hall, where he was told the food was already being served. But part of the feast involved his grand entrance along with Alizarin. And some obscure tradition that no one had properly explained to him meant he needed to wait for Alizarin himself to open the door from the other side.
And the whole thing was making Brex sweat in terrified anticipation.
Deep breaths. Stay calm. It’s just…dinner.
Dinner with a hefty side of diplomatic meaning, if Sarek was to be believed.
The door clicked, a knob turned.
Alizarin peeked his head through the door.
“Goodness, you look enchanting tonight.”
Brex laughed, blushing and rubbing the back of his neck under the robe. “Oh, stop.”
“I will, but only because people are hungry. Are you ready?”
Brex nodded. Time to get this over with.
Alizarin thrust open the door to reveal the side entrance to the dining hall, where a dozen long tables all sat in a row, covered in plates of food. All eyes were turned toward him. The chamber itself was massive, with vaulted and arched ceilings, at least two dozen chandeliers lighting the room.
“Presenting the savior of your beloved Prince Alizarin, Master Brexothuruk, son of Grotuk, formerly of Clan Ironheart!” Alizarin bellowed.
The crowd erupted into applause, with a few cheers from one table in particular.
The table where Rufus and Claret sat. The family’s table.
Brex did his best to look humble and honored, the terror of being watched by so many clinging to him like cold water to his skin. He followed Alizarin to the table where two empty seats remained, splitting the divide between the royal family itself and their attendants. Alizarin took the seat with the family, and Brex sat beside him with the others.
And then Alizarin stood up again, telling the same story he’d already told so many times. To the court in Goronich. To the passengers on the ship. And now, to the entire crowd at the feast.
At least he could spend this time discreetly looking around—No, Alizarin just motioned for him to stand again, then to bow, which he did, and then sat back down.
Most eyes were locked on Alizarin. He had a commanding presence and a voice that filled the halls, and thankfully it didn’t take long for him to get to the end of the story, where he was fortunate enough to reveal his true identity to the court and stop a wrongful execution, finally allowing everyone to resume their meal.
Maybe it was just the fact that they were surrounded by felarin, or that this was yet another retelling of their story, or that everyone was so focused on his words, but something made Brex feel like this was no longer his. At some point, it had gone from being their story to Alizarin’s.
Or maybe it was because Alizarin wasn’t really there. It was Red who walked this path with him for so long.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear,” said someone to Brex’s left. Another felarin, an older woman wearing the clothes of an attendant. Her posture had curled forward with age but her eyes sparkled with a watchful gaze. Not invasive, just observant.
She placed her hand on her chest and bent forward ever-so-slightly.
Brex felt a warmth well up within him and mirrored it.
“L-likewise,” Brex said. “I don’t believe I heard your name.”
“Vermilla, if you please. I am Queen Cerise’s handmaiden, though I don’t spend all that much time around her anymore. I’m sure you’re tired of hearing it by now, but we really are so grateful for your help in bringing Prince Alizarin back home safely, Master Brexothuruk.”
“Please, just call me Brex.”
“Of course, Brex.”
That certainly lifted his opinion of her. Finally, someone who listened.
“How have you been enjoying Castle Carmine?”
“It’s…” Brex struggled to find the words. “I’ve been enjoying bits and pieces of it at a time, I suppose. It still feels so massive and I’ll never fully explore it.”
“We try to make it feel like a home for all our guests and residents, just on a larger scale than most are used to. I take it you’ve never been to Sangara before?”
“That’s right,” Brex admitted sheepishly. “I’m not very well-traveled. The first time I left my clan on my own was when Red and I started our journey.”
“Red?”
Ah, right.
“Before I knew he was Prince Alizarin, before he knew too, I guess…I called him Red, and he liked the name.”
“That’s very sweet,” she said.
Brex broke into a smile at that.
“Do you know how long you’ll be staying here at Castle Carmine?” Vermilla asked.
Something about her question knocked him off his balance. He’d been there for less than a day and they were already wondering when he’d leave?
“Because if you’ll be here a while, I’d like to learn more about you, Master Brex. Make sure we stock the pantries with your favorite treats. Get you the right bed in your chambers. Ensure that you’re comfortable. That you can feel like this is your home until whatever day you choose to leave.”
Brex heaved a sigh in relief. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I suppose I’ll discuss it with the Prince soon. But I think he might want me to stay here, ah, indefinitely.”
Vermilla’s face split into a wry grin. “Oho, I do believe I understand your attachment to each other a bit better now. You’re not unlike the suitors that Princess Claret has been inviting to the Castle for some time now. Though, I think you’re a fair bit more involved with the Prince, is that right?”
Brex rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh. We haven’t really defined…There’s a lot of things left to consider, a-after all.”
Vermilla leaned back. “Oh if there’s nothing to share, then you needn’t dodge the question with your stutters. In time, perhaps you’ll find the right words.”
“Th-thank you.”
“Well, if there’s anything you need regarding Castle Carmine, do let me know.”
“Ah, actually…” Brex bit his lip. “Could you tell me a little more about the family? I’ve been trying to get Prince Alizarin to share, but he’s always being dragged away for something.”
In fact, at that very moment, he was being dragged to the far end of the table to embrace the other members of his family one at a time, always facing away from Brex.
“I see,” Vermilla said. “You want to get a leg up on the competition?”
“Oh n-no, not at all. I don’t see them like that.”
“Perhaps you ought to. You didn’t hear it from me, but they’ll be watching you in the days to come, considering your skills and social grace. There is more to being royalty than sitting around and looking pretty.”
“I didn’t–”
“You must sit properly and look pretty for a reason, Master Brex.” She winked.
Brex let out a laugh that was lost in the rumble of the crowd.
Vermilla gestured toward an older felarin gentleman, just a few seats down from themselves, still on the “attendant” half of the table. Even as the others were getting a little raucous, he held himself with a particular posture, hands crossed neatly in his lap as the collar of his robes framed his maneless head.
“That’s Oswin,” she said. “He serves as the primary advisor to the King. Steady as stone, that man. Well-read, analytical, and respected by everyone in the castle. If you want to speak with the king or queen, you’ll have to go through him.”
“Is he like a bodyguard of some kind?”
“Oh no, quite the opposite. But the King trusts him implicitly. There’s a rumor that he once saved the King’s life when they were alone, inspiring a level of trust that the rest of us may never achieve.”
Vermilla nodded toward the woman next to Oswin. Claret, Alizarin’s sister from before.
“I met her at the water lock when we first arrived,” Brex said. “She had this…stare. Felt like she was looking right through me, or maybe sizing me up.”
Vermilla laughed, pressing her hand to her chest. “She does leave that impression. She simply takes her role in the family seriously. Right around the same time that Prince Alizarin disappeared, she chose to abdicate her right to the throne as an heir.”
“Really? Why would she do that?”
“There was a lot of suspicion placed on the children at the time. Alizarin is the oldest, but Claret would have been next in the line of succession. If something had happened to the King and she had been placed on the throne, there could have been questions of legitimacy in her rule.”
“Oh, so when Alizarin disappeared, any political power she gained would have felt unearned?”
Is it really earned if you were just given it by birthright? Brex asked himself, quickly wondering what things would have been like if he had only been more enthusiastic to don the chief’s cloak back at Clan Ironheart.
“Exactly,” Vermilla said. “Now that Alizarin’s returned, it’s unclear whether she has any claim to the throne again, should something happen to the King. If Alizarin were to abdicate his claim, that would put her next in succession once again.”
“Oh,” Brex said. “Do they get along well?”
“Alizarin and Claret? They certainly had their rough patches, but no more than the rest of us and our siblings.”
Something Brex couldn’t quite relate to.
“What’s she been doing since abdicating?” he asked.
“She’s been studying up on her diplomacy, always going to trade negotiations, meeting visiting ambassadors, even venturing to other cities to represent the felarin. She’s rather idealistic, of course. She’s yet to make any truly difficult decisions, instead preferring to invent a new option that pleases all parties.”
Brex made a mental note. Oswin’s the advisor, close to the king and queen. Claret’s the sister, playing the diplomat.
Across from Claret sat Rufus, Alizarin’s younger brother. He wore some ceremonial armor with boisterous pauldrons, making him look like he was the largest one at the table, even if Alizarin had him on sheer height.
“I remember Rufus from earlier too,” Brex said.
“Prince Rufus was given command of the United Pride-Tribes’ military when he reached adulthood. With two siblings in line for the throne ahead of him, there was little question of his loyalty, even for the sake of power.”
“Why would there be a question of it?”
“The Knight-Commander, if so motivated, could overrun the Castle with its own soldiers and initiate a coup.”
Brex leaned back in shock. “They…considered that?”
Vermilla nodded sagely. “Power is a currency that frequently changes hands here in Sangara, Master Brex. The royal family has never had a shift quite so major as a coup, but it’s always on their minds. It’s what they’re paid to worry about, if you consider the taxes they levy. They must please each other as much as they work for the commonfolk.”
Brex wanted to ask a few follow-up questions, but found it difficult to speak around the lump in his throat. Thankfully, Vermilla turned her attention toward the woman who was surely the Queen.
“Ah, Cerise. How I miss the times we spent together before she married the King. She was a diplomat once, not unlike Princess Claret, but she built a strong relationship with the King, and it felt inevitable they would marry. I still remember the ceremony.”
Vermilla sighed wistfully and Brex was content to let her reminisce while he went over the family in his mind again.
Rufus is the commander of the military, last in line for succession. Queen Cerise married into royalty after life as a diplomat…
“What’s she like now?” Brex asked.
“She’s a shrewd one, and not afraid to use her intimidation to get her way,” Vermilla said. “But she believes in the King and the United Pride-Tribes to the core. Everything she does is for the sake of her family and her nation.”
Brex nodded, then turned toward the King himself.
Vermilla spoke breathlessly. “King Crim. Alizarin’s father. The man who will surely choose his eldest son to accept the throne upon his departure. A military hero, mind you. During the Pride Wars, his tribe had impenetrable defenses—which left him as the most recognizable leader after all of the power-hungry tribe elders had died out killing each other. But he leaves that to Rufus now.
“He makes the final decision on all matters relating to the governing of Sangara, the United Pride-Tribes, and relations with other continents.”
Vermilla turned toward Brex. “I wouldn’t get attached to the idea of speaking with him. You’re lucky to be this close, Master Brex.”
Brex wasn’t sure that was true.
If people were going to question Claret’s legitimacy after Alizarin disappeared, what was going to stop them from questioning Brex’s entire presence if Alizarin takes the throne?
And if Alizarin took the throne, then wouldn’t that make Brex…
Brex arched his back, trying to turn his mind away from that mental thread.
“Thank you, Vermilla. I appreciate all of this.”
Vermilla smiled. “You should enjoy your food before it gets cold, Master Brex. Unless you prefer to sit and contemplate your thoughts over eating.”
Brex looked down at his plate. He hadn’t touched it at all, despite his growling stomach. “Right!” He cut himself a bite of Harrish beef. “Right.”
It was as divine as he had hoped, but even the feast couldn’t stop Brex’s mind from wandering.
Was Alizarin’s betrayer here today? Were they sitting at the table with him? And would they be willing to strike again?
Hours later, after enough feasting and conversation had put Brex into an unstoppable stupor of fatigue, he and Alizarin withdrew from the public eye and retired to their chambers.
Without even thinking about his formal robes, Brex fell onto the bed and let out a sigh that echoed through the room.
Alizarin sat beside him, hand reaching out and stroking his back. It was the most comfortable Brex had felt since they’d first arrived.
“Alizarin,” Brex said. “Do you think they like me?”
“Who? The felarin?”
“Your family.”
“I don’t think they know you well enough to decide, Brex,” Alizarin said. “Roll over, I need to peel these robes off of you.”
Brex turned himself over with a grunt, eyes still closed. Alizarin pulled and tugged at the fabric until he could finally get Brex’s arms out of the sleeves, chuckling to himself.
“I dunno why, but I’m terrified they won’t like me,” Brex said.
“Why wouldn’t they? You’re the most likeable person I’ve ever met. Perhaps to a fault.”
“To a fault?”
“Brex, you go out of your way to appear as inoffensive and nonconfrontational as possible. It’s actually a wonderful defense mechanism. If not for that, I doubt you would have left Ziqondi in the shape that you did.”
“Isn’t that just…being nice? Or polite?”
“You can be polite without people taking advantage of you, Brex.” He tugged at Brex’s shoulder again and the orc rolled himself over to lay with his face full of fine, luxurious bed sheets. “Something I had to learn quickly when I was younger.”
“Is this the same time when you were uh, the worst kind of hedonist?”
Alizarin sighed, sliding out of his robes and laying them aside before resuming Brex’s backrub. “It was shortly before then, if not at the same time. I think that’s simply the nature of politics here in Sangara. You have to command respect with the power you already have. It’s been useful, but…” He trailed off, losing himself in his thoughts as Brex turned his head to peek at Alizarin.
Brex turned on his side to face the Prince. “Do you ever wish you were still Red? Just wandering the roads with me, or sailing off to Goronich together?”
Alizarin’s hand froze. “Sometimes,” he said. “Things were simpler then. We’ve only been here a few hours and it feels like my life is tangling itself up again. It’s hard enough to navigate this return alone, but I want to be a good ambassador for you too.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Brex said.
“But I want to. You deserve it, after everything we’ve been through. You should be able to live peacefully and study your sorcery.”
Alizarin smiled and clapped his hand on Brex’s hip. “Speaking of which. I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?”
“Tomorrow you’ll be meeting your personal tutor for sorcery.”
“Personal tutor? Really?”
Alizarin nodded. “One of the best in Sangara, so I’ve been told. I’m hoping that perhaps someday, you’ll…maybe become the court’s official sorcerer-in-residence.”
Brex’s stomach sank. Something about that statement took a magnificent world of possibility and shrank it down to a single line with one destination. And losing so much so quickly, it ate at him.
“Sorcerer-in-residence, huh. What do they do?”
“Any and all matters relating to sorcery, especially negotiations with Harramschall over supplies and sorcerous goods. But mostly producing bespoke spells and catalysts for the family itself. It’s a very important role, currently unoccupied.”
It was important, but not important enough to have one at the moment.
“That’s…something to consider,” Brex said.
Alizarin fell quiet again, idly sliding his hand up and down Brex’s back.
“Scoot over,” he said. “I want to get in bed properly.”
A moment later, they were both snug under the sheets with Brex resting his head under Alizarin’s arm, the Prince’s clawtips gently gliding along Brex’s skin in a single motion, back and forth.
“Alizarin,” Brex said. “I don’t expect you to know the answer to this yet, but do you think you’ll–”
“Assert my entitlement to the throne?” Alizarin said. “Maybe. Not yet. My father was ill when I was kidnapped, Brex. We did what we could to keep it quiet, but there was a chance he might not have survived. And if that had happened, I’d have been…”
He couldn’t finish the thought.
“I’ve been thinking about it since we got here. He seems like a different man than when I left. But he must be feeling the same way about me. I want to be better than I was, Brex. I want to treat my family better. I want to treat you better.”
“Hard not to treat me better than when we first met,” Brex said. “You did try to kill me.”
“We tried to kill each other,” Alizarin corrected.
“I was just caught up in clan politics,” Brex said.
“And I was just hungry.”
Brex laughed and shut his eyes. “I hope they like me.”
“They will. I’m sure of it.”
Alizarin kissed him on the forehead as they both sank deeper under the sheets, fatigue pulling them to sleep in a matter of minutes.
Orcanist 