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He was a very, very lucky man.
Chapter 51
CALLUM
Callum had been to the palace only once, back when he was a small child.
It had been for a party of sorts, though after so many years he couldn’t recall the reason behind the celebration. Father had dressed him in black, lined with a deep red. Delilah used to go to these events with him, dressed in a gown of the same colors, but Delilah had just died, and Alastair was gone more often than he was home, leaving Callum as the only one who was left. That, more than any other reason, was why his father had taken him that night.
Even then, Callum had known he was something like a consolation prize, but that night he hadn’t cared, not even a little. He had been so excited to dress up, so excited to see the palace, to meet Witches. He never saw much of anyone, aside from Winston, who never wanted to play with him, and Alastair, who grew quieter and quieter, angrier and angrier as the days went on.
Witches were the Faction closest to the Goddess, or so everyone said. Callum wanted to know what that meant. Wanted to meet these holy creatures, so blessed by the divine, wanted to share in their joy.
Father had told him to stay close at his side, that night, but Callumcouldn’t help himself. He’d run off the moment he’d seen a group of other children, eager to meet new friends.
“Hi!” he’d said, delighted, when he’d approached them.
And they’d smiled at him, big welcoming smiles, and greeted him right back. They’d told him their names, and some of them even told him the names of their families, as though that conveyed some special piece of information to him. They’d seemed so nice, and he was so excited to play with them.
But when he’d smiled back at them and started to tell them his name, they’d paled. They’d gone from happy to scared so quickly, and he hadn’t understood that sudden change until one of them had hissed it at him like a curse.
“Leech!”
That was the first time Callum knew what it meant to be hated.
Callum stayed by his father’s side for the rest of the night after that, hiding behind his legs and keeping to himself. He’d been glad when his father went to the next party alone.
And now, as Callum waited outside the entrance to the palace throne room, he couldn’t help but remember the fear he’d seen in those children’s eyes when they’d seen him.
How different would the realm be today if he’d stayed and played with them that night? If he’d shown them that he wasn’t all that different, wasn’t scary, wasn’t the monster they thought his father was. How different would things be if his father had kept bringing him, if he’d been allowed to spend time with the Witches at those parties, to make them laugh, to tell them stories?
What would the world be like if they had gotten a chance to know him?
A noise from behind him startled Callum from his revery, and he turned to see a dark-skinned Witch stalking toward him. She was handsome and built like a fighter, all muscles and sharp angles. When she spotted him standing there, she froze, mouth opening in shock.
“Alastair?” she asked, a mixture of surprise and disgust in her voice.
Callum nearly laughed.
“Sorry, no,” he said, giving her a welcoming smile. “I’m the other one.”
“Oh.” Readjusting her attitude, the Witch approached, eyeing him warily. “You must be the new deSanguine. We haven’t met, yet. I’m Alice, the representative of the Witch Faction.”
She looked him up and down, assessing him.
“Please, call me Callum,” he told her, offering her his hand. “I’m still not used to the title.”
Alice nodded, taking his hand in her own and shaking it. Then, seemingly as though she had to, she added, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Are you?” Callum asked, more curious than anything. “Are you, really? I’m not naïve to my father’s reputation, Alice. Especially amongst your Faction. Especially to an ex-Blade.”
The Fallen King.To the Witch standing before him, his father would have represented something terrible. An enemy. A constant threat to the crown.
Already, Callum was so, so tired of it all. Tired of living in the shadows of wars he’d never fought.
The Witch before him gave him a long, assessing look before she answered. “Whatever your father was,” Alice said, “he was committed to this council. He did a lot of good over the last few years. I might not have called him a friend, but—” She took a deep breath. “But in the end, I don’t think I would have called him an enemy. I am sorry for your loss, Callum. Sorry for the realm’s loss. He will be missed.”
Callum swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat.
