Page 111 of The Faceless Queen

Brennan ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s hard to tell. I hate it. Hate to think ill of someone I once considered my brother. Someone who is my blood, my uncle’s son. My cousin.” His gaze grew distant. “Sometimes … sometimes I wish he was the crown prince instead of me. Wish that I didn’t have to carry the weight,” he said. “He already has the armor.”

The black armor, the witch armor that by right belonged to Brennan. But King Tirian had given it away, supposedly to keep the peace, to avoid civil war.

“I don’t wish that at all.” I turned toward him. “I’m glad you’re the crown prince. I’m glad that I’m betrothed to you.” Tears burned behind my eyes. Because what might have been the alternative would have been nights of terror as I was engaged to Jaron, nights full of cruelty and humiliation and pain. But then, it would be Jaron dying from my touch. Not Brennan. My heart began to thunder. Gods, it was all so unfair.

“I’m glad I’m betrothed to you, too,” he said, and kissed the palm of my hand. “Much as I never truly cared for power or prestige, I am determined to ascend to the throne. To become king. It’s my duty, but also because I know it’s best that Jaron never rises to power.”

“Why does he have so much support, you think?” I slid closer to him, shifting until our legs touched, our hands entwined.

“I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like it’s a matter of identity. Like if a family always supported House Bathiner, they must continue to do so until the day they die, for no other reason than it’s what they know. Some I’m sure truly believe he would be better, would be more fair, and have more of their interests at heart.”

I laughed. “That I absolutely cannot see happening.”

“Me neither. But I think, for many, it’s not so much that they truly support House Bathiner, and more so that they simply stand against my father. They want change, and they’re willing to support anyone who remotely appears to offer it.”

“Would you change things?” I asked. “If you—when you become king.”

“I plan to. I’ve had a long time to think about what I would do, how I could make their lives better.”

“How did that happen? Did you spend much time with the commoners of your country?” I asked. I believed every word he said. I knew him too well not to, and yet, it was so unlike most royalty I’d encountered to care so much for those whose status was considered beneath theirs. Even I hadn’t fully understood my own privileges as a princess in Azeal, not until they were gone. Brennan–by all accounts, should have never cared for anyone beyond himself. Like Jaron. But he did.

“No,” he said, his voice tight. “Not until recently.”

So he truly had no idea what kind of rules governed Geoffrey’s Tavern when he first walked through the doors.

“I must not sound very princely,” he said.

“On the contrary, you sound like the very definition of one. You’re everything that I think a prince should be.”

Brennan bit his lip, leaning in toward me. “My mother was a commoner,” he said.

I blinked. “She was?”

He nodded. “She was not born of a noble family. Not even close. In fact, some even say—” He shook his head. “It’s not important. But she was the greatest person I knew. So beautiful and loving and kind. She never treated anyone differently, no matter how much or little wealth and status they had. She taught me that. To treat everyone as I wished to be treated. She told me that because she was someone who was never meant to be queen, I should treat everyone I met as though the crown might belong to them one day. For anyone’s status could shift overnight, but who they were inside would remain.”

“That’s beautiful,” I said. “She sounds like an amazing woman.”

Brennan sniffled, shaking his head, and looked away. “She was.”

“How old were you when you lost her?”

“Ten,” he said, his voice tight.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Brennan’s breath was heavy as he nodded.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” I said, trying to give him a moment to compose himself. “For telling me about her. For trusting me.”

“I almost never speak about her. Or my plans. But it’s easy when I’m with you. Easy to share it all.” He frowned. “I was advised not to,” he said with a huff.

“What?”

“I was told I should see you as my enemy until our wedding night.”

“By your father?”

“It was how he saw my mother. Even after.”