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Phineas blocked, then hacked downward. “One, you didn’t kill your mother. Two”—he hammered Killian backward—“you’re still learning. You can’t get everything right in the beginning. You were fifteen when your father wanted you to fix that unfixable situation with Tallen. You had started learning Tallenish, what, four months before that? No, three months. So of course, you wouldn’t know the language perfectly. And you should have been given a translator to assist with the negotiations since you didn’t know enough of the language for diplomatic communication. And we were ten when I beat you. Then you won three tournaments.”
“Tournaments you weren’t competing in. He only cares about the one you pulled out of.”
“When my father broke his arm?”
Killian spun. “He claims I paid you to pull out so I could win.”
“I had to go set the bone.”
“I know.” Killian advanced several paces, losing himself in the dance of the battle before Phineas lunged low.
Sidestepping the blow, Killian parried and then almost overextended his reach. “I try, Phin. I try so hard. But he demands perfection.”
Phineas chuckled, the sound prickling Killian’s irritation. “Perfect is a terrible goal, Killian. It’s unattainable.”
Killian surged forward, slicing and jabbing with each step. Phineas blocked each move deftly. With a clumsy hack, Killian grunted. “Perfect is the only way.”
“Perfect isn’t only impossible, it’s fragile. Good, wise, strong, flexible, teachable—those should be the goals. You’re human. Your allies are human. Perfect can only be said of fine porcelain teacups.” He blocked and then attacked Killian, each blow growing in strength. “Do you want to be a teacup? Breakable? Tense? Stoic? Perfect isn’t the goal. Enduring, resilient, relentless. These character traits should be what you strive for.”
He kicked Killian’s legs from beneath him and knocked him back, putting the sword to his throat. Again.
Killian threw his sword to the side, panting. He brought both palms to his eyes, pressing back the remaining emotion that brewed there. “I want his approval, Phin. I want him to be proud of me.”
“What if you never get it?”
Killian pulled his hands down, blinking. “What?”
“If you never get his approval, does that change your inherent worth? Does that change your ability to be king?”
Killian stared at Phineas’s extended hand before grasping it. What was he getting at? Phineas pulled him up, and Killian stuttered his words. “I … well. Yes.”
Phineas sighed heavily. “Then you’re not ready to lead.”
Killian gaped at him. A voice beyond the wall called Phineas’s name. Phineas looked torn between Killian and the man.
“I need to attend to this, but let’s talk later, okay? Just … later.” His friend looked at Killian sadly before patting his back and returning to his group. After speaking with the man, he called out the next set of instructions, leaving Killian behind as he ran to the medical tent.
Killian remained, rooted in place, panting. Cold shivered down his spine like ice. His own friend didn’t think him ready to lead. That blow was even worse than his father’s. Although, was Phineas wrong? Killian couldn’t even beat him at swordplay.
Regardless of his wins on the border or the dock dispute, Killian’s only value to his father was in his marriage to the lost princess and his subsequent succession to the throne. He had to play his father’s game, otherwise, who was he? His father didn’t care about Killian’s other successes that year. He only cared that Killian was the reason the queen died. Killian had brought the cursed knife home—the curse that had killed the queen. But he couldn’t change the past. He couldn’t become Phineas. He couldn’t undo his failures.
He stood for many moments, then stiffened his shoulders, and dusted off his clothing. If no one thought he could be king, maybe he should stop trying. He would play his part like a puppet for his father, but no more than that. He was done reaching for something no one believed he could accomplish.
Entering his chambers, he saw the stack of books Phineas had brought while he’d been at lunch. He sneered at it, about to topple the stack, but held back his hand. His mind filled with images of the forest: the light, the water … Raela. The tension in his chest eased by a degree. He had an escape.
He snatched a book and sat in his lounging chair. He didn’t want to talk to Phineas right now, but he would learn more about the gate, the forest, and the magic around the woman who had so captured his attention. His father didn’t know about this venture, and Killian would never tell him. This was his secret. The king couldn’t be disappointed in him if he never found out about it. He wondered for a moment if Phineas would ruin it for him, but despite everything, Phineas was Killian’s friend first. He wouldn’t tell. Probably.
Pushing all doubt and pain from his mind, Killian turned to search out the secrets of the forest.
Chapter 7
Discomfort
Killian
Teatimecamemuchtoosoon for Killian, but he couldn’t be late again. Shoving his third—apparently useless—book back onto the table, he straightened his shirt, grabbed his jacket, and made his way to the outer courtyard. He was so preoccupied with his futile research that when a delicate hand clasped his arm, he jumped with a start.
Lady Zalina grinned at him and moved her hand to the crook of his elbow. “Are you expecting an attack today, dear prince?” She batted her blue eyes his way, exaggerated and coquettish. Huffing a laugh, Killian straightened up and led her through the halls. Killian had last seen her in her hometown, Rosho, an icy city on the northern coast of Norwood. There she had entertained him with her sharp humor and flattered him with her flirting while he attempted to settle a dock dispute at the harbor.
