Page 46 of The Prince's Curse

Benjin’s expression darkened. “I’ve met people like that. Usually, I find it’s best to avoid them, not attend them at dinner.”

Haldric sighed. “I wish I could have ignored him. But the governors are growing ever bolder in their demands for more freedoms, and Westley is the worst of the lot. You should’ve heard his open contempt for the Crown at the Summit. And then tonight, what he said about Melisie…”

Fresh waves of fury roiled Haldric’s gut, his muscles growing taut as he pictured Westley’s smug sneer. A hand on his shoulder yanked him back to the present, and he looked up to find Benjin beside him, his pale gray eyes kind.

“Do you want to tell me about her?” Benjin asked.

The question caught Haldric off guard. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d spoken to anyone about Melisie. Even mentioning her name to his father left the king racked with grief, and the onetime he’d tried to discuss Melisie with his Aunt Janelle, she’d snapped at him to forget the past and focus on the present.

Swallowing, Haldric said, “Melisie was always the responsible one. She took her role as heir very seriously. When we were growing up, she was always impressing our tutors with her dedication while I seized every chance I could to slip away from my lessons and curl up with a good story or magical treatise.”

A faint smile hovered on his lips as he recalled those easy days in the palace. They seemed so distant now.

“Did you ever resent her for her position?” Though Benjin had dropped his hand from Haldric’s shoulder, he remained close, practically pressed against Haldric’s side. Haldric fought down the inexplicable urge to grab his hand.

“No, never. She did everything she could to encourage me. This one time, I begged Melisie to cover for me with our tutors so I could finish the end of my latest book. She did it without batting an eye. Then, later that night, she snuck into my room with notes on everything I’d missed that day and refused to leave until she’d verified that I’d finished every last bit of it.”

Benjin chuckled. “Sounds like she had a strong will.”

Haldric smiled, fondness flooding him. “She really did.” His smile faltered as a crushing weight settled in his chest. “She would’ve made a great queen. She’d never have let Duke Westley get away with strongarming her…if he’d even dared to try in the first place.”

Benjin’s light touch sent prickles of heat skittering up his arm. “Forget Westley. He’s not worth wasting any more energy on. Don’t let him get under your skin.”

Haldric expelled a breath. Benjin was right. The duke had probably brought up Melisie to provoke him. Letting Westley affect him played right into the duke’s hands. Westley didn’t know the first thing about what the people of Ilthabard really needed.

Then again, perhaps he wasn’t the only one. Though their caravan had left behind the worst of the protesters in Revesole, more had appeared in every town along their route. Each seemed another sign of Ilthabard’s stark decline. And if Haldric’s father and the other governors had failed so utterly, couldhereally hope to do any better?

“What was it like for you growing up?” Haldric asked before he could think better of it.

“You mean after Baroness Simea kicked my mother and me out?” Bitterness colored Benjin’s voice. Dropping his hand from Haldric’s arm, he picked at his nails. “It was rough, especially at first. We had nowhere to stay and nothing but the clothes on our backs. Things weren’t as bad back then as they are now, but they were still tough. We got by begging for work in exchange for a meal and someplace to sleep for the night before moving on. Our luck improved once we reached Revesole. There were more opportunities for work there. My mother found a position as a seamstress while I used my runeflame to perform and picked up whatever odd jobs I could for some extra coins. Then, I heard about the open interviews to become the Grand Magus’ apprentice and, well…you know the rest.”

Haldric’s stomach twisted. By Benjin’s soft smile whenever he mentioned his mother, Haldric could tell she meant a great deal to him. The thought of them out there, struggling just to get by for years, left a sour taste in his mouth.

“I’m sorry. It sounds like you had a tough life.”

Benjin shrugged. “No tougher than anyone else out there, I suppose. And better than some. At least we never went too hungry for long, and I had my runeflame to fall back on.” Benjin’s grin seemed forced and a bit too brittle for Haldric’s liking. “Besides, now I work in thepalace, sending sacks of gallants home to my mother each week while learning magic with a Void-cursedprince.”

Their eyes met, and Benjin’s expression softened. “Life could definitely be worse.”

Benjin’s words stayed with him long after they’d said their good nights and retired to their tents…as did the lingering comfort of his touch. Yet as Haldric tossed and turned, struggling to wipe Westley’s smug smirk from his mind, it was his aunt’s whispered warning to him from just before their departure from the palace that haunted his thoughts.

“Remember what I told you during the Summit, Haldric. Allies are all well and good, but if we put our faith in Khordan, we risk forfeiting our independence. Whatever your father’s wishes, you are the one who will soon be king. Don’t let yourself become anyone’s puppet. It’s up to you to preserve Ilthabard’s future.”

If only he had any Void-cursed clue how to manage that.

Khordan wasn’t what Haldric had expected. He’d been briefed before this trip, of course, and his lessons these past couple years had focused heavily on Khordanite politics and customs. As one of Ilthabard’s oldest allies, he needed to know as much about the Light-worshiping empire as he could.

Yet, no amount of books or lessons could’ve prepared him for the heat. Even near the Tholan River along Khordan’s western border, the air was stagnant and stifling, the scraggly grass already reminiscent of the desert sands that blanketed the heart of the Khordanite Empire.

It lent the landscape they passed over a barren, repetitive quality that the towns seemed to mimic. Neatly divided streets and cookie-cutter buildings presented an image of persistent order utterly at odds with the more natural sprawl of the typical Ilthabardian village.

Haldric found the sight a touch intimidating. The care given to construction even here along the Empire’s outskirts spoke to Khordan’s wealth and power, especially in comparison to his own fading kingdom. Ilthabard could barely hold itself together in the present, let alone give heed to the future via careful city design.

At least, the Galax estate wasn’t too dissimilar from the Ilthabardian keeps he was used to. Smaller than the palace in Revesole, it still boasted an impressive array of towers and arches, all carved from pristine white marble that glistened in the afternoon sun.

Exiting the carriage, Haldric tried to project an imperious air. The words of his tutors rang in his head. It wouldn’t do to show weakness—not when they needed this alliance far more than Lord Galax did.

Benjin followed on his heels. Though the apprentice didn’t speak, gratitude filled Haldric for his comforting presence. He was glad he didn’t have to face this meeting alone.

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