Page 9 of The Prince

Clament ran his hands through his hair as he mentally reminded himself why he had finally chosen to break his ties with Namin. Three red triangles, tattooed discretely on the people sent to kill him. He had been betrayed first, in the worst way. He opened his mouth and the rest fell out in a rush of words, too fast to stop or temporize.

“The north was a distraction. The mercenaries were meant to pull your attention and your forces there, so Namin could begin making forays into the south. Small victories and some food plundered before winter would tide the military over until the spring when the fortress would be completed, and Namin could invade at full force while Toval was still distracted rebuilding the north. I…erm…I did tell them the distraction plan would fail, but I suspect that my being killed by Toval was their contingency plan.”

Braxton shook his head in disgust, and he didn’t seem surprised by anything Clament was telling him. Well, he already knew about the secret fortress, so perhaps he had also known or guessed why Clament was leading that ridiculous band of mercenaries in a plot doomed to failure.

“Thank you for telling me,” Braxton finally said, and his smile was small and gentle, with absolutely no sign of pity or disgust. “If you don’t mind my asking, what made you change your mind? You were adamant before about not breaking your silence, to the point…” he trailed off, grimacing, but Clament could interpret. To the point that two guards and a so-called healer had taken it upon themselves to torture him to try convincing him to talk, but saying that out loud would be crass.

Rather than dwelling on what had gotten him to the healing ward in the first place, not daring to open the box where those memories were so carefully tucked away, Clament instead chose to focus on the event that had gotten him sent to the royal wing. He pulled over a small folder he had been doodling in the last time he had sat on the couch and flipped it open to reveal the top piece of paper covered in triangles.

“Terrorize, torture, and terminate. The three foundational principles of the Triumviré, an ancient term that roughly translates to three leaders. Children are chosen at birth to join them and trained from infancy in how to kill. Their only loyalty is to the king of Namin, who uses them as a threat against anyone who might think about unseating him. All the people who die mysteriously—heart attacks in their sleep, falling off a parapet in the night—the Triumviré are the culprits. By sending them to kill me, the king of Namin declared he sees me not just a traitor to Namin, but as a threat to his continued existence.”

“Does he care at all that you’re his son?” Braxton asked, his tone gentle as if he wasn’t certain he ought to be asking that question. He was right, but the wound that question prodded was an old and long-scabbed-over one.

“Did whoever told you about the fortress also tell you about my name?” Clament didn’t want to bring up the source of all his pain, or to explain his sordid past, but Braxton needed to understand the level of cruelty the king of Namin was capable of before he went up against him.

“They mentioned your name was an explanation but told me it was your story to tell and didn’t elaborate.” Braxton’s eyes were soft as he looked at Clament, as if he was actually concerned he might be causing pain by bringing up the topic, and Clament had to look away before sorrow turned into pity.

“The king raped my mother, a servant whose job was to tend fires in the royal apartment. These days he’s more careful, but back then he didn’t bother with contraception. When I was born, my mother walked into the court at full session and declared what he had done to her, and I was the proof. He was forced to adopt me, and he named me Clament, with an A rather than the usual spelling with an E, because he couldn’t name me Lament outright. As the unwanted, bastard child, I am expendable—a tool to be used until I die, and even then, he planned to use my death as a rallying cry. Apparently, he decided to ensure I died here in Toval.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, how did the court prove you were the king’s son? A newborn babe would hardly have any distinguishable features.”

Clament laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “The royal power of Toval allows you to summon weapons from thin air. The royal power of Namin allows us to see danger before it arrives. They say the original kings and queens could see the past, present, and future, but these days we only see the present with premonitions when danger comes nearby.”

“That’s how you knew the attackers were on the way in the healing ward,” Braxton said, nodding to himself as if that explained a lot.

“Yeah. I felt it when they made the decision to attack. The power couldn’t activate when I was with the mercenaries because while every single one of them would have been very happy to take my head, none of them had decided to actually do it. I didn’t realize how bad the situation had gotten until Prince Fenwick walked into the tent. Anyway, as children, the royal power leaks out until we learn to control it. Even as an infant, there was no concealing I had the power of kings.”

Clament let out a breath and released his magic, a golden glow suffusing his vision. His third eye opened, but he didn’t push the magic outward. He let Braxton see for a few moments, the way his pupils vanished beneath the golden sheen and the gold eye that opened between his brows, before clamping back down on the power to shut it off again. His vision returned to normal, and he looked over at Braxton, who simply smiled cheekily.

“I bet not all your siblings have that power, or if they do, it’s not as strong.”

That surprised a laugh out of Clament. “Yes. Only Cadell has the same amount of power as me, which is why he’s the heir. If he could have, he would have sent the Triumviré after me years ago since I’m the biggest threat to his succession.” Clament didn’t bother telling Braxton about the years of torment that comprised his childhood, but he had a feeling Braxton guessed. “I didn’t want to prove them right,” Clament admitted. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you anything. Until my father decided I was worth more to him dead than alive, that is.”

Braxton shook his head. “Every time I hear something about your family I think surely they can’t do anything worse. And then I learn something new and am disgusted all over again. They never bothered to get to know you—the real you. Did they?” He sighed and they lapsed into silence. Clament closed the folder, hiding away those damned triangles again and leaned deep into the couch cushions, resting his head against his quilt.

“If your family doesn’t want you anymore,” Braxton began, hesitant as if he wasn’t certain he ought to be saying anything. “You could renounce them yourself.”

Clament’s mouth dropped open, and he stared at Braxton. “How would I do that?” he asked, except now that the thought was in his head, churning and bubbling and welcoming in away not much else in his life had ever been, a sort of lightness came over him. He could renounce his father, who saw him only as a pawn, and his brother, who saw him only as someone to torment. He could toss off the false trappings of a prince and become someone completely new.

“Change your name to something that makes you happy rather than something that gives them evil feelings of glee. Your name should be one you can be proud of, reflects how good a person you are, and is used by people who care about you.” Braxton shrugged. “That’s where I’d start, but it’s entirely your decision.” He smiled and stood. “I’ll leave you to think it over.”

Braxton left, shutting the door gently behind him as if he knew those simple words had eased away all the complexities of what Clament had always seen as such a thorny issue. Clament curled up on the couch, pulled his quilt over him, and thought about those words for a long time, until Alina came by with his afternoon meds.

Chapter Six

PRINCE FENWICK DIDN’Tlive in the castle, Clament had learned. He lived in the military barracks some ways from the city, and apparently lived happily with the chef who had aided in Clament’s capture. He kept a room in the royal wing, though, for when he needed to stay over for whatever reason. Fen, as he had asked to be called after their second lunch together, had only been in the castle and near the smaller castle barracks by sheer coincidence when Clament had been attacked. Over the last few days, he had been here more often. Clament assumed it was in reaction or preparation for Toval’s response to Namin’s plans. He stopped by to chat or for a quick lunch whenever he could, and Clament was actually starting to like him. Fen had really only captured Clament out of necessity, and because Namin had made it so incredibly easy for him to do so. Clament couldn’t hold it against him.

Sometimes Fen brought Crown Prince Ayer along too. Ayer seemed equally nice, if a touch more aloof. He had a pronounced limp, but his mind was the sharpest Clament had ever encountered. He would make a fine king, unlike Clament’s brother Cadell, crown prince of Namin, who had inherited their father’s bad temperament. After meeting all the princes of Toval, Clament suspected the riches Namin was truly enviousof weren’t the abundant fields, but rather the way the royal family worked together to support one another and the country they served. Because Toval didn’t serve them in the way the entire country of Namin danced attendance on their king. No, Toval was the exact opposite, and it was beautiful. No wonder Clament’s cold, grasping father was so eager to destroy Toval.

And then there was Braxton: calm, understanding, and with such a lovely smile. Braxton was handsome and kind, and far more generous than Clament had ever expected an enemy prince to be. In fact, Clament had stopped waiting for the moment he would be returned to the dungeon, finally understanding there was no artifice when it came to how Braxton treated others. That didn’t mean Clament was about to let his burgeoning feelings loose for anyone to see. He was still technically a prisoner, albeit only barely, and certainly a well-treated one. He wasn’t about to make assumptions and let anyone—Braxton especially—know about his infatuation. If Clament’s feelings weren’t reciprocated, he would only be placing a burden on Braxton’s shoulders by forcing him to endure Clament’s unwanted attentions.

Sometimes all three of them descended on Clament for lunch, like today where they were all squeezed around his breakfast nook on the extra chairs some servants had brought in.

Their inane chatter slowed as the servants finished putting out the food and departed, bringing Clament back to the present and the thorny issues they were trying to collectively solve: how to counter everything Namin was throwing at Toval.

Except, Fen’s first question was directed at Clament specifically.

“Have you given any more thought to changing your name? You said Braxton had mentioned it.”

---