Page 22 of Nightingale

Fitting a horse through the eye of a needle would be more possible. As well as more enjoyable to attempt.

“That will change,” Regulus argued, mostly for himself. “He favoured Theseus at one point, and now that he’s dead, he’s set his eyes on another prize.”

“Is that your way of telling me that I’m next on your little list, Reg?” He huffed, tossing the rest of his drink back and wincing at the burn that followed. The glass clanged as it hit the table.

They’d all brought their own drinks, just like usual. No one trusted each other, not even for as far as they could throw them which meant that if they wanted to quench their thirst, it wason them to satisfy it. There were too many opportunities to slip a toxin into the liquid- even water if one had the right poison to use, which meant that none of them would drink out of a glass they hadn’t brought.

“Aren’t I on yours?” Regulus asked, crossing one lean leg over the other. His boot bounced back and forth as he shook it. “As I’m sure that Castil and Brioc are on each other’s, and so forth.”

“I don’t have a list.” Castil amended. “For this side, or theirs.”

“I don’t know,” Brioc interrupted before he could go any further. “Every time I see you and the Princess interact, you both look as though you want to tear each other’s throat out with your teeth.”

“He certainly does want to place his teeth near her neck.” Rian didn’t hold the witty remark back, chuckling at how clever it was for those who knew the truth behind it all.

The ice turned to fire.

Blazing and furious, passion ignited in warning as his elder brother shot daggers his way. He ignored it and dragged a hand through his auburn hair.

Regulus chuckled, a sneer taking over. “Just kill her and you can move up the list for the throne and crown. Hell, I might one of these days.”

“If you so much as touch her,” Castil began in a low, threatening voice that had the hair on the back of Rian’s neck standing on end.

“Whatwill happen?”

“The King doesn’t like his plans being messed with. Do you really think that he’ll enjoy the bloodied head of Vrea Greenvass dropped at his feet when he clearly has current plans for her? Do you think that he would keep her alive, feed and clothe her, if he didn’t already have something in motion? Screw that up and you won’t even beonthe list, Regulus because he will have disposed of you himself.”

It came out so fast, so natural that it took him a moment to register the actual threat, valid and whole in his sibling’s warning. Not only would their father kill Regulus for that act of disobedience- which wasn’t tolerated to any degree- but Castil had placed his own threat there, at the start. As well as giving away a seed of his own desperation, but none of the others noticed.

“If he’s got a plan for her, then he should act now. The spoiled brat has been sitting on the shelf, collecting dust for over three years now.” Brioc muttered, clearly uncomfortable with the changed tension in the air as Castil practically steamed from his ears at the male across from him.

Who was smirking like he was the cat that caught and ate the canary.

Well,Nightingale.

At least in this case.

“He’s smarter than playing all his pawns at once. A good leader knows to wait, to be patient and use them to his advantage at the right time. He’s not going to trade her in for nothing, for a small, single victory.” Castil went on, flicking his hair back to tumble down his spine. “He’s going to save her until the climax of it all, when he’s sure that she can bring about the end of the war and a large win for us all.”

“You’re talking about her like she’s the fucking dessert at the end of a meal.” Rian said, “The sweeter the reward, the more filling it will be once we’ve all had our share.”

“Use whatever analogy you want.”

“How much longer do you think he’ll hold out?” Brioc inquired, letting his legs fall from the longer seat that held no back. A cushion was perched and pinned in place, buttons sewn to create a diagonal pattern in the grey fabric. Silver studs had been nailed around the curled armrests, which Brioc was currently leaning against.

“Why should I know?” He ground out, picking at the threads in his cuff. “You think that he trusts me with any of his plans? Let alone some that could win the war? He doesn’t divulge those, not even to his most trusted advisors. The only person that the King trusts, is himself.”

“Then how do you know so much about his mind?” Regulus begged the question.

“Because they’re more alike than any of us will ever be.” Rian answered for him and hurt flashed across Castil’s angular features, a muscle in his jaw feathering. “Their minds work similarly which means that Castil is able to conjure up ideas that our father has already thought of, which could give him an advantage in the end. He might be King over our graves one day. Granted, he’d also be the one to put us there.”

“No,” Castil said quietly. “I will never be King.”

“Why are you so sure about that declaration?” Brioc interrogated, reaching for the wine pitcher that sat off to the side and pouring himself a large helping. “You have just as much of a chance as any of us, other than Rian’s massive advantage of course.”

He sat silently, listening to whatever reasons would pour off of his siblings’ mouths. It wasn’t a hidden fact that their father despised Castil for some unknown reason, but even he wasn’t privy to the understanding behind it. Whatever it was, brewed badly between them. Enough for Castil to despise the man right back, flinching whenever someone compared them. Even if the comparisons made were true.

“Because I will never be good enough for him.” He stated simply enough, as if a fault lie with him and not the King’s standards for heirs. They were impossibly high, whichever son he preferred in mind. It was almost impossible sometimes, but Rian would do whatever it took if it meant ending up on the throne.

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