Page 31 of Nightingale

“Well met, Castil.” He tilted his head to the side in a half bow. It was as much respect as he’d ever show his heirs until one took over in his stead.

Rian had smirked like a wild plains-cat from Niroula, impressed by his survival. Brioc surveyed him now as a more serious threat and had never let his guard down since. Regulus, the brother above him, had begun to consider him a challenge as well, clear in his black eyes.

Castil hated them all, except for Rian.

But since that day, Castil had taken a page out of his father’s book. One, single page because he refused to let himself succumb to something that horrible again.

So he’d started studying poisons and their effects, learning every bit of information he could about each individual one that grew in either Kingdom. He ingrained the knowledge into his brain and never let it go.

And then he’d taken it one step further.

He’d started ingesting small, non-lethal doses of a few different poisons in order to build up a tolerance, like his father had. At first, it was completely wretched.

His already pale skin had turned nearly translucent as the toxins mixed, creating a sickening effect. Then he couldn’t keepany food down, liquid being his sole way of staying alive. For months after he’d started the mithridatism, he’d barely felt alive. A ghost, in the hallowed halls of a King that wished him dead.

How ironic, it seemed to be that he could have killed himself if he’d measured the wrong amount, or added too much of one atop the other.

For months, half a year actually, he’d withered to the point of alamort. Rian, with his clever eyes, had seen it and commented about his appearance. Castil blamed it on an illness, one he’d contracted from the battle and it seemed that his sibling believed him without any more questions on the subject.

But then everything changed.

And he’d regained his strength.

Day by day, he’d added more and more of each poison into his diet until he could withstand a full dose of each, allowing him to relax on the disgusting practice.

Now he only required a few spoonfuls a week of the selected toxins to keep up his tolerance. If he didn’t, his body could begin to withdraw, needing the very thing that could kill him if he stopped altogether.

Castil returned to the present from his trip into his tightly-guarded memories, the ones that he held firmly onto in case he needed to dredge something up.

Rian sipped at the cup slowly, “Father may say that I’m his favourite, but we all know that he could easily switch his choices up within the next day, the next hour. He prefers whichever heir is strongest, whichever one makes him the most proud.”

“Except myself.”

“There was once where I thought he might shift his attention in your direction.” Rian disagreed, tossing another bit back.

“Once, in a brief moment, yes. But I think he was just impressed with the fact that I didn’t succumb to death like he desperately wished.” Castil spat out, bitterly and a bit annoyedthat ithadn’tworked.

Sometimes it seemed easier to give in, to let go of the wicked world that they lived on and let the others battle it out for the throne.

But that was pathetic, and he wasnotpathetic.

If anything, the fact that his father tried to kill him only made him want the throne even more. Something he still had his eye on, and would do anything to take, even if it meant letting his siblings wipe themselves out.

Hence why he didn’t care about any of them.

Rian grimaced as he finished his drink. “He’s a cold asshole, isn’t he?”

“Honestly, I’m surprised that no one has tried to slit his throat in the middle of the night.” The fourth Prince added, keeping an open ear on the corridor just behind them to listen for sentries footsteps.

It wasn’t forbidden to visit with other siblings, but wasn’t recommended. The guards reported back to his father if any were seen together outside of council meetings and battles.

“Careful, Cas.” Rian’s lips folded upwards as the whites of his teeth showed. “You might just be giving me ideas here.”

“No,” He protested. “If anyone is killing the cruel bastard that produced us, it’s going to beme.”

Sixteen

When Vrea woke in the morning, she was only slightly surprised to find herself still alive. She’d half expected her death to come at any of the heirs’ hands, Rian’s most of all, considering the way that their last encounter had ended. One that they hadn’t spoken of, and one that it was clear that neither of them would bring up. What happened in the past didn’t matter now.

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