Page 168 of The Wild Prince's Favorite
“Is the Emperor inside?” he asked the pair of guards who’d been staring at Kassein.
“Yes, Intendant.”
“Well then,” Tievin said, with a tone that implied they should hurry up and do what they were here for.
The doors opened. Heavy, imposing, needlessly high.
Kassein hated those doors. They were meant to make people on this side feel small, like everything in the throne room. It was one of the largest halls of the palace, and it was almost empty. There was no furniture but the large throne at the end. There were stairs, but once upon a time, there had been proper chairs and soft carpets for guests to sit on. It looked like Kassian didn’t invite many guests to sit down anymore.
Perhaps the place was rendered even darker by the raging downpour outside, but even so, Kassein found it a striking contrast with the warm hall of his childhood. He and his siblings used to happily barge into the throne room at all times of the day to bother their Aunt Shareen, the previous Empress. There was a seat his sister Sadara preferred for her needlework, next to the one Cessilia would read on for hours. There would be carpets covered with toys for him and the younger siblings, and servants would go in and out all day to help his parents tend to the eight siblings. Now, the place was bare, cold, uninviting.
It took Kassein a few seconds to recognize the place as it wasn’t even lit by candlelight, but engulfed in the darkness of a gray evening instead.
And it was almost empty, except for the one lonely figure of his older brother. Kassian wasn’t seated on his throne but on the floor, his back and head slumped against the large golden seat. He seemed to be asleep; one arm was on his bent knee while the other rested on his straightened leg. His hair had grown longer since the last time Kassein had seen him, reaching beneath his shoulders.
He didn’t announce himself, but took in a deep breath, almost expecting to smell something odd in the air. Alcohol, perhaps.
“What are you doing here?”
Kassian’s voice broke the silence before he opened his eyes.
Kassein’s eyes were a dark green, a soft mix between his mother’s and their father’s black irises, but Kassian’s were exactly like their mother’s, green as emeralds.
Perhaps that made the irate expression on his face feel even worse.
“Long time no see, older brother,” Kassein finally managed to utter.
“I asked you a question.”
Kassian sounded in an even worse mood than the last time he had seen him, and that didn’t seem possible.
Still, Kassein steeled himself for a hard conversation. He had left after an irreparable mistake and was coming back to ask a favor of the brother he’d left to deal with the horrible consequences; this wasn’t going to be easy at all.
“...I came to ask you something.”
“I wonder what it could be,” Kassian sneered. “...How is the family of the man you killed, perhaps? Or how many of them did I have to look in the eye and apologize to in your stead? No? Then how is the widow, surely? How are his children growing without their father? How many houses have been rebuilt since you left? How many times have I had to apologize for your actions? How many of our citizens fear and despise us thanks to you? How–”
“I get it,” Kassein interrupted him, his throat tight. “...I get it, Kassian. I’m sorry.”
His older brother went silent for just a second, squinting his eyes.
“You’re sorry? ...Sorry?You think being sorry begins to cover it?”
“...I would have apologized myself. I would have apologized and rebuilt those houses myself if you had let me–”
“How?” Kassian shouted. “How the hell would you have done anything but destroy? How was I supposed to trust you to rebuild something after all the damage you’ve caused for the last ten, no, fourteen years? How do you apologize for killing a man, Kassein? Tell me, where would you start?”
Kassein clenched his fists, taking in the verbal abuse.
He knew his older brother had every right to be mad, but it seemed Kassian was done, for he slowly stood up. Surprisingly, he had to lean on his throne to get himself upright, which made Kassein frown.
“Are you drunk...?”
“What I am, Kassein, istired,” Kassian retorted.
His tone was full of anger and sarcasm, but beneath it, Kassein felt something in his older brother’s voice. Genuine tiredness, not just physical fatigue, but the kind of deep mental exhaustion that took a toll on someone’s mind. And, underlying, something that sounded like... sadness. Or grief.
Kassein wasn’t sure what to say; a part of him almost felt sorry for his older brother, stuck in this golden cage every day. Kassian was the firstborn, and he had been raised to become the Emperor since he was a child. In the year Kassein had been born, Kassian had already reached fourteen years of age and begun to train under their aunt.
