He made his way down the winding stairs into the palace proper, and barely reached the landing into the long, tall hallway when the anger bubbled over. Over the years it had been easier, but sometimes he needed to excuse himself or risk exposing everything. He clenched his fist and made to punch the wall, but thought against it, instead sucking in a deep breath. All his family needed was information, information they had access to years ago. Wil didn’t need to be here anymore. He should have been pulled out years ago, over a decade ago. Instead they’d forgotten about him. A spy without a mission.

  His family had sent him to the Eldwylle Palace, but the hatred had only ever been a ruse. Wil had been too young at the time to understand what was happening. Most of the commonwealth as it was now hadn’t even come together yet, but there had been rumours. Rumours that the world of the living and the world of the Wild Folk, Réimse Fiáin would be forced apart. A severance between human and magic. They knew it was true, and still they left him here. Now it had come to pass, and he was still here, sitting at the Royal table as though he hoped to be in a crown himself.

  A bile taste was building in the back of his throat. He noticed a nearby door and with a quick prayer that it was empty, he tossed himself through it. A wall met him on the other side, flattening his nose in another bust of pain as he stumbled over wicker brooms and buckets. The space wasn’t big enough for him to stretch his arms all the way out, but it would do. He pulled the door shut and sank down onto the floor, his knees against his chest. No-one was coming for him. No-one remembered he was here.

  Wil didn’t know how long he sat there, hands clenched tight against his tunic and head pressed into his knees, with dust filling his sinus and the leather of his boots squeaking against the stone. The pain passed – as it always did – but still he sat there. The hatred he’d felt before had dulled only to be replaced with a disgusting self-pity and a despair so deep he almost threw up. All of this was so much more than what it started as. He wasn’t a simple farm boy anymore, and not a passive kitchen boy either. Loyalty was demanded of him, and part of him wondered if he should just accept it, realise that he wasn’t going anywhere.

  A soft knock on the door broke him from his thoughts, and Wil held his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow. It was hot even without the excitement of the party bleeding through the cracks of the door. The knock sounded again.

  ‘Puppy?’ Heddwyn’s voice was soft n the other side.

  Wil sighed. ‘I’m in here, Hedd. I’ll be out in a moment.’

  The door creaked open, revealing the young prince on the other side. The boy stared down at him, then sank to his knees, taking a seat next to Wil in the broom closet.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  ‘You need to be spending time at the party,’ Wil pointed out. ‘You were lucky High Emperor allowed heirs in at all.’

  ‘I’d rather be with you,’ Hedd said.

  Because I have to do whatever you tell me to do, Wil added silently.

  ‘Why are you in pain?’ Heddwyn asked. There was genuine worry behind his eyes.

  Wil forced a smile. ‘It happens when there’s been a war. Sometimes the excitement doesn’t go away straight away.’

  ‘I’m glad it doesn’t exist anymore,’ Heddwyn mumbled.

  Wil paused. He’d never heard such a confession from the young man.

  ‘Mother told me that you worry. That you think the magic shouldn’t have left.’ Heddwyn said. ‘Would you really want that, if you had a choice? The magic to come back? Réimse Fiáin still there?’

  Wil said nothing.

  ‘I know they liked children,’ he muttered. ‘I know I’m older now, but I was so scared they would come for me. Father said you would do anything to protect me. I don’t understand why you would want it back.’

  ‘It’s complicated,’ Wil said. And untrue.

  ‘Could the Wild Folk still be around?’ Heddwyn asked. ‘Even now that the magic has been banished?’

  This kid was a mimic, he had to remember that. Even if this sincerity had come from nowhere, there was no guarantee Rhoswen would know nothing of what was said in the next five minutes. Or worse, Faustus. ‘Even if there are stragglers, they’ll know they’re not welcome anymore,’ he pointed out. ‘They’ll find their own way home eventually.’

  Heddwyn slumped against the door. ‘I want the rest of it to disappear too.’

  Wil flinched. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean I’m here and I hate this,’ he said. ‘I hate the people and remembering all the titles. There’s barons and mar-keys and lords and commanders, and ten other heirs here. Ten! That’s too many to remember, and I don’t even care. I think about doing this when I’m older and I just want it all to go away.’

  If only it were that easy. ‘It’s your first time at one of these things,’ Wil pointed out. ‘It’s natural to be overwhelmed.’

  ‘Do you know all their names?’

  ‘Well, no, but I can help you.’ Wil pulled himself to his feet and brushed the dust and thistle from his uniform. ‘The most important thing is knowing who you rule over at these things. Anyone underneath you will introduce themselves every time, so you don’t need to worry too much.’

  Heddwyn sighed, his boots scuffing against the stone ground as he followed Wil back up the stairs. The music and chatter grew louder as they approached the terrace, joined with the smell of freshly cooked meats. Dinner was being served.