Hostage

By Cheryl Headford

When Astrin Raphael finds himself held hostage in an unfamiliar place, he has no option but to try to have faith in someone who seems to despise him. Little does he know his captor is his nemesis, Rowan Gabriel, whose disdain for Astrin all started with a misunderstanding years ago.

The kidnapping of Astrin’s father and Rowan’s uncle leaves the two princes with no choice but to form a precarious alliance. Rowan casts off his hatred and reaches out to Astrin, but Astrin’s doubt and insecurity run too deep to let go of easily. It’s not until Astrin almost loses his life that he’s able to acknowledge what Rowan means to him and admit to the love forming between them.

Their struggle doesn’t end when they return home and their Houses attempt to broker a deal to determine their future together. Each prince might face a choice between keeping his title and finding happiness with the man he loves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harmony Ink Press
• Release date: Sep 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781634762649

Book preview

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CHAPTER ONE

ROWAN

BUT WHY do I have to do it again? Why can’t Melissa take her turn?

"Because Melissa has her own tasks to perform. She does not complain."

You know I do my duty, Uncle Charles, but this… this is too much. I’m sick of nursemaiding that useless piece of crap. I’ve wiped his vomit, cleaned his shit, and—

I get the picture, Rowan. You don’t like this particular duty, just as I haven’t liked many of the duties required of me over the years. You are a prince, so duty is your middle name.

My middle names are Barrett, Raeden, and Colen. I don’t see anything like ‘duty’ in there.

We’ve had this conversation before, Rowan. Nothing has changed. You are Crown Prince of House Gabriel and the Northern Territories. When you come of age, you will become king. It is my duty to ensure firstly that you have a kingdom to inherit—one that is not torn by war—and secondly that you are fit to be king. Carrying out this duty diligently and with grace will help achieve both.

Rowan rolled his eyes. And how, precisely, will feeding and cleaning a drooling imbecile help me become a better king?

It will help you become a better man. And don’t forget whom you are speaking of. He, too, is a crown prince, and as such, worthy of respect.

Rowan’s lip curled. Respect? he spat out. The day I respect that… that…. Blazing-hot anger stole his words. He shook his head, grinding his teeth.

You will respect him, Rowan. At the moment Astrin is the only thing that stands between us and ruin. We cannot win the war with his father, and holding him is the only thing that keeps King Hersten at the negotiating table.

I would never negotiate with them. Astrin and his father are animals—worse than that. I’d spit on both of them if I had the chance.

I appreciate you are angry about this, Rowan, but you cannot allow your personal feelings to dictate your actions. As a prince, you do not have that luxury. And as king you certainly won’t.

When I am king, I will kill that simpering pretty boy, then lead our armies to the Heart of the West and cut down his father too.

Calm yourself, Rowan. That is impossible, and if you would only think about it logically, you would see it for yourself. We are in no position to sustain the war with House Raphael. It has been raging for more than twenty years, depleting our resources, emptying our treasury, and robbing us of many of our strongest men and women—including your parents.

Growling, Rowan frowned at his uncle. And that’s precisely why I hate that bitch Astrin and his whole family. They killed my parents.

You know that is not the case. His father gave the order to attack the convoy, but it was with a view to do exactly what we have now done to his son—to take them hostage, not to kill them. As for Astrin, he was only two years old.

That doesn’t make any difference.

"Yes, I think it does. You cannot blame the boy for what his parents did. One day he will be king of the Western Kingdoms and you of the Northern Territories. As allies, you will have a sound base for consolidating and ensuring peace in almost three quarters of the entire planet. As enemies, you will eventually tear each other apart and destroy your Houses in the process.

"Even you cannot deny that the peace we have bought with Astrin’s captivity has been of enormous benefit to us. We have already strengthened our borders and withdrawn our casualties to mainstream hospitals. We’ve saved lives, stabilized our economy, and been able to filter some of our resources into social regeneration. Even now it would take a very long time for our empire to recover from the war.

Your people are suffering, Rowan. Life is grim, especially in the West. Your subjects are crying out to you for help, and the only way you can give it to them is by ending this war and using the resources to shore up the crumbling society the war has created. If you do not end this war, then not only will you lose it… you’ll also lose the faith and support of your own people. At the moment they are looking to you to be their savior. You are the Golden Prince, the Great Hope. If you fail them, they will have nothing to hope for, and they will either turn on you or crumble to dust before your eyes.

Rowan looked at his feet. I am not a complete fool, Uncle. I know that times are hard. I know the people are suffering, and I’ve been trying to find ways to help them, but everything is so… tied up. The Council is squabbling amongst themselves, no one will take me seriously, and no one will listen to what I have to say. It’s hopeless.

It’s not hopeless, Rowan. The Council is squabbling because it is divided. There are struggles for petty holdings and the scraps of power that fall from the great table. When there is a strong leader, The Council is cohesive because their direction is clear. With such a dramatic change in the air, they are nervous and divided over how best to deal with it. There are many who welcome your ascendency—some because they have faith in you, and others because they had faith in your father. However, others do not have so much faith. They are well aware you’ve been shielded and protected from the reality of what has been going on in your country, so they do not feel you have either the strength or the courage to do what has to be done to bring us to prosperity again.

But I do. I do have the strength and the courage.

I wonder. What would you be prepared to do for your kingdom, Rowan?

Anything. You know that. I would die for Her.

And yet you refuse to take care of the one thing that stands between Her and absolute ruin.

I…. Rowan’s shoulders slumped. He knew when he was defeated. All right, you’ve made your point. I still hate him, though.

You can feel whatever you wish as long as you act with dignity and respect.

I wonder how much dignity and respect his father would have shown my parents if they had lived to fall into his hands.

That is something you will never know. The fact remains, whatever House Raphael does is none of your concern. Your duty and your honor lie with House Gabriel, and you would do well to remember that much of that honor has been bought with blood. Our exalted place in this world has come through fine diplomacy skills, as we have neither the strength of House Michael, the resources of House Uriel, nor the skills of House Raphael. Our strengths lie in communication, and it is a lesson you have been learning well—until now.

Rowan sighed. "I know, Uncle. I’m sorry. I know you’re right. It’s just… I can’t bear to look at him. I hate him for what he—what his father did to my parents. Because of him, I have no memory of them, nothing to hold in my heart except frozen images in old photographs. I understand the need for communication, for diplomacy. I even appreciate the benefits to both Houses in ending this war. I just hate him. He’s a spoiled, pretty, insipid, arrogant, effeminate, stuck-up piece of crap, and—"

That isn’t fair, Rowan. Those are assumption. You don’t know him.

I can tell.

And how, may I ask, can you do that? The boy has been unconscious since he’s been in our hands, and you haven’t met him before. How can you possibly make those assumptions when you have never spoken a word to him?

I can tell from looking at him.

Rowan….

I know. I know. He sighed. Very well. I’ll see to him, but I don’t know why I have to do it personally. The nurses in the infirmary would be far better at it and—

And it is not fitting work for a crown prince? It is demeaning and menial? Charles said with a smile.

Something like that.

What were you saying about Astrin being spoiled and arrogant? Besides, the nurses can’t touch him. As Crown Prince of one of the four Great Houses, his body is inviolate. Should anyone not of royal blood lay a hand on him, it is a treasonable offense, even though he is our hostage. If any such suggestion got back to his father, there would be no further negotiation and the war would wear on until we were both bankrupted by it.

The medics touch him, grumbled Rowan.

The only medic who has been allowed near him is Ragnor, who is your cousin, therefore of the royal bloodline and exempt from the prohibition.

"Oh all right, I’m going."

LORD PROTECTOR Charles Gabriel shook his head fondly as he watched his nephew stride from the conference room. He was a fine boy, soon to be a fine man and, despite what he’d just said, Charles had no doubt he’d make a fine king. Rowan had a keen mind, and like all scions of House Gabriel, he had a flair for diplomacy and negotiation. Unfortunately, he had a serious blind spot when it came to House Raphael and its ruling family—understandable but unfortunate.

Charles hadn’t been exaggerating when he told Rowan the kingdom could not sustain this war for long. It was tearing them apart and was devastating the Western Kingdoms too, although Hersten Raphael would never admit it. Rowan had to get over his foolish prejudice before he took over the crown, or his reign would ultimately end in utter disaster.

Charles had hoped setting Rowan to care for the captive prince would give him some perspective, some understanding that the Raphaels were people too, with the same weaknesses and frailties as any other human being. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working out that way. In fact it was serving only to foster bitterness and a hatred for the young prince that would not stand Rowan in good stead when they were both heading their respective Houses.

Tapping the table with his fingers, he came to a decision. He picked up the phone and dialed an internal line.

My liege? came a deep and sonorous voice from the other end.

Ragnor, we have a problem. Things are not progressing as I would have hoped.

Indeed not, Cousin. Ragnor dropped into the less formal mode of speaking the two usually adopted between themselves in private. Rowan is headstrong. He feels that having to care for the young prince is demeaning and beneath him. It’s simply fueling the fires of his hatred instead of quenching them as we’d hoped. Instead of seeing Astrin as a vulnerable and helpless human being, finding common ground and respect, Rowan sees him as a pathetic weakling deserving of nothing but contempt.

What do you know of Prince Astrin?

Not very much. From what I hear, he’s an admirable and charming young man.

I am not entirely comfortable with this, Ragnor, but on balance I think we would be better served in letting the princes become acquainted. It is essential to the future welfare of both Houses that they at least tolerate each other. There is little point brokering a peace at this stage to have it torn to shreds as soon as two hotheaded boys take over the reins.

With respect, my liege, my understanding is that only one of them is headstrong and rash. Although Astrin is the younger by almost eighteen months, he has already taken over many of his father’s duties and is known as both an accomplished healer and a wise counselor.

Damn. It is more vital than ever that the boys come to some kind of understanding. I have to leave tomorrow for the final round of peace talks with House Raphael. No doubt Hersten will be looking for contact with his son as an indication of goodwill. It would be better if Astrin were able to speak to him. Do what you can whilst maintaining safety at all costs. House Raphael is more resourceful than any other House and therefore more dangerous. It would be disastrous should Astrin slip from our fingers now.

Are you sure, my liege? Do you have any idea what I would have to do to the boy to achieve what you are asking?

Would you need to permanently damage or change him?

Not permanently, no. But I would have to affect his mind, change the way he thinks, wipe his memory—effectively make him helpless.

Is it reversible?

It will reverse itself eventually unless I continually reinforce it.

In times of crisis, we do as we must.

Have no fear, my liege, I’ll take care of things here. You concentrate on what you do so well.

Thank you, Ragnor. In a softer tone, he added, I leave for the Heart of the West tomorrow morning, early. I was wondering if you would like to join me for a private dinner tonight.

It would be my honor, my liege.

Then come to my private chamber at seven.

As you wish.

Both were smiling when they put down the phone.

ROWAN WASN’T smiling. He was simmering gently and muttering to himself under his breath. He’d understood and fully appreciated everything his uncle said to him, but it changed nothing. He hated Astrin Raphael, hated him with a vengeance—vengeance for his parents, to be exact. When Astrin’s father had given the order to attack the armored convoy carrying Rowan’s parents back to the capital, he had shattered Rowan’s world. At four years old, the young prince had hardly known his parents, but he could remember the soft touch of his mother’s lips on his hair, the strong arms of his father cradling him and making him feel safer than he ever had since.

That was all gone now, wiped out in one round of intensive fire and a couple of old-fashioned rocket grenades. Gritting his teeth, Rowan pressed his thumb against a panel that checked his DNA. As Crown Prince, there was no security level for which he was not cleared, and almost instantly the panel changed from red to green, letting out a soft hiss as the seal around the door released.

Quite apart from his feelings for Astrin, Rowan hated coming to the infirmary wing. It was thankfully small, as it catered only for those who lived and worked in the Palace Complex. The door opened into a central lobby from which other doors led in three different directions. One led to the administrative center, another to the main body of the hospital, which was more often accessed through the main entrance at the other side of the building, and the third to the private royal apartment. This was used and accessed only by members of the royal family, their personal physicians, and retainers.

As usual a senior administrator sat behind the desk, working before a bank of computers. Because of the unusual circumstances, soldiers stood on either side of the door into the royal suite. They were elite bodyguards, eternally alert and ready to act in a heartbeat should the need arise.

Nodding to the soldiers but ignoring the administrator, Rowan again pressed his thumb against a panel and was admitted to a dimly lit corridor. At the end of the corridor was an administration chamber similar to the one he’d just left. This was manned predominantly by nurses, as it dealt with only a fraction of the information handled by the mainframe.

Today there were three nurses at the station. One was working hard on a keyboard in front of the monitor screens, apparently updating paperwork.

The other two nurses were lounging. They snapped to attention as Rowan entered. He ignored them.

Crossing the floor, he activated another thumb pad and pushed the door open when it hissed.

His first thoughts when he passed through the door were of utter contempt and disgust. If he hadn’t retained some sense of honor and decency, he would have spat on the sleeping prince. Fortunately, despite his complaints to his uncle, he realized it was necessary to treat the other prince with a degree of respect. It was vital the negotiations with his father were a success. Rowan therefore swallowed his feelings and went to work.

The boy was unconscious and completely helpless. As a Class One Prisoner, it was too dangerous to allow him any kind of freedom, even the freedom of consciousness.

For normal Class One Prisoners the overcrowded prisons had, over the years, developed containment chambers. Here, many men and women could be economically housed in pods, kept in a comatose state for however long their sentence might be, constantly played audio messages designed to precipitate rehabilitation. They were roused from their coma only during the last months of their sentence, when they had regular consultations with clinical therapists who assessed whether their minds had developed sufficient conscience to allow them to be released back into society.

Some prisoners had committed crimes so severe it was unlikely they would ever be roused. Their pods occupied a room all of their own, which was entered only to install a new pod or to remove that of a prisoner who had died.

However, no one was going to put Astrin, Crown Prince of House Raphael and The Western Kingdoms, in a stasis pod. Although he was a prisoner, he was still a member of the royal family of a major ruling House, and therefore deserving of special treatment.

Instead of a pod, he was reclining on a state-of-the-art bed, his head and shoulders propped up on white pillows. Although it was not possible to see from casual examination, his body was suspended from the shoulders down within an electrically generated field. No part of it was touching either the bed or the covering sheets, thereby preventing bed sores. In addition the field provided constant deep stimulation to his muscles, preventing atrophy and circulation issues.

Tubes inserted into the veins in his arms fed him a regular mixture of drugs, which maintained his perpetual coma, and another tube inserted into his stomach through his abdomen was used to feed him daily with a concentrated, thick liquid that contained all the nutrients needed to keep him alive.

It was Rowan’s duty to feed the sleeping prince, then disengage the force field and wash his body, making sure he stayed clean and there was no infection or irritation of the skin. Rowan hated it. He hated Astrin, and touching him repulsed him. Also the mixture of sedative drugs and the soupy liquid diet produced an absolutely foul waste that made him ponder at times whether it was deliberately engineered by his uncle as a rather basic lesson in humility.

It never occurred to Rowan that, if he found the whole thing demeaning and sickening, had Astrin been conscious enough to be aware of what was happening to his body, he would, no doubt, have found it even more so.

Rowan narrowed his eyes as he glared at the prince. It was hard to believe Astrin was only a little over a year younger than him. At seventeen, with flaxen hair, flawless, ivory skin, and delicate features, he could easily have been taken for a much younger teenager—even, in dim light, for a female. He was pretty; there was no doubt about that, but although Rowan refused to admit it, there was strength there too, evident even in sleep.

Gritting his teeth, Rowan moved to the side of the bed and lowered the rails. It was a little thing, but it intensely frustrated him—every day. Although Astrin was held entirely immobile by the force field, never mind being deeply unconscious, it seemed to be pretty much habit for doctors to carry on with regular routines, whether they were needed or not.

Approaching a panel in the wall near the bed, Rowan punched in the code that switched off the force field. There was a hiss, and the bed sheets sank, showing they were no longer held up by the shield.

In the adjoining bathroom, Rowan filled the waiting bowl with warm water and added a few drops of fragranced essence and antiseptic solution. A fresh towel and washcloth were laid out beside it. They were replaced by cleaning staff every day. He picked them up, with the bowl, and placed them on the bedside table. He then took a fresh set of loose white pajamas from the cabinet at the side of the bed and arranged them next to the bowl. Lastly he took fresh sheets from the linen cupboard and set them on the floor.

By now the smell was getting to him, and he sighed as he stripped back the covers.

He was startled when the door opened and Ragnor entered. Usually no one came near, and he’d not seen his cousin at all for a couple of weeks.

Good afternoon, my prince. I have new instructions, so you are relieved of this duty for today. Would you please return this afternoon?

Why? Pleased as he was that he wasn’t going to have to carry out the unpleasant task, Rowan was puzzled by what Ragnor said. What new instructions? What was going on?

They are your uncle’s orders, my prince. If you wish to discuss them, perhaps you could do so with him.

Rowan took one look at Ragnor’s inscrutable face and sighed. He left the room and went in search of his uncle. For some reason, he was completely unable to find him.

CHAPTER TWO

LESSONS

WHEN ROWAN returned a few hours later, Ragnor was still with Prince Astrin. It was immediately clear that something had radically changed. Astrin was reclining almost upright against the pillows, his hair spread out like a shining halo around his head. Despite not having been taken care of for so long, it was beautiful, like pale winter sunshine. Rowan growled low in his throat. He was not going to like this boy, no matter how beautiful he was. He hated him, had always hated him, and would always hate him. Astrin had a mother and a father, and because of them, Rowan didn’t. Reason enough to hate him, no matter what he looked like.

Ragnor turned to Rowan.

Your uncle is concerned you are harboring hatred of His Royal Highness that might prejudice future relations between your Houses. He had hoped that in caring for him, seeing his vulnerability, you would have softened your opinions. Unfortunately, it seems the opposite has occurred. Therefore he has made a potentially dangerous decision and decreed you are to continue to care for Prince Astrin, more intensely than before, but with the opportunity to get to know him while you are doing so.

Rowan stared. You mean you’re going to let him wake up?

Not entirely but sufficiently to enable him to speak to you and you to him. You are to spend time with him thrice a day. You will be responsible for assisting him to eat and exercise. He won’t be in the stasis field anymore, so you will need to supervise walks and gentle exercise outside.

Rowan’s eyes got wider and wider. Outside? But he’ll escape!

You will walk only in the inner quadrant. You can take him out into the enclosed gardens. There will be a heavy guard presence around the perimeter so no one can get in.

I was thinking more about him getting out.

That will not be a concern.

Well, I think it is. He would have to be pretty poor not to make a run for it.

Trust me, he won’t be running anywhere.

Rowan narrowed his eyes. Why not?

There are prisons other than those encased in stone, Rowan.

I don’t understand.

Ragnor gave him a look that seemed to ask What’s new? "Every day you will come here before breakfast and eat with him. You will then exercise for one hour. At midday you will come again and have your midday meal with him, then you will exercise for two hours. After dinner you will come and feed him his dinner. On this occasion you will not exercise, but you will spend at least half an hour conversing together."

I have nothing to say to him.

Then you had better find something, or you will have an extremely boring time.

Does no one else see how crazy this is? He’s a Class One Prisoner. He’s dangerous. He’ll—

He will not be dangerous, Rowan. I can personally vouch for that.

Rowan gave Ragnor a hard look. What are you going to do to him?

That is not your concern. Your concern is to learn a few simple procedures and carry them out religiously. If you do, then you will be safe—we will all be safe. I will take care of the rest.

What procedures? Rowan asked, intrigued now.

Ragnor directed Rowan to the side of the bed and showed him the apparatus that controlled the drugs being constantly pumped into Astrin’s body through the tubes in his arms.

First you press this button here—Rowan, are you paying attention? Rowan tore his eyes away from Astrin and nodded.

Sure. Yes. Totally. That button there. The green one.

No, Rowan, the red one.

Okay… the red one. I’ve got it.

Then, you wait fifteen seconds. Rowan nodded. Then you disconnect here.

Do I have to?

Yes, you do.

Okay… what do I do then?

Nothing. Within a few moments, Prince Astrin will wake. I suggest you introduce yourself and give him his food, then get him up and outside as soon as possible. It will take your mind off the great chore of having to talk to him, Ragnor said dryly.

Ha-ha. What about the other—oh, it’s gone.

I’ve changed the medication to one that is much more aggressive. It is extremely quick-acting but has a very short metabolizing time. Essentially, as long as he’s attached to the pump, he’ll be deep under, but as soon as he’s disconnected, he’ll wake.

Why haven’t you been using these all along?

They’re too aggressive for long-term use. It would damage him. With the last stage of the peace talks starting tomorrow, I’m hoping we won’t need to keep him for much longer.

Okay.

Rowan turned away.

Not so fast, Rowan. I haven’t finished yet.

Rowan sighed, turning back. Okay… so what? Press the button, disconnect, feed, and exercise. I can deal with that as long as you aren’t going to hold me responsible for cutting him down when he tries to escape.

He will not try to escape, Rowan. Now, listen.

I’m listening. I’m listening, Rowan grumbled. Ragnor sighed and shook his head.

When you bring him back, reconnect the pump and press the green button.

Then what happens?

He’ll lose consciousness very quickly. Wait until the number on that screen reaches fifteen, which should only be a few moments—make sure it doesn’t go any higher than twenty—then you can leave.

What if it goes higher than twenty?

Call me straightaway.

And you’re sure he won’t try to run?

Yes, Rowan.

Okay, do I start now?

No. He has to be prepared. I’ll take him down to the treatment room in a few minutes. The procedures will take some hours.

Rowan’s eyes sparkled. Procedures? Will they hurt?

That was beneath you, Rowan, Ragnor said, tight-lipped.

I make no secret of the fact I hate him. After what House Raphael did to my parents, I would like nothing more than to thrust my dagger through his heart right now. I know I can’t do that, but forgive me if I really don’t care whether he’s hurt or not.

Not caring is one thing, actively wishing harm to another human being—especially one in his position—is another, and it is not acceptable, Ragnor said severely. Rowan shrugged.

"That young man has done no harm to you or anyone else as far as we know. He is not responsible for the actions of his father. Because of you—because of your stubborn determination to hate him no matter what, and for no reason other than to teach you a lesson you really shouldn’t need to learn—an innocent boy is going to be hurt tonight, and yes, it will hurt.

"More than that, Rowan, because of you I am forced to inflict pointless suffering on someone who in no way deserves it. I will not take pleasure in it—and the day I do take pleasure in it will be the day I hand in my badge and walk away."

What? I’m expected to feel guilty?

"No, Rowan. No one is expecting you to feel guilty. No one is expecting you to feel anything at all. I just think it is something you should bear in mind over the next few days when you get to know him, to speak to him, to spend time with him. Every night I will have to reinforce the conditioning, every night I will have to hurt him—and every time it will hurt me."

Rowan shrugged again. Whatever.

I think it best if you leave now. He is going to have a rough night, so be here at twelve for the midday meal. Food will be served here. You have no need to bring anything.

Will you be here?

For the first day, I will supervise the disconnection and reconnection, just to make sure everything is working as it should. After that you will manage alone.

Scowling, Rowan turned and strode out.

Of course he was not able to find his uncle, and that made him angrier. He wanted to storm out, to refuse to accept this twisted new duty, to spit in his uncle’s face and tell him to stop trying to force him into a relationship—any kind of relationship—with someone he hated so much. And Gods, he hated Astrin. He wanted nothing more than to punch that angel face and keep on and on and on until there was nothing left—just like there was nothing left of his parents.

He didn’t sleep that night, tormented with images of his parents’ death. The worst thing was, he didn’t know precisely how they’d died. All he knew was there’d been an attack on the convoy they were traveling in. Missiles were launched at the lead and flank vehicles, but it was so unexpected, so fast, that when they exploded and spun out of control, the other vehicles couldn’t avoid hitting and being hit by them. Every vehicle, every person in the convoy had gone up in a massive fireball that left nothing but charred and mangled metal, a few chips of unidentifiable bone, and a scorch mark on the road that was still a site of pilgrimage to this day. Not that Rowan had been there—he hadn’t been allowed.

For years he’d had recurring dreams. They were always the same: dreams of fire and burning metal. He’d scream at his parents, whom he’d made beautiful and heroic in his mind, trying to pull them from the blaze, only to watch their faces melt.

The dream had left him alone now for six or seven years. He’d thrown himself into the lessons his uncle had set for him to prepare him for his role as king. When he was asked to take self-defense lessons, he trained every day until he was able to best the instructors—even though he crawled into bed every night bruised and sometimes bleeding. At least he was too exhausted to dream.

When he was asked to research the history of the Houses, he spent hours poring over computer screens, books in the library, and original documents in the archive. He went to bed with an aching head and spinning mind, but still no dreams.

And so it went with every task set him, every discipline he was introduced to—to the point where his uncle and sister, Melissa, had become concerned for his health. Eventually, he’d exhausted himself, both mentally and physically, and they had sent him away to the family estate on the coast. Under Ragnor’s constant and gentle care, Rowan began to pull his way back. The dreams went away, and he broke free of the spiral of self-destruction.

And now—now the dream was back, and it was Astrin’s fault. Rowan felt a strong urge to go to his room and spit in his face, but then he remembered Astrin wouldn’t be there. He should have had a moment of regret that an innocent boy was suffering because of him, because of Rowan’s inability to let go of the past. He was unable to forgive, and because he couldn’t get to the father, he was taking it out on the son. The regret never came—there was no room with all that anger.

Rowan was afraid to go back to sleep. He was afraid the dream would come again. He got up and walked in the gardens under the stars, then went to the gym and tortured his body until the sun came up, when he collapsed into bed and into a dreamless sleep.

Of course he slept late the following morning and missed breakfast. Feeling tired, irritable, and sore, he managed to get himself dressed just in time to say good-bye to his uncle in the courtyard as Charles was about to get into his car.

There you are, Rowan. Did you have a late night?

I had the dream, Uncle. Thanks to that— Rowan hung his head, causing his uncle to put a hand on his shoulder. Rowan looked up, and Charles gazed deeply into his eyes.

I didn’t mean for you to be hurt, Rowan, and I still don’t, but this is something you have to face. Better now than when you are king.

"But why? Why do I have to babysit the imbecile? I understand that I have to have some kind of relationship with him when we are both heading our Houses, and I understand that next year I’m going to have to sit and talk with his father, but why do I have to like it?"

It’s not a matter of liking it, Rowan. It’s a matter of learning to live with it, and you haven’t done that. Despite everything we have done to help you, you have still not learned to live with it. I had hoped taking care of Astrin would help you achieve it. I was wrong. This is my last shot. I’m not doing this for Astrin, or for the country… or for anything but you, Rowan. You are haunted by ghosts you have to lay to rest before they destroy you. Do you understand?

Rowan thought about it, about the desperation he’d felt the night before when he’d woken from the dream screaming. He thought about how out of control he was when he thought about House Raphael, how much he wanted to hurt Astrin for no reason other than who he was. Sadly, he bit his lip and nodded. Charles squeezed his shoulder.

"I hope this won’t take long, Rowan. If we are fortunate,