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The doors fly open with a blast of arctic wind and Scott strolls into the throne room like he owns the place. Which he will. One day.
The court nobles’ heads shoot up, earrings and hairdos jingling. Precious gemstones glitter in pure gold settings, down-soft fur drapes over aristocratic shoulders and all around, claws, fangs and other magically gifted assets are on proud display. Even the scribes’ uniforms – white and dark blue – are made from Rivendellian wool. The snow-colored peacock on the windowsill shakes out his plumage.
The only one who doesn’t present any reaction is the king himself. ‘I have had the lawyers draw up the paperwork. You only need to sign it.’
Scott stops in the middle of the room and crosses his arms in front of his chest. ‘That was a waste of both time and ink, father.’
The king sighs. ‘Do not be obstinate.’
‘It has nothing to do with obstinacy.’
‘What is it, then?’ For the first time, the man’s eyes rise to meet Scott’s. Something flickers in his expression. He snorts. ‘Love? Don’t kid yourself.’
Scott clenches his fists.
‘He doesn’t love you,’ his father says. ‘He’s after your wealth and your connections; everything Rivendell has to offer. Don’t tell me you were naive enough to fall for his pretty face and whispered promises.’
There have been no whispered promises. Jimmy’s not the type to whisper in any situation – which gets him into trouble more often than not. He makes grand declarations of things they both know he can’t deliver, laughs out loud when he finds something funny and bounces on the balls of his feet when they walk the beaches together, squeezing Scott’s hand like he needs to hold on tight in order not to float away.
Scott squares his shoulders. ‘I don’t care what you say. I have made my decision.’
The king’s eyes narrow. Understanding passes across his harsh, lined features. ‘I see. It’s not the cod boy who thinks himself in love, it’s you.’
Scott draws a breath. ‘So what?’
His father snorts. ‘Love is a fantasy for the common folk.’
‘Spoken like someone who’s never loved before.’
‘I did my duty to Rivendell,’ the king says. ‘As you shall. Sign the papers.’
‘I refuse.’
‘You will not marry that boy,’ the king yells.
‘I love him,’ Scott yells back.
For a split second, he thinks his father is going to lunge at him. He braces himself, calling the magic in his blood to the surface. It prickles like snowflakes on sleep-warmed skin.
His father gives a jerk of his head. ‘Preposterous.’
Scott keeps a hold of the ice. ‘There’s really nothing you can do to stop me,’ he says coolly, allowing the frost to seep into his voice like tracery on window glass. ‘I will not rescind the offer I made him.’
‘You are debasing yourself.’
‘He and I will be married by the summer solstice.’
The king huffs. ‘See if you will still be prince of Rivendell afterwards, Scott Smajor.’
Scott flinches. All of a sudden, the ice in his veins feels less comforting. ‘You would disown me? Over this?’
Their eyes meet, thunderous gray on sky blue. ‘For the good of the empire.’
Scott’s heart drums against the inside of his ribs. It rushes in his ears. Sure, he had assumed his father would not be happy. Angry, even. He might rage and cause a storm, locking innocent people in their houses for a week before leaving everything blanketed in snow. But eventually, he would accept that Scott wasn’t going to change his mind and things would return to normal, with the addition of Jimmy being around for family dinners sometimes, when he wasn’t too busy ruling his swamp.
Scott can’t remember a time when he wasn’t the heir of Rivendell. All of his upbringing, education and training aimed at one thing only: being a good future king. When he thinks of it now, the idea seems stale, without color. Drowned out by the memory of Jimmy’s vivid brown eyes.
He swallows. ‘… Then so be it.’
He whirls on his heels, something thick and swollen in his throat.
‘Smajor!’
He ignores his father’s call, slams the door shut behind him and doesn’t linger, keeping his shaking fingers clenched by his side as he all but runs down the corridor.
There’s a rustling sound behind him. Hands grab him by the elbows and shove him sideways. The scent of blaze powder hits his nose and a wash of purple swims through his vision. Then he has to yank his arms up to avoid braining himself on the masonry of the shadowed alcove.
‘By Aeor, what the Nether!?’
Fuming, Scott turns around.
An unrepentant grin greets him. ‘Tell me, ice-boy: do all of your conversations go that hot?’
‘You eavesdropped? How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?’
‘I honestly don’t know why you bother. I haven’t ever listened, the chance that I will do so now is pretty much non-existent.’
Scott suppresses a sigh. At least the hallway is quiet; no one seems to be coming after him. He rubs a hand over his face, brushes a curl of hair behind his ear, and meets his brother’s eyes.
Xornoth’s brows furrow, searching his face.
Scott twitches. ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t know.’
The other smirks. ‘Nah, I saw it coming a mile away. A bumbling fool with a lovely face? You never stood a chance. That’s not what I… Here.’ They lean in, wrap their arms around his shoulders and rest their forehead against Scott’s. ‘I wish for your future to be joyful,’ they intone.
Warmth runs through Scott. It feels a little like his brother’s fire and a lot like relief. ‘Thank you,’ he whispers. ‘I needed that.’
Xornoth laughs. ‘I know.’
They run a hand through Scott’s hair, fingertips bumping the circlet resting on his head. Scott leans onto their shoulder, breathing in their smell. It’s no longer the most soothing in his life – that belongs to Jimmy now – but the familiarity helps his heartbeat settle.
‘Am I making a mistake here, Xor?’
They shake their head. ‘No.’
‘How are you so sure?’
A knuckle digs into Scott’s temple. ‘Because I know you, dummy. I bet you have a pros-and-cons list that goes from here all the way to that sweaty swamp and you checked it thrice before you even considered asking for his hand. Plus, you’re so crazy about this guy you walked into a wall last week.’
‘Did not!’
‘Did so!’ Xornoth tugs on his hair. ‘Don’t worry about father. The old codger won’t be around for forever, you know. The throne of Rivendell is yours by right.’
Scott looks up. ‘And yours by birth. You’d be a great ruler, too.’
The other shrugs. ‘We’ll do it together, then.’ They interlace their fingers with Scott’s, magic sparking where they’re touching. ‘Be happy, baby brother. While you can.’