Princes of the Blood Series

VOLUME ONE – OF LAST RESORT

PART ONE - BLOODING

"What do you mean he ran away?" King Waldemar demanded, his tone making everyone around him recoil, save Crown Prince Birgir, standing beside him, and the Princes of the Blood, standing in a line behind the throne that reached from one end of dais to the other.

In front of Raffé, his parents cowered. He wasn't sure why. Showing that sort of weakness would not encourage King Waldemar to be kinder. "I—" His father swallowed, tried again. "I beg your forgiveness, Majesty. We went to rouse Tallas for dinner and found his room empty, his belongings gone, and only a note saying farewell pinned to his pillow. I don't know why—"

"You can spare me your whining and pleading," Waldemar said. "Your children bear the proper ratio of demon blood; by law you are required to provide one son for Blooding. Those suited to the Blooding are few, and we need all that we can get. Refusing to undergo the Blooding is not just breaking the law, it is treason."

"Take me," Raffé said before his parents could speak, stepping in front of them to drop to his knees before the throne. He placed his fisted hands in front of him, knuckles to the floor, and bowed his head low. "My blood is the same. Take me in his place, Majesty."

Silence met his words, and Raffé's cheeks flushed as he braced himself for the shame of rejection. He could all but feel his parents' mortification, hear the amused derision of the assembled court in their tittering, poorly muffled laughs, the disapproval of his fiancé in his soft sigh. He cringed when the silence stretched on but said, "I am not my brother, Majesty, I know. We are the same blood, however, and I have not run away. I will not run away." He dared to look up, meet the king's gaze, hoping he understood what Raffé was not saying: that he would die if His Majesty would spare his parents.

Because he wasn't Tallas, who was tall, broad, all muscle and agility. He wielded sword, lance, and bow as though they were toys. He was handsome, with his sun-dark skin and brown-red hair, and more people than Raffé could count loved to say how charming Tallas could be. Without ever seeming to try, Tallas was everything desired of those who underwent the Blooding. Raffé could not understand why Tallas had run. If he had remained, he would have had a place of honor. He would have been royalty, possessed of rare abilities, capable of recovering from practically any injury … and that was only what Raffé knew from rumors.

Raffé resembled his aunt, his mother's ill-favored little sister. He was average in height and less than average in everything else. His form, appearance, martial abilities, and strength were all unremarkable. He was plain, with pasty skin and flat black hair and a quiet, soft-spoken manner. He was better off shunted into an office than let onto the battlefield with his peers. He had always excelled at numbers and failed at everything else. In a month, he would marry an affluent merchant who would bring money and connections to his family and settle him neatly in a handsome townhouse with his husband's two wives.

That he could join the ranks of the Princes of the Blood was absurd. So he said nothing when the court laughed and jested and King Waldemar and the Princes of Blood around him remained coldly silent. Finally, King Waldemar demanded silence with a sharp cut of his hand and regarded Raffé pensively.

If Raffé undertook the Blooding, and died trying, then the bargain was kept, honor satisfied, and though his parents would suffer for the broken promise, they would not lose their lives or their livelihood. The situation worked out neatly for everyone—except Raffé, but it was his duty to assume the burdens his brother had abandoned. If he wished his vain, vapid brother had stopped and realized his behavior would forfeit the lives of his parents and brother … well, Raffé wished for a lot of things. That did not mean he was stupid enough to think he would ever get them.

Two of the Princes stepped forward at King Waldemar's bidding, bending low to converse with him and the crown prince. Raffé tried not to stare, but he did not dare risk looking somewhere else and appearing disinterested. His chest felt as though it was seizing when the king dismissed them and once more regarded Raffé. "So be it," King Waldemar pronounced, and dread and depression churned in Raffé's gut. "You are dismissed for tonight. The Blooding will take place at dawn as originally planned."

That gave him eight hours left to live. Raffé could not imagine that he would survive—if he had the potential to take, and survive, the Blooding, they would have chosen him. He could not even really comprehend it. They had been at the castle for a month, and that after a long three month journey from the southernmost corner of the kingdom where his family's holdings were located. He had loved the traveling, seeing Castle Guldbrandsen, which was the source of so much notoriety, and the colorful inhabitants who had been little more than stories to him until their arrival. He had spent his days exploring as much as he could, memorizing it so he could feed off the memories the rest of his dreary life.

He'd envied his brother the chance to live a larger, brighter life. Had long ago resigned himself to a miserable one. Raffé had spent most of the evening making plans about his quiet, simple wedding with his fiancé. He'd thought he'd had all the time in the world to be miserable.

A long stretch of life reduced to eight hours. Raffé felt something should be said, done. Such a moment should not pass in silence. No one spoke, however, so he only bowed his head again and murmured his gratitude before he rose and followed his parents out of the throne room and back to their suite.