forum "I would burn the world for you" (OxO Closed)

Started December 01, 2022 by @ElderGod-yellowqueen

tune

During those three days, Elora tried her best to talk to Bel and offer him comfort. She left meals for him everyday to eat when he was ready. She kept any lingering bodies away from her tent. She wouldn't let anyone in other than her boys. It was Braxton mostly that would check on Bel. He would make sure the prince was eating and taking care of himself as best as he coukd. He offered a few times to show him around but didn't push when he was rejected.

Cassian held Nico as he tried to get out of bed. "Bel is fine. He's fine. He's with Elora. We need to look at you. Let us take care of you." It took Braxton and Cassian to convince him to stay in bed and let a healer look over him. He gave the two pleading eyes the entire time. Bel. He wanted Bel. He wanted to see with his own eyes he was okay. Braxton finally gave in and left the tent, heading towards his mother's. He was going to tell Bel and see what he wanted to do.

"Nico is awake," Braxtonnsaid gently as he entered the room where Bel was occupying. "Would you like to see him? Or do you need more time?" The choice was ultimately up to Bel. No one would forced him to do anything.

Kaillas had taken Braxton's spot in the chair by Nico's bed. They were both looking at him with deep concern but neither of them said anything. Not yet. A healer checked Nico's reflexes and made sure everything was working the way it was supposed to be. It did. Physically, he was good to go. Mentally, he was all screwed up. Those months of working on himself and moving passed this had all but gone down the drain.

"I'm fine," he said, waving off the two. Neither of then bought it. They only crossed their arm and leaned back in the chair.

"We're not buying that Nico. We know you better than anyone. Don't try to fool us." Kaillas was shaking his head in disappointment. "Talk to us. What happened?" They knew his passed with Ronan. They wanted to know what he had said, what Nico had been going through these passed three days.

But Nico shook his head. He didn't want to burden them. He wouldn't. Couldn't. They had put uo with enough of his stuff, they didn't need to do it any longer. He wouldn't tell them these things. He needed to be strong and composed. And he would be.

Laurent was helping run patrol, biw in his hand as he watched the perimeter. He felt useless. Nico was out and Braxton was avoiding him. Memories had been brought up for the two men, destroying alot of the work they had been working on. It made Layrent agitated. He needed to do something. He needed to be helpful. He didn't want to just sit around and wait for something to happen. So he was on patrol.

He knocked and arrow and drew back the string as people approached. Not their people. A closer look was all he needed to know these were royals. Hkw had they found them? Laurent and Kaillas had ensured no one was following them. This wasn't possible.

"There is no prince here!" Laurent called out. "Turn back and we will spare you."

Even though Braxton's entrench didn't shock him, the news he brought certainly did. Bel swallows, sitting up a little straighter in the bed. One part of him wants to see Nico, wants to get this over with so he can leave and find a home someplace else. The other part would rather stay holed up in the borrowed room for years. Despite their differences, Bel as a whole agrees that he doesn't want to see Nico unless he comes to Bel. He's not desperate and he wants Nico in good condition when they meet again. (Bel doesn't want to look at the damage that's been dealt to Nico. Something the guilt puts on Bel.)

Bek shrugs, looking to his lap and picking at his nails. They've grown red and irritated. At least it's better than where he had been trying to scratch off the bruises on his neck. "Thank you," Bel says, his voice hoarse from being quiet so long. "And if Nico wants to see me, then he can come here."

Miran huffs. he should've known this wouldn't be easy. "At ease, scout!" He calls, spreading his fingers to emphasize his empty handedness. "I know when people are lying, and it would be in your town's best interest to hand over my brother before I return with an army."

Val and Treya exchange looks from behind Miran's shoulder. They're both itching to slice and poison, but they know the singular scout isn't the only one hiding in the treetops. The sisters sigh and raise their hands as well, searching for any potential ambushes on their flank.

"If you'd like a ransom, consider it payed." Miran continues. "I killed the Witchhunter." Slowly, to prove he's no threat, Miran grabs the bloodstained shoulder pad of Ronan's armor and throws it to the ground ahead of him. "He's no threat to you nor your people."

(Nooo Bel my poor baby. Don't hurt yourself!!!)

Braxton walked forward and knelt before Bel by the bed. Slowly and gently, so not to startle Bel, he grabbed his hands and stopped the picking. He gave him a sad expression as he truly noticed his neck. If Bel had let a healer look at them, everything could be gone. But he wouldn't and Braxton wasn't going to push. He released his hands back to his sides. "Okay." He tried to give Bel a reassuring look. "No matter what you chose, you make him work for it. He deserves that much." Nico deserved to be on his knees, begging for Bel back but Braxton wouldn't actually say that to either of them. Neither of them needed to hear it. "Okay. I'm going to go check on him now. Please, make sure you eat something."

Braxton stood and left the little room, he paused to speak to his mother quietly before leaving entirely. Elora poked her head through the flap. "I can get you some ice, it might help for the bruising." On his neck. It might help with the love marks scattered on his body. Or hopefully it would at least keep him from scratching at it. "I've got some more soup for you if you would like."

Braxton walked back to the healers tent to relay the news. Bel didn't want to see him now. He was upset and angry. When Nico was better, he could go to him. That news had the man up and out of bed and it took the three of them to wrestle back into bed. No good would cone of it if he came in this state. His head was too screwed up right now for him to do good by the prince.

Laurent had long sent a messenger back to camp alerting Ambrose of the royals. Nico was still out of commission. As far as he knew, the man hadn't woken up. And even when he did, his mental state would be to poor to rule. Ambrose had led more than enough times in his stead. Laurent trusted him as much as he trusted Nico. Ambrose did everything in Nico's and the causes best interest. He was more diplomatic than Nico but that was a good thing. There was a reason he was his top advisor.

Before Laruent could answer, hooves were heard echoing through the woods and a lone rider approached. Ambrose. He was alone. Well, not really, there were plenty of guard lining the tree. They could kill the royals in an instant if they tried anything.

"We're not holding your brother ransomed," Ambrose said calmly. "We happened upon him and he does hold a wealth of information and you know how that goes." He shrugged his shoulders as if this was an everyday thing. "He has not been harmed. We have taken care of him. It is up to him how he has decided to live." That was all he gave on the prince's wellbeing. Anyone could see the prince was not doing alright. He needed to buy time.

"Come, have a cup of tea with me and let's talk. After, I will show you to your brother. But once you enter, I will not let you leave. You can't. And certainly not with Bel." Not until Nico was well enough to deal with this.

Bel watches, almost detached from the situation as Braxton carefully takes his hands. "He deserves a hell of a lot more." And Bel means it. For the lies and betrayal and making Bel actually believe that he could trust someone for once. "I don't want to meet here." Bel needs space to face Nico. He needs to be able to run if necessary. "Somewhere open," he suggests. "Come back when he's in the right mind."

Braxton's gone and his mother returns. Bel accepts her offer for ice, hoping that it at least helps him firget the past. But Bel's not hungry. He declines the soup.

Bel hopes when Braxton returns, he'll return with news of Nico. And then Bel will be able to go hone.

Not holding my brother ransom, my ass. "You've kidnapped a member of the royal family. You're lucky I'm not here with an army." Miran can feel his temper waning. He stares at the man approaching him on horseback. He seems to be someone important, someone who will see reason. "Show me my brother and we'll be the ones to determine if he's been harmed or not."

Something deep within Miran's core ignites at the mention of his brother. "You have no right to say his name. that would be his highness, Belcoril to you." Bel is what his family calls him, not what his captors for the past month could. The air grows much colder and miran knows he needs to reel in his temper or expose his witchhood. "Take me to my brother, but I will be leaving with him."

A man ran into the healers tent, panting from the run. "The royals are here. The prince's siblings. They're here. They're out front." They each stared at each other for a moment before springing into action. Nico was uo and hands were dressing him. He wasn't ready but he had to be. He was Nicandros Callistar now, leader of the Lisais and rightful king of Araniel. He needed to be dressed and ready to recieve guests. He was dressed in the finest clothes he had, which weren't all that fine. Simple back trousers, a white understirt, a black overcoat. It was simple. A sword was strapped to his side. Only minutes later he was trudging ti the ear tent, his advisors and generals there with him. All that was missing was Ambrose who was with royals.

Ambrose raised an eyebrow at the threat. He would not be threatened on his own land with an army behind his back. "You may see your brother after we have spoken," he repeated calmly. He was doing his best to keep bloodshed out of this. "I apologize, the name I was given by his escorts was Bel. I mean no offense."

He raised his hands to show peace. "However, I cannot let either of you go. Not once you enter my home. That will be up to Nicandros Callistar, rightful king of Araniel. You are in our territory now and you have no authority here. So here is your choice, turn back now and go home, or enter peacefully and dine with us. I'm sure we can cone up with a peaceful solution. But if not, remember you are surrounded by mages and trained soldiers. There are three of you, there are hundreds of us." There were more, of course, there were thousands. But many encampment were scattered throughout the kingdom. "Wel will not hesitate to kill you if you threaten or otherwise harm us." Fire ignited in his open palms. He was a fire mage. And he would oersianlly burn anyone that attempted to hurt Nico.

Miran grinds his teeth but bites his tongue. Careful breaths. He can't antagonize the man any more, despite what his impulse wants. Miran's no idiot. He's been out of the kingdom enough to know the true history of it. There were no aunts that died mysteriously of a plague before Miran's father took control. Unlike his siblings, Miran knows that his bloodline isn't the rightful one–but Miran was promised a throne the day he was born and he'll die before he hands it to another. "Well, tell Sir Callistar that I await his company." With a tap of his foot, Miran urges Flip forward.

The man's hand sparks to life. Miran stands his ground; his sisters instinctively back up a few paces. He doesn't have to look back to know Treya's eyes are gleaming with a bloodlust–but Miran disposed of her mage-killers a few nights before, draining them in the stream while his sister slept. They're nothing but a tonic of leaves and rainwater now. To combat the rise of temperature, Miran allows his own magic to release, just enough to cool the air. "I don't want to hurt any of you," Miran says. "I come on personal business unrelated to the politics of my kingdom. You're threatening me when you should be thanking me. I killed Ronan the Witchhunter on my way here." He pauses. "Araniel's witchhunt will cease as soon as my father has the grace to die."

Ambrose had to control the laugh that rose. Hurt them? No, no it would be them hurting the siblings. No one there would allow these roayks to threaten of otherwise harm anyone. They wouldn't make it out of the encampment of the raised an arm to hurt anyone. "You're weapons first," he said. "We have children here. I won't risk any of them getting hurt." There weren't many of them but they were there. Children were a happy welcome even if raised the stakes. If even if it raised the risks. Nico himself had been born and raised in the camp.

"Ah yes, thank you for ridding of the pest but excuse me for not jumping for joy. You are the king's offspring. You are his blood. We have heard the stories of your triump and bloodthirst. Excuse us for not believing you." Men scaled down from the trees, over a dozen of them all with bows in hand. They would help escort the sibling back to the camp. After weapons had been taken from them. They would get them back if Nico permitted it. "Your brother has not spoken very much about you so there is little we know other than stories." Truth was, Ambrose had tried speaking to the prince but he had just ignored him. Rightfully so, he supposed. He had been caught up on everything by Cassian. Ambrose would have taken Nico to the ring to spar it out had he been in better physical condition. He deserved a good punch to the jaw for it.

"You will hand your weapons over to us. You will not try to harm anyone who lives here. You will not try to get a message out of our whereabouts. I don't particularly like bloodshed but we will if you threaten our wellbeing in any way. If we are in agreement, follow me." Ambrose turned his horse, urging it back to camp at a slow walk.

"I can assure you, sir, that I am no monster." With that, Miran draws his sword with a sickly shink before throwing it in front of him. It lands beside the bloodied shoulder pad belonging to the slain witchhunter. He finds the blades in his boots, hidden in his belts, the one tucked into the back of his waistband–all of them to the ground. The chittering clank of Val's chained rope dart sounds from behind him. "We don't hurt children." Treya is barely an adult herself, her seventeenth birthday only a week prior. "And the only one of us who has contributed to the war effort has been me. And not on the side you may think." Leave my sisters out of this. He wants to seethe. Leave my sisters and my brother out of your entire bloody affair.

Once Miran is stripped of all his weapons, including untying the saddlebags attached to Flip's sides, he urges his horse forward a few steps. He slides off of her back with a natural grace. His sisters follow, all of their own weapons thrown to the ground–Val's amount exponentially larger than Treya's few daggers. Miran raises his hands to his head. He's weaponless. "You're a nomadic city. You can just move after we've left. I have no intention on sharing your location." He tucks his lips beneath his teeth as he reminds himself why he's here. "I am here not as the Crown Prince Miranos, but as Miran. I only want my brother, and then we will leave you to your way of life."

Ambrose was pleased as the weapons were stripped and taken away by his men. Ambrose was diplomatic yes, but not when it came to the safety of his people and his king. But now that they posed a slight less risk, a smile appeared on his face. "Thank you," he said. "You can never be to safe. And yes, we are nomadic but we don't prefer it. We enjoy our spot here and we wouldn't want to have to leave prematurely."

Ambrose slowed his horse so he was walking side by side with the prince. He have a signal to Laurent to go before them, to make sure they were ready to recive them. Ambrose winced. "There might be a bit of a complication with that." Complication was a weak word. It was entirely tangled. Too much was involved, at stake here. Nico had fallen in love with the wrong person. Again. Only this time it would hurt him mentally than physically. Perhaps there was a chance Bel wouldn't want to leave after he heard everything. Or, maybe he would, but maybe he wouldn't want to go to the palace. Maybe he wouldn't want to go with his siblings. "Nicandros will be able to explain things easier. I'm sure you two can come to an agreement."

"Bel, dear, may I come in?" Elora asked outside the flap. She was nervous and it appeared in her voice. The royal children were here and they had come for Bel. She needed to talk to him, explain how this was going to go with him. Oh was this complicated.

"What do you mean by complication?" Miran hisses. There should be no complications. He should arrive, retrieve his brother, prevent an all-out war, and then leave. The steps from point A to point B are painfully simple. The only complication there could possibly be would be if Bel's injured or in a critical state, but the man before him claimed that no harm has come to Bel. Miran doesn't trust the men nearly as much as he trusts his gut, but he'll have to give it all time. He can't go around jumping to conclusions, especially with his brother and sisters at stake.

"I hope we'll be able to as well," Miran agrees with a pointed sigh. There shouldn't have to be an agreement. These people kidnapped his little brother. These people are in the wrong. They're the ones who should be jailed and begging for mercy–not Miran. "Take me to your King."

The prince is still sitting on the bed; he hasn't moved for the past three days, only rising to use the bathroom or to change the oil in the lamp. It's still lit beside him, making the entire room glow warm. He's no longer scratch at his nails or his neck, but the scab from the knife's edge across his throat has been picked open a few times. Bel looks up when Elora pokes her head through the entryway. Her demeanor triggers Bel's natural unease. What could she need? "This is your house," Bel answers. Elora may go wherever she pleases. "Come in."

Ambrose didn't flinch at the prince's reaction. In fact, he didn't react at all to it. Had the rolls been reversed, Ambrose would have likely reacted in a similar way. "You'll see. Just, hear us out first." There was no way Ambrose was going to be the one to reveal the affair between prince and king. Ambrose liked his head where it sat very much. And he was going to make sure Nico told Miran before they left his tent. It was complicated enough as it was, he wasn't going to let it get more complicated. Nico was on his turf now. Hopefully it would be easier.

Lisais soldiers had lined the way. Arms behind their back, standing at attention. Whether it was to protect the royal siblings or their people had yet to be determined. Every one of the people who lived there had been personally effected by the king and his decisions. There was no love for the royal family, children or not. The soldiers were also to make sure they got from the gate to the war tent, and then right back out. No detours. Ambrose dismounted, a signal the others should do the same. "It will be best if it is just you, Prince Miran. He moght not take kindly to all three." In reality, it might be too much for Nico to handle.

Elora entered the room. Her gray hair seemed more noticeable in her unease, her wrinkles showing. While a woman in her fifties, she normally looked a but younger. Genetics and taking care of her body, no sorcery. However, now, she certainly looked her age. She had seen the effects of what the abuse had done to her son. She was no lover of the royal family, even if Bel had been an exception.

"Your bother and sisters are here. And as much as you might want to see them, I need you to stay here. Let Nico handle this. They will come to you later but if you run there you will make things worse." Her eyes settled on the marks on his neck, from Nico and the blade. No, his siblings certainly ouldnt ket either of those go.

As they walk, Miran keeps his head straight ahead. He stares at the back of the man, the impromptu leader of the group. There are dozens of soldiers lining them, a hundred more in the trees. If one of them attacks, Miran will know and there will be hell to pay. The first sign of settlement is a tiny hut, and then come the larger tents and clearings full of citizens, witches, and children. Miran can smell the magic in the air, the most he's ever faced at any time in his life. Treya makes a noise, wrinkling her nose and coughing into the crook of her elbow. She's always been much more sensitive to magic. It's a miracle she hasn't caught on to Miran's magic yet. Maybe it's him always being gone on "king sent" crusades. Maybe it was her being sold off at fifteen to another kingdom.

"That's fine," Miran agrees. His sisters know how to handle themselves. They should be smart enough to not say anything damning. "You will not touch them nor speak to them–that goes for both sides." He eyes the soldiers, then nods at his sisters before allowing the leader to take him into the tent.

Bel freezes. He's cold. He's warm. He's hot–overheating. "They're here?" He asks, strained. He's saved. He can leave, he can go home, he doesn't have to worry about his life being stolen– "No, Elora, you don't understand–I need to get to them–" Bel stands, having to quickly catch his balance as his vision blackens and swims from the sudden movement. "I don't trust Nico to handle anything regarding them. I need to be there–" He trips and grabs onto Elora's arm for balance. "Please."

Ambrose nodded. "Of course. No harm will come to you sisters. We do nothing unprovoked." He gave his soldiers a look that said hell would pay if any of them decoded to touch a hair on their heads without provocation. And they knew better than tonreapind to a few petty words. They would respond only to act of violence. Anything else and Ambrose would personally have their heads. This was purely diplomatic.

Ambrose went first, raising the flap and introducing the prince. "My king, may I introduce you to Prince Miranos." It didn't sit right saying that. Miran wasn't a prince in their eyes but he would sho him respect. The only person in the tent other than Nico was Cassian who was standing guard.

Nico looked awful. While his physical wounds had been healed, he wasn't faring very well. There were dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks were hollow. And despite that he was sitting up straight, his demeanor was off. He was struggling. And he certainly didn't want to be dealing with this right now. "I've heard a lot about you." He gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit, let's talk."

Elora was by his side, holding his arms to keep him up. "I know you don't trust him, my dear. You shouldn't, he doesn't deserve your trust. Not anymore. But as a king, you need to trust him. He is merciful. He will sort something out with your brother. He won't hurt them. I swear this to you, he won't. And you will see them. I'll take you to them eorsonally if he tries to stop you. But you must let him talk to them first. You mist stay here with me." Elora couldn't imagine what he was going through. But she knew Nico would sort this through, that they could come to a solution that solved everything.

Despite being bare of any bits of his kingly attire, Miran stands with a raised chin and natural scowl. Whether it be his magic or his presence, an aura of power still manages to radiate from him. His face houses a few scars, much like the king he's standing across from, but Miran's face doesn't resemble any sort of exhaustion. Miran's face is twisted with the words he wants to scream. Regardless, he bites his tongue. This is not the time to explode. This is not the time to gamble a life. "You're the one," Miran says simply, taking his seat across from the king. "Nicandros Callistar?" Miran leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

"We don't have much to talk about," Miran says simply. "You abducted my brother. I'm here for him back. You're complicating this all too much." If they refuse Bel back, Miran won't hesitate to burn every tent to find the one they're locking his little brother in. His blood boils thinking of Bel alone, in the dark. "I'm being very kind here. I came on personal business and without an army." Miran has destroyed the mage-killing gas his youngest sister had been brewing. He's done them all a tremendous favor.

Bel looks at the woman with the utmost exasperation. "No, I don't trust him as a friend, as a king, as a human– I can't let him talk to Miran, everything will just get worse, Elora, please." Ronan had said that Nico could rip the air from anyone's lungs. What would stop him from doing the same to his brother? To Val? To Treya?

Nico shrugged his shoulders. "That I did." There was no use denying that he had taken his brother. He had and he wasn't sorry he did. He was only sorry that he had put Bel in danger. The two men in the room stiffened slightly, hands casually resting in the handle of their weapons. They didn't like this. Not one bit.

"You know who I am. Your father is sitting on my throne. I mean to rectify that. I was given intel that something valuable would be leaving the place and low and behold, it was your brother. A bit if a surprise but we took him all the same. He has information we could use to get into the palace. Soemthung you all have, I suppose." Bel was still his best option. The man had said it himself. "We've had your brother, for what, almost a month? A lot has changed since then. A lot has changed with Bel. I'm not so sure he wants to return to the palace. And we haven't gotten what we need from him." It wasn't the time yet, but he would tell Miran. And hopefully not die because of it. "I can't let any of you leave here until I get what I need. I am the King. Your father is nothing but an imposter. I'm sure you can understand that. You're father must die, bit I think you and I can come to some sort of agreement."

Nico didn't want to rule. He never had. It had been forced upon him because of his mother. It was expected of him. And there was no uniting the kingdom without Nico sitting on the throne. Without a Callistar. But there was a way to fix this. There always was. Miran wouldn't rule. He would never be king, but it didn't mean that there wasn't a solution to this, if he truly wanted his blood on the throne. Marriage usually solved alot of things, even if it was temporarily.

"I'm sorry but I can't let you." Elora had tears coming down her face. She didn't like this. She didn't like having to do this. Nico had put her in a very bad spit and she was going to make him pay for it later. "They will not be harmed. My boy won't let him. I swear to you it will be alright. But I need you to wait a little bit longer."

Miran clenches his jaw. The air drops a few degrees. "Bel would rather be with his family than people like you." And what Miran claims, he prays is true. They spent years together as children–the four of them. They would hunt and run through the garden and locate all of the hidden servant passages. They would make faces of their father behind his back and face the cruel punishment for being caught. There's at least some relief to know that Bel hasn't disclosed any information about the palace, about their home. It also makes Miran wonder if they tried to torture the information out of him. If anything had happened to his brother, Miran won't hesitate to slaughter this king and all his men on the spot.

"And there's something we both agree on Nicandros." Tired of sitting, Miran stands. "We both want my father dead." He takes a step away from the chair, beginning to pace behind it with his arms folded in front of him. "I know that you're the true heir. I know about your family and my father's cruel deeds–" Pivot. "But I've grown up in the castle I was promised. I know the politics, the relations, the people." He stops and turns to Nicandros. "My crusades for the past thirteen years have been against my father's efforts. Under the guise of his iron fist, I've freed more mages than I can count. I'm sure you're aware of the numbers of assassinated. I can assure you that they'd be doubled if it weren't for my own men." His men gathered from the slums of Araniel, the forces of Blakkast, the under-the-table dealing with Lumiere and Cobrass. "I understand that you may be the true king, but maybe your place is here with your nomads, not atop of Araniel's scarlet throne."

Bel eventually stops struggling, going slack agianst Elora as he shakes. "You don't understand–" Bel hiccups. "Both of our kingdoms will burn–"

Nico raised an eyebrow at him. "Bel is no longer the prince that you knew before he left the palace. Bel is someone else now. Someone who is free to make his choices. Someone who doesn't have to worry about someone watching every step he makes. He doesn't eat as quickly anymore so he can leave the table sooner. He doesn't watch his composure anymore, afraid of getting lectured. He allows himself to show emotion and be happy. He allows himself to tall about his fears and what makes him happy. He's allowed to let himself fall in love. All of which he clearly wasn't able to do at the palace." Nico was angry now. As his older brother, how had Miran let this go on for so long? How did he not see and step in

"You may think the palace and it's crown belongs to you but it doesn't. It belongs to me. My namesake has sat on the throne for hundreds of years. I was born solely for the crown. I was born to rule." In truth, it had been the only reason hos Katherine had him. So that there would be someone to rule when she was gone. Somehow she knew she was never going to live to see the crown fall on her head. "But just because the crown belongs to me does not mean that you have to die. You can swear fealty to me, serve as my advisor and friend. You can swear fealty and live in my kingdom and do as you wish. If can't bow down to me, you can live in exile. I'm sure you can find another kingdom to take you. But if you raise up in arms against me, make no mistake, I will kill you." Nico was still siting, watching the man. "Now would you like to sit and negotiate or are you going to pace my tent all day?"

Elora hugged the prince to her chest, cradling his head. "Shhh," she murmured, "it's going to be okay. It will be. You'll see." She hoped that when Bel saw his sibling alive and unharmed, that perhaps this gap between Nico and hom would slowly start to heal. They both deserved happiness.

Miran barks a laugh, shaking his head. "Please, you've known him for–what? Three weeks? I've known Bel for twenty-two years. Nobody changes that quickly. And those funny little habits you noticed? All four of us have those. We don't drink, we don't like the dark, we don't spend more time than necessary at the dinner table." He stops his pacing to stare at the king. Confusion and anger battle momentarily in his mind. What could this king possibly be talking about? Miran could laugh. "And love? I wouldn't speak on Bel's behalf for that. Stop talking for him and bring him here. Then we can settle this."

"You might have been born to rule, Nicandros, but do you want to? Do you have any reason to other than your blood?" Miran's fully aware of his father's wrongful taking, but because he was king when Miran was born, that crown should go to him–not to the exiled heir. "I don't think you understand." Miran laughs and shakes his head, stepping towards the king's throne. Unconsciously, the temperature begins to drop even more. Miran's mother warned him of losing control of his emotions. She had warned him shortly before she was discovered for witchcraft and was killed taking the blame for Miran. "I don't bow." He owes it to his own mother, to his people who his father had wronged. "I will not." He moistens his lips; they feel too cold. "But I didn't come here for throne negotiations, Nicandros. I came for my brother. When I return and my father finally dies, I'll be happy to have you for an advisor."

It just made Nico sad to hear the prince speak like that. None of them should have those issues. None of them should be afraid of the dark or alcohol or just being themselves. They should be free to do as they pleased. Nico had never gotten such a luxury. Around his friends in the dark or on missions he was allowed to be just Nico, at least to a point. He could relax some and be himself, easy going and playful. But here, he was Nicandros, leader of the Lisais and rightful king. Everyone was looking at him. Everyone was watching him. "I think that speaks volume then, the kind of environment you lived in if all of you are this way. And it speaks more volume that being out of the palace allowed Bel to improve."

Perhaps he shouldn't bring Bel into this. Bel certainly didn't love Nico now. He wasn't sure if the prince ever did but he would like to believe Vel was well on his way to loving him. Nico certainly did. He knew he loved Bel even if he hadn't said it. Even if he wasn't quite ready to admit it just yet.

"I was born to rule. It is my purpose. Your father took the throne from us and I will take it back. There is no way around this." Ambrose was uneasy in the back. Two men whom the throne was promised too. Two men who both wanted it. This wasn't going to go well. Nico continued. "You do not have the right name, the right power. I have remained anonymous all these years. No one knows my true identity without my say so. What do you think will happen when word gets out a Callistar is alive? Who do you think the people will rally too? They may be upset I have been hiding all this time but I did what I had to to survive. For my people to survive. They would rather follow me than you. We both know that. However, I think we might be able to solve this if you want your blood on the throne that bad." He couldn't believe he was doing this. He didn't want to do this. All he wanted was Bel but here was, offering himself. "Chose you or one of your siblings to marry me. Keeps your blood in power and I still get my crown. I'll kill your father and then we can get married, whichever one of you it is."

Miran's face twists the more Nicandros speaks. "How many times do I have to tell you that I didn't come here for throne negotiations?" His voice is practically a growl. "And my siblings have already been sold into enough marriages. I'd rather slit my own throat than force one of them to marry without consent for a second time." And it's the truth. Every time he thinks of his sisters–both fifteen when they were shipped away–his stomach churns. He had been powerless to stop them. His father had said with a rumbling laugh that they could either go or face the dreadful consequences. Their husbands-to-be had been fairly upstanding monarchs–ones that Miran had threatened with an icy death if they didn't treat them well. He had thought Bel would be safe, but the other shoe has to drop eventually. At least Bel had been an actual adult when he was shipped off.

"I won't discuss this with a cowardly nobody any more," Miran says firmly, stepping away and making his way back to the flap of the tent. "I'm going to retrieve who I came from and we'll leave. I'll see you again when history repeats itself." He looks over his shoulder at the king. "I wish you luck, Nicandros. May your life be long and subtle."