And the explanation he’d demand would be the end of them.
Breakfast was strange without Mark.
Kris and Tommy sat in the blue parlor, overshadowed by the grand room, the gargantuan table, and the empty space their brother had left behind.
In the days since Mark had moved with Ava to the outskirts of Kira City, a disconnect had formed between Kris and Tommy. As if the knot of their bond had come loose, and like beads on a string, they were starting to separate along the cord. It was an ache at his very core to realize the absence of one brother put space between them all.
“Good night?” Tommy asked quietly, skewering into his potato hash.
“Yeah.” He glanced up, but Tommy wasn’t looking at him.
It was never a good sign when Tommy avoided eye contact with his own family.
“Just went to the Bearded Bunting.”
“You like that place.”
Kris reached for more toast. “They don’t make a big deal about me being there.”
Back home, he and his brothers had never made a habit of eating breakfast together, instead weaving through each other’s morning routines with silent companionship. But he’d grown used to it since arriving in Kiraly. Now three had become two, and it was like the whole meal was spent waiting for Mark to arrive.
“You?” he asked.
Tommy raised a shoulder. His attention stayed on his plate. “Fine.”
“Reading?”
He nodded. “I’m going through our family history.”
“Cool,” he said, in that way that betrayed he wouldn’t personally find it cool to spend his nights like that, but appreciated that his brother did. Reading and researching was safe.
They kept eating.
Guilt niggled at him in the brittle-edged silence.
Tommy had been distant since Kris had declared he’d replace Mark as king. At first, Kris had pretended not to know why. It was a good thing, wasn’t it? Mark could be with Ava and Tommy didn’t have to face new, high-level social situations every day. No pressure meant no panic attacks. Really, Tommy should be thanking him.
But he knew.
Of course he knew.
“Skip Tommy,” he’d said to Mark that night, and Tommy had flinched beside him. “Skip him and go straight to me.”
Every time he thought of it, that flinch was a lash down Kris’s side.
He didn’t know what to do. Couldn’t take it back. Would make the same call over again, just with more tact. He’d shamed his brother by disregarding his birthright as the second-born son, and the wound wasn’t healing.
“Any other triplets in our family history?” he asked.
Tommy shook his head.
“Any other asshole brothers who jumped the queue to the throne without asking?”
Tommy stilled. His gaze was a mix of caution and censure when he looked up. “Yes. But their version of jumping the queue usually involved murdering the heir.”
Not sure how to respond, Kris pulled a face. “Brutal. So I’m not as big of an asshole as I thought.”
“Yes, you are,” his brother said with quiet conviction.
And there it is. Running a hand over his mouth, Kris lowered his head.
Their silence stretched out uncomfortably, but he didn’t break it. In the tension, he could sense Tommy’s internal struggle, challenging himself to speak his mind, and finally his brother murmured, “You’ve never made me feel useless before.”
Kris snapped his head up. “You’re not useless.”
“I am.” The admission held too much certainty. “I couldn’t do what you’re doing for Mark. I hate myself for that. But you didn’t even pretend I was capable. You’ve always at least pretended.”
Insulted, he said, “I never pretend.”
Tommy angled his head almost mockingly. “Then why did you skip me?”
“Because I wasn’t thinking.”
“No. You were thinking so fast and clearly, that you forgot to humor me.”
Goddamn it. “Tommy . . .”
He knew he was overprotective—and that Tommy resented it—but Kris couldn’t bear to watch him get hurt. Not again. Being a king with severe social anxiety would hurt like hell, so instinct had been to shield his brother from the weight of the crown. And in doing so . . .
Kris had hurt him.
Round of applause for good intentions and shit execution, ladies and gentleman.
“I’m sorry.” Kris leaned toward him, forearms on the tablecloth. “Do you want to swap back?”
Tommy huffed a humorless laugh as the doors to the parlor opened and Philip entered with a newspaper in his hand and a scowl on his thin face.
Kris winced. No guesses what this was about.
Actually. Come to think of it—there were a few things . . .
“Prince Kristof,” the advisor said coolly, halting a respectable distance from the table. “Prince Tomas.”