Mark’s acknowledgement that it ran both ways was probably too much for her to process openly.
“You can be my second bridesmaid.” Ava leaned forward excitedly. “How do you feel about emerald green? Zara has already chosen it for her dress.”
“She looks incredible in green.” Kris lifted the pancake platter for Frankie to dish up. “They’re all good,” he added to her as she hesitated. “Try them all.”
“Perfect.” Ava sounded thrilled. “Green it is.”
Frankie selected one of each, not looking at the princess as she said, “Has Prince Cyrus decided when he’s arriving yet?”
“He’d like to stay for two weeks,” Ava said. “One before the wedding and one after.”
“I’ll be assigning Gul to him.” Frankie accepted the chocolate maple syrup from Mark. “What exactly does a prince get up to on a holiday in Kiraly?”
“Oh. I don’t know.” Ava poured Darius more juice. “I was hoping Zara might take him around town. They know each other.”
“Great idea,” Frankie said, tone a little higher than usual.
“Yes. So, the bridal shower is this Friday,” Ava said.
And as she explained that it was three days away, and it would be in a feminine-chic cocktail lounge in the city, and that she would only have a handful of guests, and that the bachelor party would meet up with them later in the night for a traditional Keleharian ceremony, Kris sat back and exchanged glances with his brothers. They all seemed tuned into the fact that their family was shifting. They had partners at the table, and a child. And after twenty-five years of being an unbreakable trio, letting others in didn’t unknot their bond as he’d first suspected, but rather shifted their position on the cord to fit the extra beads. They were family. They might not always exist shoulder to shoulder, but they’d always be on the same string.
Then Tommy looked at his untouched pancakes, features strained, and the moment turned bitter in Kris’s mouth.
When Ava concluded with, “And wear something bright, please,” Kris leaned back to look at Tommy around Frankie.
“You still looking into our family history, Tom?”
“Yes,” he said, and at Mark’s frown, explained, “There’s a lot to learn from looking back. I want to understand the relationship we’ve had with our people throughout our rule. The good and the bad. And the interesting.”
“Give us an interesting one, then,” Mark said.
“Okay.” Tommy paused, eyes narrowing. “Did you know that about six generations back, we had a succession dispute? The third prince in line for the throne went to war and never returned. His two older brothers died, leaving behind no male heirs, so the crown went to the son of the fourth brother, who’d also died. Almost twenty years later, a young man came to court claiming to be the son of the third prince, who had survived war, but been too ashamed by Kiraly’s loss in battle to return home.”
Ava leaned forward, curious. “Was the claimant deemed the rightful heir?”
“No.” Tommy shook his head slightly. “His father supposedly died during the trial, so couldn’t be brought home as conclusive proof. The royal family offered the man a place at court and an annual allowance to let the dispute rest, and he grudgingly accepted.”
“That is interesting,” Kris said, hiding his unease behind a lazy stretch.
He hadn’t meant to bring the conversation so close to succession disputes. Was this how Tommy thought of himself? A royal inconvenience to be placated? Granted a home within the palace, but treated like a risk to be managed? No. That kind of thinking would grow like a noxious root in his brother’s silences. Yet Tommy did resent Kris for leapfrogging his way onto the throne. In taking the choice of ascension from him, Kris had rendered Tommy a token figure—royalty in name only. For what use was a prince without a role in succession?
Damn it all. Kris couldn’t go back and change the moment he’d demeaned his brother; he couldn’t step aside and let Tommy take a crown he didn’t want. But Tommy’s animosity was like silt in their shared waterskin, a slight off taste every time he drank, discoloring their exchanges until the day Kris would tip his head back and have to swallow the lot without objection.
He needed to face this head-on. Clean up the mess he’d made, and quickly.
The parlor doors swung open as Philip entered, tall and thin and impeccable, halting in the center of the room like an erect jousting stick, ready to poke holes in Kris’s approach to pretty much anything.