the start of his new life. His real life. He finally had a family. A brother who wanted him. Who cared for him. He should be ecstatic.
If we’re unlucky, we’ll see him a few times a year at some official functions.
Eridan’s eyes burned. He squeezed them shut.
It was fine.
He was fine.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Masks
Warrehn paced the terrace adjoining the ballroom where a party was in full swing.
Pacing was an old habit from the time he had been a boy, an angry boy confined to Lehr Manor. The angrier or more worried he got, the stronger was the desire to do something, to act, and pacing worked like a moving meditation of sorts. It helped him think.
He was worried for his brother.
His brother.
Part of him still couldn’t believe he’d found him, after almost two decades.
Eridan wasn’t really what Warrehn had expected his little brother to grow up into. Little Eri had been an adorable child, kind and quick to smile. Not that Eridan wasn’t kind, per se. Warrehn was sure he was, under all the prickliness. But the brightness of his eyes… It was completely missing.
At first, Warrehn had told himself that it was natural. All little boys grew up into men eventually, and it was natural for a child to lose their happy personality as they aged.
But as days shifted into months, Warrehn wasn’t sure anymore that it was a natural state of mind for Eridan. It wasn’t as though his brother was distant or detached; no, it was something else. Eridan had shown interest in getting to know him and fixing Warrehn’s shaky political situation. He’d even volunteered to take on the royal duties Warrehn hated: things like going to balls and making nice with other members of the Council. Despite growing up in a monastery, Eridan was still loads better at socializing than Warrehn could ever hope to be, and over the past few months, had quickly become a media darling.
“I don’t get why you’re worried, War,” Rohan said, snapping him out of his thoughts. He was watching the ballroom from a chair on the terrace, sipping his drink idly. “He’s good at being a prince. He certainly looks more comfortable than you.”
Warrehn scowled. “I’m not sure how real it is,” he said, eyeing his brother. Eridan was smiling as he danced with some foreign politician, but there was something wrong about that smile. It made alarm bells sound in Warrehn’s head. “Our familial bond has become stronger, and I sense something off. His emotions don’t match his smiles.”
“You think he’s faking it?” Rohan said, his dark eyes focusing on Eridan in contemplation.
Warrehn brushed a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know. I don’t know him well enough to know what his normal is.”
“You spent a month with him in a tiny safe house,” Rohan said.
“That wasn’t exactly a normal situation,” Warrehn said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark jacket. “How can I know that something is wrong if I don’t know what ‘right’ looks like?”
Rohan hummed. “I suppose the only person who would know is Idhron.”
Warrehn scoffed. “I can’t exactly ask him when my friends are at war with him.”
Rohan chuckled, his white teeth flashing against his brown skin. “That’s an exaggeration. Ksar and I have something of… a disagreement with Idhron, but I’m sure it will be resolved in due time. It’s a matter of negotiations. We’ll come to a compromise eventually.”
Warrehn shook his head in distaste. “I fucking hate politics.”
“It’s not really a matter of politics,” Rohan said, his gaze softening as it shifted to something else in the ballroom.
Warrehn followed his gaze and wasn’t surprised to see Prince Jamil speaking to his younger brother.
“It’s a matter of protecting what is mine,” Rohan said, his eyes full of affection and heat as he stared at his fiancé. “Idhron wants to control everything, and all I want is to make him leave me, my family, and our grand clan alone.”
Warrehn shot him a skeptical look. “I don’t think Ksar’s motives are so selfless,” he said dryly.
Rohan chuckled. “They aren’t, but you know Ksar. He doesn’t want the illusion of power. He doesn’t like the extent of the High Hronthar’s control over the Council.”
“You mean he wants a piece of the pie.”
“He does,” Rohan agreed, his gaze still on Jamil’s smiling face. “But can you blame him when the pie is so giant? You have no idea how much power Idhron actually wields. It’s bigger than Calluvia. It’s a huge network that encompasses