"All hail!" Rhen said. But what he really meant was, bless the spirits the ceremony was almost over. He wasn't sure how much more standing his feet could take.
Whyllem had pulled him to the taverns last night, and using his trusted sleeping potion, Rhen spent half the night searching for any signs of an attack. But there was nothing. No signs of any Ourthuri infiltrators. No rumblings by the docks. No gossip. After a while, he had even searched for signs of Jin's mysterious shadow, but still nothing.
An evening of empty wanderings had turned into a sleepless morning, and it had all been in vain. In fact, all Rhen had managed to do was arrive late for the ceremony and further annoy his father.
Just what he needed.
Shifting his gaze to the side, Rhen looked at the babe being held aloft before the throne by King Whylfrick. Red robes of the kingdom of Whyl draped around his tiny body, cascading all the way to the floor. His curious hazel eyes were open, darting around the room. Not a single cry had escaped his lips, and it filled Rhen with a sense of pride.
Whyllean.
He had been named.
Whyllean, Rhen's nephew, the future king of Whylkin.
"All hail!" Rhen repeated with the crowd.
The baby had been dipped in the spiritual waters, blessed with the prayers of Whylkin, and told the story of his ancestors for the first time. But most importantly, Rhen and his brother Whyllem had just renounced their claim to the throne, ensuring the proper line of succession, thereby ensuring the future of the kingdom.
"All hail!" Rhen yelled for a third time.
Even as his spirits were high, fed by the energy in the throne room, a pit gnawed at his stomach. Rhen knew he had been right. The Naming. Everything centered around the ceremony. But all of the nobles in the kingdom had been sequestered in the throne room for hours and not a single thing was amiss.
He scanned the room. His father beamed. Whyltarin shone with pride. Whyllem with love. Farther into the crowd, everyone wore cheerful smiles; not a single person hinted bitterness at the ceaseless reign of Whyl.
It was perfect.
Too perfect.
And it made Rhen's skin crawl.
"All hail!" He shouted for a fourth and final time. One call for each of the spirits, as was tradition.
The king lowered Whyllean and stepped back to sit on the throne, resting the babe in his lap. He spoke the closing words, but Rhen was too busy shifting his feet and looking anxiously around the room to pay attention.
Slowly, starting from the very back of the room, the nobles entered in a procession line, waiting to kneel before their future king and swear loyalty to their kingdom. Rhen searched every face for Ourthuri skin, every wrist for powdered over tattoos and every hand for a concealed dagger, but there were no enemies hiding amongst them today.
Before he knew it, it was his turn. Rhen stepped forward, raised his right hand to his heart, and bowed deeply before his nephew.
"I swear my undying loyalty to Whyllean, Son of Prince Whyltarin, Son of King Whylfrick, and the newly named future king of Whylkin. May the Sons of Whyl forever watch over this land and protect its people from all who wish them harm. In the name of Whyl the Conqueror, who united the lands, may the spirits watch over and protect Whyllean from harm, may he know the joy of seeing his sons become kings, and their sons after that. All hail."
Bowing once more, Rhen stepped forward to place the ceremonial kiss on his nephew's brow—a right reserved for the royal family alone. Flicking his gaze up, Rhen met his father's glare. It sent a chill down his spine. He looked away, quickly grinning at the dribble of spit leaking out of the baby's lower lip. You're almost done, he wanted to say. Instead, with love in his heart, he knelt down.
But right as his lips were about to touch Whyllean's brow, his father pulled back on the child. Not enough for anyone to see, not enough to cause alarm, but enough for Rhen's armor to crack.
Still bent down, he looked his father in the eye. Heat singed his chest, painful and raw. The man was daring him to act out, to misbehave, to refuse to take his punishment like a Son of Whyl should. But now was not the time, and Rhen, ignoring the despair weighing heavily on his shoulders, stepped aside to let his brother Whyllem give his own blessing.
If only his father understood everything Rhen had done to keep this child safe, to keep their family safe. Turning back to the crowd, Rhen put up the mask of a jovial, carefree prince. He had become so used to playing the part, it was no wonder that everyone believed him. That no one took notice of the hurt in his eyes.
When Whyllem was done with his blessing, the king stood. He and Whyltarin were the only two who would not bow before the boy—kings and future kings bowed before no one.
A thunderous roar rose in the room, echoing against the ceiling and crashing back down. Clapping. For the first time that day, Rhen let the ghost of a true smile grace his face.
The ceremony was over. The Naming was complete.
And nothing had happened.
Everyone was safe. Everyone was alive.
Now, they would feast.
He remained with his family as they exited the throne room, his father and mother first, then Whyltarin and Awenine carrying their son, then Whyllem, and then him. Last, as always. The ache of missing Whyllysle constantly weighed on his thoughts, but it sprang to life stronger than ever in that moment.
Rhen politely nodded to the nobles as he walked past, but their attention was elsewhere. The third son, the third wheel. He was known by everyone, but as an afterthought. If only his partner had still been alive. They would both be looked over, but they would experience it together. Experiencing it alone was, at times, too much to bear.
Rhen retreated behind his façade as the procession continued, slow ceremonial steps to the banquet hall. He kept his mind on the pattern of shuffling his feet—one, two…one, two—leaving no room for self-pity.
Unbidden, Jin jumped into his thoughts. The hand that outstretched to help him up from the floor where his father had left him. The smile that greeted him after their escape from the Golden City. The priceless look of alarm when they had stepped into the Staggering Vixen. One after another, the images came uncalled, memories that began to thaw Rhen's iced over insides, to melt the hard shell he had erected to protect himself.
From the start, Rhen had known that Jin would depend on him—the last of his people thrown into an unkind, unjust, and unfamiliar world. But he had never realized that he would come to depend on the boy too—that they would maybe save each other.