Corvin removed his sword before approaching.
He tossed it onto the ground.
“I came to talk.”
Aren stepped from the Abbey doorway.
They stared at one another.
Corvin looked different without a court surrounding him.
Still handsome.
Still clean compared with Aren.
But tired.
A bruise marked his jaw.
“You’re shorter up close.”
Aren frowned.
“You’re more annoying.”
Oren covered a smile.
Corvin looked toward him.
“Father says you kidnapped the boy.”
“I walked slowly while he ran.”
“That sounds like him.”
Aren crossed his arms.
“Why are you here?”
Corvin’s expression changed.
“Because my father lied.”
Nobody spoke.
Corvin continued.
“He told me the sword reacted to dark magic.”
“And?”
“I asked why our crown gemstone went dark.”
Aren listened.
“He hit me.”
The prince said it simply.
That made Aren uncomfortable.
“Then I asked my mother.”
“Queen Maris?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Corvin looked toward Oren.
“She told me about Elara.”
The old historian whispered, “Maris knew?”
“Not everything.”
Corvin’s face tightened.
“She knew Father had an older brother whose wife disappeared.”
Aren asked, “Did she know about me?”
“No.”
He hesitated.
“Not until the festival.”
Aren believed him.
He did not know why.
Corvin continued.
“Father arrested half the archive staff after you escaped.”
Oren’s face hardened.
“Why?”
“He wants every record about the First House burned.”
That settled it.
Corvin had brought something.
He removed a folded parchment from inside his tunic.
Oren opened it.
A royal birth record.
Prince Theron.
Princess Elara.
Male child.
No name.
Alive.
The line beneath had been scratched away.
But enough remained.
Aren touched the page.
“This proves it?”
“To reasonable people,” Oren said.
Corvin laughed bitterly.
“We may be short of those.”
The brothers looked at one another again.
Neither said the word.
Brothers.
Half-brothers? Actually cousins? Theron was Aldric's older brother, making Aren Corvin's cousin, but both boys were competing heirs. Corvin said nothing about blood relation beyond shared dynasty. What mattered was that Aren stood between Corvin and the throne.
Aren asked the obvious question.
“Do you hate me?”
Corvin’s eyebrows rose.
“I barely know you.”
“You lose the Crown if I’m real.”
Corvin looked toward the mountain.
“I used to think becoming King was the most important thing in my life.”
“And now?”
“My father nearly killed a historian because he knew you existed.”
Corvin looked back.
“I am beginning to suspect becoming him would be worse than not becoming King.”
Aren respected that answer.
Not trusted.
Respected.