“Yes, sir.” The man bowed and was gone.
“Now.” Kaydor took Yaila from Zoper, carrying her into the room, and setting her on the throne. “What do you think of this seat? Will it do?”
She grinned up at him. “It’s actually quite comfortable.”
The man laughed, resonating and husky. “I’m glad you think so.” He turned to face Zoper and Jakkit, who hadn’t moved far beyond where he’d left them. “My dear nephews, please, relax. Consider yourselves at home. Now tell me, what happened?”
Zoper did his best to adopt a more informal posture. It wasn’t that he felt particularly nervous—to him, Kaydor was his uncle first, king second. And he’d grown up visiting the castle, so that was nothing new. It was more the weakness in every muscle and bone of his body that made relaxing difficult. “Jakkit and Yaila were set upon by thieves on their way home from school. She sprained her ankle, I found them in the city, and since we were unable to go home…” His voice wavered. How early could he get his siblings to go to bed so that he could talk to their uncle alone, and stop pretending he wasn’t utterly spent?
Kaydor considered him, head tilted slightly, gray eyes keen. Everything about his aging, but attractive, features was keen. Finally, he nodded. “I’m so sorry to hear it. The crime in the outer parts of the city is appalling. Well, it won’t be happening again. Come, let’s get you all to bed. Have you had supper? How does hot soup sound?” At Yaila’s eager nod, he smiled. “Settled, then. Come along Princess, let’s get you to your royal chambers!” He swooped her into the air and charged from the room in a heroic fashion. His rich laugh and her chirping giggle could be heard moving down the hallway. Zoper mustered a smile and shrug for his brother, and followed, Jakkit on his heels.
When they caught up, Kaydor had already gotten Yaila into a huge, luxurious bed in an equally huge, luxurious chamber. A maid was bringing in a tray with steaming soup, bread, and what appeared to be some sort of dessert. Kaydor was much the same as Zoper remembered him from his own childhood: affectionate, fun, and prone to spoiling them. A medic was in the room as well, waiting quietly for an opportunity to wrap Yaila’s ankle.
Kaydor kissed her hand again and bid her goodnight, before leaving to take Jakkit to his room. Zoper could already tell she was content and well taken care of, so he kissed her forehead and followed them.
Until finally, with Jakkit and Yaila both taken care of, Kaydor showed him to his room. Just the two of them, now. Zoper was still deciding how to start the discussion, when his uncle faced him with a serious look and sat him down on the bed. “Zoper, tell me what’s going on. I haven’t seen you three in months! I’m told you’re working at the sawmill outside the city. You know that’s not the type of job you should be at. And how long has it been since you had a decent meal, lad?!”
Apparently the weight he’d lost had become more conspicuous than he’d realized. Well, he had always been broad-shouldered and sturdily built, and no longer fit that description, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. “I am working at the mill. And, forgive me Uncle, but that is the type of job I should be at.” He ducked his head. “We’re not nobility anymore, or even upper class. Not since they died.”
Kaydor’s heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Your parents’ death does not change the fact that you are of noble blood. Yes, most children become lower class when orphaned, because that’s the only way for them to effectively fit into the system. But that does not apply to you three! Zoper…” With a gentle, intent expression, he gripped his other shoulder as well, turning Zoper to face him. “Look at me. You are not lower class. You’re the prince of Zentyre.”
His gut clenched as a weight settled into the pit of his empty stomach. “What? I don’t think…I mean…”
His uncle smiled patiently. “Now, don’t go accusing me of lying. And for goodness sake, let’s get some food in you, lest you pass out before me.” Leaving him sitting on the bed speechless, Kaydor left briefly. He returned, followed shortly by another maid with another tray of food that smelled so unbelievably incredible. Taking it from her, Kaydor brought it over and set it on his lap. “Go on, then. Enough formality. I will always be your uncle first and foremost, lad.”
There was no point trying to deny his desperate stomach. He didn’t have a clue what to say, anyway. Zoper nodded his thanks and picked up the spoon, trying to let the savory liquid flood his taste buds rather than just gulping it down. His success was limited. Kaydor sat down in a chair across from him, considerately perusing a book he’d picked up rather than awkwardly watch him eat.
But Zoper was still uncomfortable. How could he not be, after what the man had just said? Finding himself unable to address it, he pretended Kaydor hadn’t said it. “So, um,” he put down the tray, the bowl empty and bread gone, forcing himself to leave the dessert for later, “I was hoping to get your advice, on some things.” Kaydor didn’t say anything, so he drummed his fingers on his leg and continued. “Well, I’m in debt. You know I couldn’t start working until I turned eighteen a few weeks ago, so for months we were living off Father’s savings, and it just didn’t last. The only thing I know to do now is sell the house, and move to something cheaper, in the city, then I—”
“Zoper!” Kaydor wore a chiding smile. “Did you not hear me? You’re the prince of the whole region. Don’t you think that comes with some perks? No more worrying about debt, no more working at a sawmill, and certainly no moving into one of those decrepit lower class houses!”
Zoper swallowed, trying to loosen the tightness in his jaw. “But I’m not...I just don’t think…that I should be the prince. I’m not…” His father’s words echoed in his mind again. Don’t trust him. Had his father had any idea that Kaydor might make Zoper his heir? Did that have anything to do with his dying plea that Zoper stay away from the king?
“You’re my heir, there’s nothing for it. Arineema and I are sure now that we can’t have children of our own.” There was some sadness in his tone. Zoper knew that his aunt and uncle had been gradually becoming more accustomed to the possibility that they were unable to have children. Apparently, after five years of marriage, they had officially resigned themselves to it. Kaydor leaned forward, catching Zoper’s gaze and holding it. “My throne goes to you.”
Without meaning to, Zoper whispered one of the milder curses that Restir used often.
Kaydor just laughed. “I know it’s a lot. But it’s not as if I’m expecting you to help me run the region starting tomorrow. For now, all it means is that you and your siblings will live here. You don’t need to sell your house, I know you’re attached to the place. I’ll take care of the debt. And you won’t be setting foot in a sawmill ever again.”
This was ridiculous. Him, prince of Zentyre? Sure, it made sense, if Kaydor couldn’t have children of his own. But what sort of prince would he make? And…how could he rightfully be prince, if Kaydor wasn’t rightfully king?
The thought made him wince. It was a glaring reminder of why he hadn’t come to his uncle for help months ago, before he ran himself into the ground with debt, before selling their home became his only option. Kaydor had wanted to take them in immediately, when their parents died. Even after Zoper had declined, saying that for the time being he thought it best for Yaila and Jakkit to be home, their uncle had tried to help financially. Zoper had declined that too.