The Reign of a Righteous Prince. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1.
ASA.

As much of a fraud as the corpse was, the blood was very real.

A thin, crimson thread traced a path down the slit throat as it blackened on sight, only to be absorbed by the raven hair sticking out from under the neck.

Light flickered above Asa’s head, the fire of the gas lamps doing nothing to help with the freezing air floating inside the tomb. The stone walls surrounding them seemed to sweat along with him. He couldn’t wait to get out of this bloody place, away from the iron table in its center and the twelve golden chairs with red velvet cushions around it. Away from the dead body, away from the pressure in his temple from having to go so far down, regular tombs were ten feet above them.

His stomach turned, but he could not, for his life, just. Look. Away.

Same hair, same ears, same lips. It looked so much like his brother he wanted to cry, and so much like Asa himself he was sweating cold. The shape of the body, from the crown of its head to the tips of its toes—familiar in a personal way.

Only one thing was missing. A wound he swore he would never tell anyone about. A vow he’d kept for the sake of his own freedom. And now Acel’s last words.

Asa wasn’t familiar with guilt, he didn’t wear it well. Still, he got a pang of it whenever his eyes caught the scar he’d given his brother when they were sixteen and fools.

“Will the King be joining us?”

Asa’s eyes flickered upward. Lord Ammory stood directly across from him, arms crossed over his chest, his hands resting on his round belly. His eyes fixed on his mother.

“The King is indisposed at the moment,” she replied, her voice like silk, back straight, every bit the queen, but her eyes were puffy from crying, red enough that under the poor light of the tomb, and the distance between them, they looked a bottomless black.

Indisposed.

Asa fought the humorless laugh rising from the pit of his stomach.

He knew the meaning behind the words.

The humid air is not good for him. His lungs are not working as they should.

He can barely get out of bed, how will he climb the hundred steps back up?

Seeing his dead son is not a good idea, his heart might collapse.

Indisposed, indeed.

Lord Ammory’s wrinkled face grew redder by the second.

“We’re before the face of war and the King—,” he began.

“That, Lord Ammory,” the Queen cut him, blinking back tears, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, “is the face of my dead son. My husband will grieve as he pleases. For now, your condolences are much appreciated.”

Asa bit back the words threatening to come out.

Lord Ammory bowed slightly, taking a single step away from her, from the body on the table. Then another, and another, until he was finally out the door.

The queen shook her head, the tiniest movement. “Acel never liked him anyway,” she said.

Asa’s breath caught, the scent of burning fire and iron filling his nostrils.

The name came back to him like a wave in the open sea, pushing him against the chair he was sitting on, filling his lungs, threatening to drown him, claim him, drag him down to the bottomless void his brother had opened somewhere inside him.

“You’re a coward,” Acel had said days ago, the morning Asa had doomed them both.
“Better coward than spineless,” Asa had replied, and for the first time had learned what it was like to regret something immediately.

Now regret filled every inch of his body, not leaving room for anything else.

Asa’s eyes traveled back to the face. The lids were closed, as if he were sleeping. His lips were relaxed but pressed together, a dark purple instead of the deep rose they would have been. His hair that usually fell over his forehead now stuck to his temple.

How long had it been? An hour? Two? It didn’t matter. He’d been feeling murderous ever since the guards carried the corpse back to the castle.

Asa pushed himself off the chair, his movements filling the damped room with an echo as he reached down again, perhaps for the hundredth time that night, to that bond that supposedly united him to Acel.

He’d always had the childish notion that their lives were linked, that Acel’s last breath would also be his, that the last things Acel saw, the last things he heard, would also be his. But the proof of his foolishness was sprawled on an iron table, bloody and shirtless, limbs hanging from the sides, exposed for everyone to see.

Where are you?

He wanted to scream the question, wanted Acel to flood his mind like he had done so many times before and to see for himself how messed up this whole charade appeared.

And then he didn’t want it at all.

He’d pushed his own will on Acel until he broke. He had asked more than his brother was willing to give, had offered more than he’d been willing to receive.

For the hundreth time, Asa waited.

And waited, and waited, and waited, but his mind remained silent.

His eyes fell shut, trying to see, to knock, but he didn’t know how. It was always Acel who spoke first, always Acel the one to reach out, to call, to need.

Please, he sent down the bond. Please.

And then, as clear as day, Acel’s voice inside his head: Who’s spineless now?

Asa choked down a gasp, the hair on the back of his neck standing, the room suddenly colder.

“Asa.”

His eyes snapped open. He found his mother watching him, creases on her forehead.

“Do you have any idea on who might have done this?” she asked.

Yes.

“No,” Asa said instead, forcing himself not to look away.

Their gazes locked. She clenched her jaw, her chest rising and falling as her breathing grew heavier with every second he didn’t tell the truth.

He had his mother’s eyes: a blue so deep it always reminded him of days spent together by the shore. It was so easy for her to give warmth, security. Tonight, all he could see in them, in the firm manner of her features, despite her swollen eyes, her dripping nose, her ragged breath—all he could see in them was blame, directed at him.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, impassive.

The guards shifted uncomfortably around them.

“Your hearts are practically in sync, and—.”

“Were,” Asa corrected.

She startled and stared at him as if he’d slapped her, the tears she’d been trying so hard to conceal finally spilling without a sign of stopping.

Asa shook his head, a lousy attempt to take back the blow he’d just landed.
He stepped back, feeling momentarily breathless.

His eyes landed on Acel —he was determined to call him that, at least for now—, and automatically narrowed.

He must have known. Acel must have known what this moment would do to their family. He must have known he would tear them apart.

His breathing quicked as as he looked back toward his mother, heat building up inside, waiting to see if she would recognize this impostor disguising as her son, if she would be able to tell the corpse was a ruse—. Asa clicked his tongue.
No such luck. His mother kept on crying, refusing to look at neither of them.

Asa couldn’t blame her. If someone in the world was capable of stopping Acel, it was him, his twin brother. If there was anyone who might have been able to prevent this, it was Asa. But he hadn’t. And now he had to live with the consequences of Acel’s stupidity.

Why did Acel always have to complicate everything?

Where are you? he sent down the bond, again, swallowing his pride.

No matter how angry at each other, or how happily unaware of the other they were, Acel was always just a thought away. But it’d always been for comfort, brotherhood. Never for pain.

And pain was all Acel left in his wake.

Asa waited but no answer came. He was about to call again, to pull on that bond they’d shared since the beginning of time when the door behind him flew open.

“You,” hissed a too familiar voice from across the room.

Christianna’s eyes were bloodshot, somehow more so than anyone else’s. Her blonde curls were a tangled mess and the paint on her face leaked in large droplets of color down her cheeks. The way she straightened her spine, standing to her full height, which wasn’t much to begin with, made her look on the verge of jumping on someone. Most likely him.
Asa hadn’t wanted a fight, not today, but he’d gladly serve as his fiancée’s punching bag. Because as true as it was that Asa might’ve been able to stop Acel, Chrissie might have been able to make him stay. Just the thought of her should’ve been enough. But no, they were all in a bloody dungeon gaping at a corpse. All equally at fault. And if not all, then at least the two of them.

As soon as she stopped in front of him, tears still spilling down her face, Asa put his hands on her shoulders as if to offer comfort. Chrissie slapped his hands off her, brought her palm to his chest and pushed him back. He let her.

“This is your doing!” she cried. “He’s dead because of you. You let him go, you didn’t stop him—.”

“Enough,” Asa let out through clenched teeth.

His skin prickled at the thought of his mother’s presence behind him. The queen’s presence. He doubted this was a conversation Chrissie wanted her to hear. After all, the queen had been the mastermind behind the little act they called an engagement.

“You, with your stupid ideas of adventure, poisoning his mind like you would do a child,” Chrissie spat. “Controlling him, pushing him, pulling him into your endless webs of lies! You did this!”

She clearly didn’t care.

The guards closed in around them. How many were there, exactly? Ten? Twelve? Fifteen? Were they here to protect him—or to arrest him?

As he looked at his mother, watching the scene in utter silence, not taking a side, nor stepping in to break them apart, Asa decided he didn’t care, either.

He took a single step forward, towering over the girl. She didn’t recoil. Instead, she looked up at him, her light eyes filled to the top and spilling with hatred.

He lowered his lips to her ear. “Careful, darling,” he said. “What you two were doing is nothing short of treason, and every person in this room could have you hang for it. How long do you think it’ll take them to realize that Acel was to you something I’m not?”

Chrissie stilled in his arms.

“You want so badly to believe it was me, but if he had loved you enough he wouldn’t have gone,” he added. “You deserved better than him. We all did.”

“You’re a monster,” she whispered, stepping back.

“And you’re a child.” He closed the distance again, keeping his voice low. “The truth, is, Chrissie, this is his own damn fault. Do yourself a favor and don’t dwell on it too much.”

Asa turned to leave again but two guards blocked his path. They could easily make four of him if they split.
“You were brought here for a reason,” his mother said.

Asa stopped before the guards, and shifted his eyes to her.

“Is it him?” she asked, motioning to the corpse, and Asa was thankful his brother wasn’t here to witness it.

Asa knew—he knew he should tell the truth; he knew lying would make more damage than good in the end. After all, the kingdom still didn’t know. But Acel had done this himself. Despite what Chrissie and his own mother seemed to think, Asa had nothing to do with it. It was Acel’s choice, and his choice alone.

Asa turned to face the Queen as she deserved, and looked at her from across the room, straight in the eyes.

“Yes,” he lied. “That’s him.”