Erador leaned the book on his leg and propped his arm behind his head as a light breeze cooled his skin. Each sentence provided a feeling of realism like the rough bark on his back and whiffs of sweet sap and pine. It wasn’t fictional nonsense like his father’s cult that claimed Lucrethians were the only ones worthy of finding Paradise. Tucking a card between his lips, he rested his leg over the other. Under the tree was one of the few places he found peace from Shade.

  The tree limb creaked as black hair swayed in his peripheral vision. Haven’s legs moved back and forth on the swing. Erador adjusted himself to avoid seeing her. Not that it helped. Her impatient glare burned through his skull. Getting rid of Shade was part of the problem. Haven hopped off the swing and pine needles crunched; the sound came to an abrupt stop beside Erador.

  Haven popped her head in front of him and leaned on her knees. “Are you done?”

  Her hair dangled on the page and Erador brushed it off. He held up his finger, eyes moving through the words. Haven’s gaze shifted to the card. She swiped it from his lips and he ripped it back from her. Erador placed it in the book and snapped it shut.

  “There. Happy?”

  “More like relieved.” Haven brushed back her hair and pointed at the worn cover. “You’ve read that how many times?”

  Ignoring her, Erador got up and tucked the book under his arm. He moved on the dirt path that had been made from their footsteps that visited here since they were children. This area offered him relief from his father and the manor.

  Haven wore a baggy button-down shirt and tucked her hands in her pockets. Her complexion was like the color of red chestnuts and her long black hair was left wavy from when she usually braided it. She didn’t usually have her hair down, but it likely meant she’d forgone fixing it to meet him in time. Regret slipped in knowing he made her wait, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask her about the Harvest Ball. It’s not like he needed to when Eonidas told him most of the details, but he wanted to hear her side.

  The tense atmosphere choked his lungs. Haven’s footsteps hardened and her face was stiff. She must’ve known what he wanted to talk about, but it was better coming from him. Haven didn’t need another reprimanding for disagreeing with Judgment.

  “What happened at the ball?” he asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He tugged on his shirt button, and tried to take in the scenery. It didn’t help that these trees were part of the forest where the New Akthelian queen was murdered.

  “You know...” Erador rubbed his neck. ”Gillian... she still has to get the blood.”

  Haven stopped. “Wait... but she was in charge of the assignment. Why does she get a second chance?” She took stiff steps toward him. “Tell me, Erador. Why is she getting another chance?”

  Erador’s face tightened at her shaky voice. “I... don’t know.”

  Haven dragged her fingers down her face. A growl rumbled in her throat as lightning sparked around her hand and she punched a tree. Charred bark broke off. Jumping, she sucked air through her teeth and shook her wrist.

  Erador took her arm as blood dripped from her knuckles. “You got something.”

  Haven spoke through her clenched mouth. “In my pocket.”

  As the scent of burnt wood filled the air, Erador dug in her pants pocket and pulled out a bundled napkin. He unwrapped a biscuit.

  “You did save one for me.” His lips lifted into a crooked grin. “Jam?”

  “Already inside,” she said, taking the napkin. She shook off the crumbs and dabbed her wound. Erador tore the biscuit in half, and held it out to her.

  Haven looked up. “It’s for you.”

  “No, it was yours. At least take half.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

  Erador scoffed. “Yes, you are.”

  Haven's stomach grumbled. She hugged her middle as if to muffle the sound. “But you hardly ate.”

  “I have this.” He took a bite. Marmalade jam oozed from the soft bread. “And this,” he said, holding up the other half, “is yours.”

  “Fine.” She swiped it from him and took a bite. “Today might be the last day I get anything. Letting Gillian be in charge will guarantee the end of our future.”

  “Judgment thinks she’ll get the blood.”

  “He thinks a lot of things I’d rather not talk about.” Sighing, she walked past him.

  Erador’s stomach dropped at her irritated voice. He adjusted the book under his arm, even when it felt right. It wasn’t as if Erador didn’t have those same feelings about his father’s choices. But whenever he brought it up, he wished Haven didn’t dismiss the conversation.

  “Wait,” she said, turning around. “Why don’t you get the princess?”

  Erador drew his shoulders into a shrug. “Judgment told me I can’t go the Shadow Realm.”

  Haven pointed the biscuit at him. “It’s unlike you to give in.”

  Erador shoved the bread in his mouth, avoiding eye contact. He chewed and rubbed the scar on his cheek. The soft biscuit felt like dirt scraped his gums.

  “Come on,” she said, poking his stomach. “What’s the reason?”

  He tensed and swallowed. “That’s it.”

  Haven poked him again.

  With a laugh, he jerked away and shielded himself with the book. Judgment hadn’t suggested it because it wasn’t possible. Haven thought he had the training and confidence to enter the realm. His father had fooled everyone into thinking that. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her he was too scared.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “It’s too dangerous. Guards are stationed there in Odinaty. Plus... I think Gillian needs to redeem herself after what happened at the ball.”

  Haven rolled her eyes. “She won’t be able to.”

  “Then think of it as her worst mistake,” Erador said.

  “You think she’ll fail?”

  “Uh-huh. She doesn’t have a plan and with Odinaty on guard, she has no chance.” Erador slid his tongue across his smirking lip. “Not unless someone helps her.”

  A bark of laughter escaped Haven. “Who would?”

  “Anyone who thinks it will help Judgment.”

  “Or they could sabotage her and take the credit.”

  “I doubt it,” Erador said, trying to rub sticky jam from his hands. “If anything goes wrong, Judgment will blame someone else. No one wants to be in that position.”

  Haven’s satisfactory smile for Gillian’s failure morphed into a bitter frown. “I’m tired of him choosing favorites.”

  Erador lowered his gaze. “I don’t like it either.”

  Haven bit her lip, eyebrows drawn. She rubbed her thumb on the carved wooden ram head attached to a chain around her neck. Erador tried to combat the frustration twirling in his stomach when all he could think about was the metal one found in the mud, coated in Taurin’s blood.

  He reached for her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Haven.”

  She set her forehead against his chest. Her hunched poster was like a drooping plant in need of care, but Erador’s touch couldn’t perk her up.

  “He shouldn’t have killed Taurin.” Haven paused between words, but her voice couldn’t steady.

  Her pain, anger, and disappointment seeped into him. Like with Shade, another entity invaded his body. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of blood. Taurin’s blood. Erador didn’t approve of his death, but supporting his father was supporting a murderer. Erador moved his hand to her trembling back, wishing he could help her. At the same time, he understood why his father got rid of Retribution.

  “Taurin tortured Gillian,” Erador said. “He nearly had her killed by the followers.”

  “But Lord Judgment didn’t have to kill him.” Haven’s painful eyes stung his chest. “He should’ve had another chance. Gillian killed the queen of New Akthelia. Our people died and left because of her. She gets two chances, but Taurin only got one.”

  Erador caressed her arm with shaky strokes. Judgment believed people had to suffer or be punished to change and reach Absolution. It was his process in the Ring of Awakening, but it wasn’t practiced after his father became unwell. It didn’t seem to work on Gillian, even after she was nearly killed. More then one chance was given depending on the severity of a follower’s sins, but Gillian’s mistake should’ve been unforgivable.

  As for Taurin, he was always causing trouble. Haven wouldn’t believe Taurin disobeyed Judgment’s orders and tried to turn the followers against him. His desire for control would’ve led to his inevitable death. Haven didn’t need to know that

  “I don’t think Gillian deserves anything, but Taurin...” Erador shook his head in disapproval.

  “What?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  Haven’s face hardened and her words cracked like a whip ready to silence his opposing views. “He was a great man and did a lot of good, especially for me.”

  Haven pulled away from him and trudged out of the trees. She hopped over the fence and leaned against it. Her hair draped over the worn wood and fanned in the breeze.

  Hunching, Erador let out a sigh and moved to the meadow. Weeds and grass brushed his black pants. Shade awoke and moved across the field, but Erador shut down his elated feelings when Haven picked crumbs from her biscuit and placed them in her mouth. Her eyes were as gold as the petals of a sunflower, but they were glossed over with pain and betrayal.

  Erador pulled the book from under his arm. He spun around and looked for a place to set it. Grass—green stains. Dirt—smudges. It wasn’t safe. Convinced holding it was better, he sat on the fence and shoved it back under his arm.

  Talking about Taurin never led anywhere good. Usually Haven would cry and leave, not allowing him a chance to comfort her. She must’ve hated how he was Judgment’s son and she couldn't confide in him because of it. Erador wouldn't defend Taurin, no matter how she felt about him.

  “Are you going to the festival?” Erador asked.

  “No. I have to watch Judgment.” Haven rolled a crumb between her fingers. “Are you?”

  Erador cringed. “Aminria...”

  Haven closed her eyes, brows rising. “You’re going with her?”

  “Maybe.” He tucked his lips together. “I can get candy.” Erador rubbed the fence. “Red is your favorite, right?”

  “Sure,” Haven said, without enthusiasm. She bit the biscuit. “At least you can talk to Miraline.”

  Groaning, Erador let his arms fall between his legs. “I’d rather not.”

  “You’re going to have to tell her the truth sometime.”

  Shade agreed with a memory of Loma nodding and Erador cursed him for it. He didn’t need to tell Miraline anything after their last few encounters. Not talking to her should’ve been clear that they were through.

  “Miraline is the kind of person that needs to be lied to,” Erador said.

  Haven finished her biscuit and held her injured hand out to Erador. He took the cloth napkin, and tied it around her knuckle. Miraline used to be someone he could talk to. She used to understand him. She used to not care that he spent more time watching his father. His stomach dipped at the idea of confronting her because he knew it would lead nowhere good.

  Haven licked jam off her fingers. “I don’t see you lying to her.”

  Erador tied a second knot. “Why not?”

  “You’re too honest... Brutally honest. The truth will come out eventually.”

  “Most likely.” Smirking, Erador’s eyes trailed across her cheek to a spot of orange jam. “And you tell me I’m a messy eater?”

  Haven looked confused, her lips flattened when she noticed him smirking. She rubbed away the jam. “What’s that on your face?”

  Erador ducked his head, afraid she would ask about his scars. “What?”

  Haven hopped off the fence and reached up. “You call this a beard?” Goosebumps sprung on his arm as her fingers ran down his cheek. “This scar isn’t helping.”

  Her berry-scented breath brushed against his skin and she turned his head as her heavy almond-shaped eyes focused on his, the color captivating as the sun. Erador swallowed hard and moved his hand down to her forearm, sliding his thumb over the painted red fox and sunflower. He scanned over her features; high cheekbones, and bump in her nose bridge. But he resisted the elated vibrations in his stomach that teased him with desires.

  He cleared his throat and whispered, “It’s coming in.”

  Haven laughed. “At your age? Maybe it just needs a little more sunshine, right?”

  If that’s all it needed, he would rather stay in the dark. Erador was glad he couldn’t grow a beard like his father’s because it meant he was different; something Loma couldn’t use to compare him.

  The book slipped from under his arm. Erador tried to catch it, but it bounced off his hand. He winced as the corner hit the ground. Haven picked it up and gave it to him. Erador brushed off the dirt and examined it, mentally cursing the damaged and stained edges; the card in the book bent at the corner.

  Haven squeezed her eyes into a blink, arm dropping. “It’s the blue jay isn’t it?”

  “Huh?” Erador continued to stroke his thumb over the book’s edges.

  “The card.” She pointed at the book. “You picked the blue jay. Was that random or...?”

  He looked up. “Or what?”

  “Nothing.” She turned around, walking into the field. “Have fun with your blue jay tomorrow.” Her voice held a sarcastic tone, but Erador caught the bitter emphasis on blue jay.

  Grinning, Erador slipped the card from the book. He played with the bent corner, and suppressed his frustration on the new imperfection. A red border surrounded a fox with the number ‘1’ in two corners. The red bushy tail wrapped around a sunflower. “You keep thinking it’s the blue jay, Haven.”