ADAIN

"Don't touch that, Child. Your father would disapprove," Rogemere says, appearing by my side with a swish of his burgundy robes. As always, his tone is condescending and bored, as if the entire world is barely worth his notice.

I drop the wand back onto the table. It is a small, elegantly curved piece of wood, engraved with thorny vines. Open next to it is a large tome, words and numbers scribbled in the margins of the spellbook in a hurried hand. It seems one of the young nobles was studying at the University, and left his homework in the palace library.

"Why not? I want to learn, so I can be a wizard like you." I lean my back against the table and cross my arms.

Rogemere scoffs. "Don't become attached to such a fantasy, my boy. You will never be a wizard. You will be trained in politicking and swordsmanship and horse riding and such, so that you can one day be a king like your father."

I scowl. "Swords are stupid. Why can't I just fight with magic, like the Ironborn?" I glance over my shoulder at the abandoned spellbook. Magical texts aren’t kept in the palace library. This is the first I’ve ever seen up close, and I’d been caught before I even had a chance to flip through its pages.

Rogemere closes the book with a thunk, his fingers spread like a claw against the aged leather cover. "First of all,” he says, “my soldiers are skilled with all types of weapons, just as your father's men are. Swords can be very powerful things."

"Magical ones."

"Perhaps," he says with a chuckle. "But swords are forged of iron. And magic or not, iron is humankind's greatest weapon. Do you know why?"

I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if this is a trick question. "My father says faeries are gone. The stories are nonsense that scares peasants and children."

"Ah. Your father loves you very much. He wants to protect you." Rogemere gives me a pitying smirk.

Of course my father wants to protect me. But the way Rogemere said the statement makes me suddenly wonder if my father has lied to me, treated me like a baby. He wouldn’t keep it from me, if there were still faeries. Would he? I don't trust Rogemere, with his eyerolls and condescending drawl. He is a mean old man who thinks he's smarter than everyone else.

"The Ironborn drove the fae out of Ylvemore before I was born," I say, a statement I am fairly certain can't be disputed.

"Oh, we did. Burned a swath of their poisonous wood to the ground, defeated their leaders and hunted down the sneaky filth who hid among us. But," he grimaces, "they refuse to be eradicated, even to this day. We killed thousands of their demonic spawn, and still we find more. Are they changelings, placed in the cribs of innocent babes while their parents sleep unaware? The human children stolen away. A threat, perhaps. A warning. Or is it that this whole kingdom is infected, tiny seeds of evil planted within seemingly human folk? Growing...growing. I don't know." He raises his hands in an “oh well” gesture, as if none of this is much of a big deal, after all.

I'm speechless. I don't know if I'm supposed to believe him, be afraid, keep what he's told me secret. Does everyone know these things but me? Have I really been so coddled? I decide that Rogemere must be trying to make me feel stupid and small. I can’t let him do that, so I pretend that my world has not been upended by what I’ve just been told and give a small shrug, arms still tucked together against my chest.

"Don't you worry, My Boy," Rogemere says, smiling. "The Ironborn keep this kingdom safe. You and your father can go on as though everything is fine and leave the dirty work to us. Just remember, the monsters are real. And without our magic to protect you, iron is all you'll have to defend yourself. So keep your sword close. Learn to use it."

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Rogemere sweeps out of the room, taking the spellbook and wand with him.

.

I find my father in his study, discussing something with Gregorious, the Master of Coin. He is a wrinkly, hunched man who always wears robes heavily weighted with fine gems and metals. They continue their conversation when I come in, my father giving me a brief look to indicate that I have to wait. The Master of Coin is prattling on about accounts, and some kind of debt. My father doesn't seem nearly as concerned as he does, but nods along and tries to pretend that he is. I've seen him do that many times before.

"I'll talk to Rogemere before the next council meeting," my father says. "I'm sure there is an arrangement that can be made."

Gregorious huffs, the folds of skin at his neck wobbling. "It is a dangerous game, my lord. They hold far too much power in this kingdom, if you'll pardon me saying so. To control our funding as well is absolutely disastrous!"

"I value your perspective," my father says, with a note of finality even the obstinate council member can't miss. "I will make sure to inquire deeper into the matter soon. Now if you'll excuse me, I believe my son desires my attention."

Gregorious gives me a nod and says, “Your Highness.” I don’t say anything back. I can’t tell if the look he gives me as he leaves is a glare or if that’s just the way his face always is.

As soon as he’s gone I burst out with, “I want to learn magic!” I try to put as much stubborn will into the statement as I can, preparing for the inevitable argument.

“No.” He looks down at me from across the desk, his frown clear despite the fullness of his beard.

“If I don’t become a wizard, I won’t be able to defend the kingdom when I become king.”

His face turns red. “Wizards do not become kings! The Ironborn are this kingdom’s protectors and advisors. They are not its rulers. That is how it’s always been, and how it will always be.”

“Why? I want to be able to protect people, to fight monsters! It makes no sense that everyone else can learn magic, and I have to stay in the palace reading boring books about taxes and old treaties.”

“Magic is dangerous! It takes years to become a wizard, and many get hurt, or go mad. It is for priests and scholars, not kings. We have to keep the people safe, and we cannot do that if we are holed up in towers chanting rituals.”

“But what about the faeries! What if they attack!”

I regret the words as soon as I see his face. He is furious. But part of me wonders why he would be so angry if he truly believed we were safe, that the fae were just characters of silly stories and not a real threat to Ylvemore.

“I will not say it again,” he says, his voice low and quiet. “You will never do magic. Not while I still live to have a say in the matter.”

.

When I leave the study I am shaking with disappointment and embarrassment. I wipe my eyes to hide tears from anyone who might be watching as I storm down the palace halls, not sure where to go, not really caring. I end up going to the east courtyard, which functions as a sparring ground for my father’s guards. Leon is there, a boy my age who sometimes shares various lessons with me in the palace. He is wielding a wooden training sword, his straw-gold hair falling into his eyes and his forehead damp with sweat. Watching him do his stances from a careful distance away is Gerald, my father’s Captain of the Guard. Leon is his ward, orphaned son of the man's predecessor, who was famous for his fighting prowess.

Gerald is a stern man with an impressive mustache who I have never once seen out of full uniform. When I approach, he stands up a little straighter and says, “Your Highness.”

“Why don’t the Guard learn magic? Wouldn’t it be easier to protect the king?" I hadn't planned to say such a thing, but I am full of pent up frustration and the words slip out before I can stop them. I know this will get back to my father and I will end up getting another lecture later.

The man is clearly taken aback. "Magic is for wizards, Your Highness," he says, with a note of hesitation.

"But why?" I snap.

Leon has stopped his routine and is listening to our conversation while he catches his breath. He seems puzzled.

"Because there must be those who protect from magic. Who aren't…" he doesn't seem to know what word to use. He gives an uncomfortable cough. "Who are not under its influence."

I stare at him.

"Your Highness," he adds.

I don't know what that means. I feel as though everything I have learned today contradicts itself. Nothing makes sense anymore. My anger begins to fizzle out, and I just feel tired.

"If you boys will excuse me," Gerald says. "I have...some things to attend to." He leaves quickly. Going to report to my father, I'm certain.

Leon raises an eyebrow at me. "You alright?"

I shake my head. "Let's go for a walk."

The boy puts his practice weapon back on its stand and shrugs. "Where?"

"The forest."

We aren't supposed to go past the gardens. Part of the forest is technically on palace territory, but it's hunting grounds and my parents don't think it's safe to play in. Leon knows he'll get in trouble if we're caught, and while I might get a talking to, he could get far worse. But after a moment of consideration, he nods.