Finally, a new chapter has arrived! I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 5: No Son of Mine

When the two brothers were brought before their father in the palace library, Gascon felt as if they were the criminals and not the men they had so recently been rescued from, though he couldn't say how much of this guilt was simply due to being in the man's presence and how much of it had already been there to begin with.

While relief should have been the overwhelming factor at play right now after having so narrowly avoided calamity, all he felt was a gnawing sickness deep in the pit of his stomach. To be honest, he felt this way every time he was made to see his father anymore, and the urge to run was even stronger today than it usually was. Lately, and with a growing frequency, he wished to run from the palace and never look back. If it hadn't been for Marcassin…

The emperor had not once looked their way since their arrival, had not once acknowledged their existence even when the captain of the Royal Guard had divulged the news of the princes' discovery. That man had since left them. Gascon found himself rubbing his thumb along the fingers of his right hand, a hardly worthy distraction as their father's attention remained steadfast upon the crackling fireplace that was the room's centerpiece, as if that was a far more engaging use of his time than what he would find once he turned around. In fact, their view consisted of no more than his back and the arms he had tucked behind himself, a closed invitation to speak without express permission. If only it didn't have to end, the elder prince could possibly learn to live with this new arrangement.

"This morning, I was informed that both of you had been discovered missing from the palace."

The two brothers straightened to attention. Their father's voice was low, his words calm, but a dangerous edge was there that Gascon knew all too well. The man's gaze remained on the dancing flames upon the hearth as he continued, volume growing, "And when I hear word that you've been found at last, it is four hours later and due only to the commotion you had both been caught in the midst of."

Gascon thought he caught his brother flinch out of the corner of his eye as their father's voice boomed, and as soon as the man turned around, the elder prince felt his very being wither beneath the hardness of the man's eyes, as unyielding as diamonds and as sharp as the most finely honed blade. Sharper. Never before had anyone stood before that gaze and won.

"Whose fool idea was it to go wandering outside the palace without permission?"

Neither said a word, but the way Marcassin hung his head and Gascon's eyes had turned to studying every line and curve of the ornately detailed fireplace was enough to give away any guilt as if they had announced it to the fanfare of drums and trumpets.

The emperor's gaze swept across them, lingering on Gascon longest of all. He swallowed at the attention and resisted the urge to meet his gaze. Even if their father's focus had only considered him for a moment, Marcassin began to squirm under the weight of the room's very silence, and Gascon just caught the whisper of words, but not their meanings.

"Speak up!"

The child's head jerked up at the command. "It-it was my idea. I just…I just wanted to see the city. It wasn't Gascon's fault, Father. I asked him, and-and they were bad people, and—"

"Enough."

Marcassin's jaw clamped shut, his mouth only opening once more to take his first breath since those words had burst forth from his lips.

"And by what authority," their father went on, "does Gascon have to give you a tour of our fine city, hmm? And I'm sure the outfits were just something you had lying around?"

The child stammered over a response he had yet to create, but he was rescued from having to form any actual words when Gascon spoke up over him. "It was…it was my idea actually. Marcassin did ask…to…to look around, but we were already out to begin with. The clothes were only to avoid," he faltered, and his gaze fell, "to avoid being noticed."

"And yet, that didn't seem to keep you out of trouble, now did it?" The emperor paused to fix them in a gaze that could freeze fire, if only he gave the command. "And, thus far, I have yet to hear any good reason as to why you felt the need to wander off and risk your own safety."

The elder prince glanced over at his brother. Their eyes met, an unspoken question traveling between them. There was no other way around it. Gascon frowned a silent apology and turned back to their father.

"You see, the thing is," he began, doing his best to ignore the wide-eyed stare Marcassin was directing his way, "Marcassin…he-he can use magic, and I was just helping him practice."

Their father didn't respond right away, but merely turned to study his youngest son as if he could confirm this statement by mere looks alone. "Is this true?" the emperor asked.

Marcassin sent a plaintive glance at his brother before bobbing his head in a meek nod.

"Then show me."

The child's eyes grew wider still, and his gaze jumped between the two in such a way that he bore an odd resemblance to a rabbit caught between two predators.

"It's all right, Marcassin," Gascon said. "Just show him what I taught you."

Marcassin attempted to stand as tall as his small frame would allow and closed his eyes, the picture of concentration. They turned to watch the fireplace as the flames within began to shrink with almost tangible protest, withdrawing into itself as if some unfelt wind was competing for control of the hearth. The fire shuddered against the spell working to push it down, and it only receded the smallest fraction more before it burst from its invisible constraints, just as strong as it had been before the child had first attempted to influence it. Marcassin opened his eyes to witness the results of his efforts and, upon confirming them, turned away to chew on his lower lip.

"I see," was their father's only response.

Gascon sighed. "I swear he can do better than that. But, that's why we've been practicing, so—"

"Why is it that you did not come to me first?"

"B-because we…uh…" the elder prince began, but trailed off when he could find no reason that would ease their father's judgement.

"Had you been a suitable choice for teaching anyone magic, Gascon, that is still no excuse for disobeying me. Both of you should know by now that you are not allowed to leave the palace alone. I just hope your ordeal today will be more effective motivation to obey my commands. Marcassin, you are dismissed."

Gascon tensed, and the two brothers exchanged frantic stares. For once, that was an order he would have been more than happy to be included in.

Marcassin opened and closed his mouth several times before he settled for clamping it shut and leaving it that way. He met his elder brother's eyes in a look of utter horror, an apology for whatever he was leaving him to, but the flicker of a glance in their father's direction was enough to send him for the door in a stiff march. He jerked to a halt when the emperor spoke up once more.

"And go change into something less befitting a beggar. You will have those clothes burned. Do you understand me?"

The child remained rooted to the spot at the harshness in which these words were spoken, the rigidity of his stance no doubt responsible for his lack of an answer. And then, as if from some unseen push, he lurched forward again, his pace increasing in speed as he went. His footfalls echoed on the hard floor, the only sound as they awaited his exit, until the door closed behind him with frightening finality. If his younger brother had provided even just an ounce of comfort, it was an empty feeling indeed to stand here without it. Just like that, his father's height had doubled, his eyes gleaming like roaring flames without any of the warmth.

"I…I don't understand," the elder prince turned back to his father, "why can't I—"

"Do you really not get it? You're not stupid, but you ask as if you don't understand the gravity of what you nearly allowed to happen. This is far more grave than neglecting your studies or—"

Gascon's eyes narrowed. "Me? Why is this only my fault—"

"You will be silent when I am speaking!"

The strength of these words made Gascon freeze, anything else he had meant to say dying on his lips.

"You are the eldest, Gascon!" the emperor went on, "I expect more, but it is far too rare that I get it. You are not a child anymore. I have tried for years to make you understand this, that your actions have consequences, that a prince has more responsibility. I have obviously failed to make you see my side, but today I can't step aside and allow such foolishness to continue. Your brother was nearly kidnapped today thanks to your judgement, and—"

As much as a voice from within screamed at him to do otherwise and despite the earlier chill that had frozen the prince's words to ice before they had even had the chance to leave his throat, any restraint he had earlier possessed had begun to thaw. Until it melted entirely. Words he would never dare utter before reached a boil inside him, and he released them without any ability to hold them back any longer.

"You don't think I know that?" Gascon said, fists tightening. "I know what happened! I was there! And if you didn't realize, I was in danger, too!"

His father had displayed an unnerving amount of patience throughout his son's brief outburst, and only when even the echo itself had finished its repetition did he respond. "Whose point are you trying to prove?"

"Only that…you were only concerned about Marcassin, not me." Gascon's arms were shaking, his words leaving his mouth out of pure impulse rather than sense. "You never…you were never…"

"You put yourself in that situation. Marcassin only followed you into it."

The prince's voice shook as his resolve already began to weaken. "That's…that's not how it happened. You don't understand—"

He bit back anything else that threatened to spill forth when his father raised one hand. When he spoke no more, the man lowered it back down again with the composure of a statue, in stark contrast to his son's quaking limbs.

"Gascon, how long have you been visiting the city?"

Gascon's heart leapt in his chest. "I-I never said I—"

"I am curious to know how my son, whom I have provided for to a level far exceeding what he often deserves, managed to find those rags on such short notice."

The prince looked down at himself, and it was only now that he recalled with horror the attire he had been wearing this entire time. When he looked up again, he found he had no more to say than he had a moment ago.

"You will not dress that way ever again. And in case I am not making myself clear, as much as you'd like to be a commoner or have tricked yourself into believing that their lifestyle is so much easier than your own, we are royalty, and you shame not only yourself, but me, when you gallivant about the city dressed like a street urchin. No son of mine will be permitted to sink so low. I will not allow it!"

Gascon's face had grown hot and his cheeks burned. And deep inside, something snapped. "Maybe I'm not your son anymore." No, something had shattered. And he knew there was no turning back now.

The emperor's expression darkened. "Excuse me?"

Gascon sucked in a deep breath as if it was his last, and his fists tightened enough that his nails dug into his palms. "Maybe…I-I'm not your son anymore! Maybe…maybe someday, I won't be here anymore, and it'll just be you and Marcassin, just like you've always wanted it, and you'll never have to see me again!"

His voice echoed off the walls, the words themselves lost, but the meaning behind the repeating syllables far from forgotten. His chest heaved, scarce reflection of what seethed beneath the surface. If he had possessed better judgement once, it had fled as soon as he had uttered those fateful words.

Throwing away any instinct of self-preservation, he bowed. "Permission to leave, your Majesty?"

His father's face paled. It was, to Gascon's recollection, the first time he had ever lacked a response. He should savor it. He should enjoy this moment of power, but instead, he turned and left the room. The first place that came to mind was his own bedroom, and it was here his feet led him. His chest felt hollow, and in all honesty, that was how it had felt throughout his entire outburst, an icy numbness where there should have been fire. He thought back to what he had said, replayed it all word by word. His pace quickened, his speed growing with each repetition.

What had he just done? He had yelled at his father before and had always lived to regret the consequences. No, that was not even the same. He had screamed. He had said things whose meanings he had not been able to truly comprehend until now.

He'll kill me. He'll bloody kill me.

The prince began to run like one being pursued, a mad scramble that only ended when he ducked into the safety of his room and shut the door behind him. Without the strength to hold back any longer, Gascon threw himself down onto his bed and sobbed into his arms.

By the way, I am well aware of the fact that the emperor showed no concern when his sons were missing in the game, but I forgot that part when I originally wrote this. So there is a bit of a discrepancy… Either way, this particular situation is one I believe their father would be far more upset about, so his anger is still justified, no?

Please review and give me your thoughts, my dears!