“Your highness, the King would like to see you,” said the servant, bowing so low his hat nearly rolled from his head. He caught it, cheeks flushing, and stood to his full height to stare at the Prince expectantly. Atreus looked around for his bookmark, and found it at his feet. He picked it up, notched it to mark his page, and closed the book.

“You wouldn’t happen to know what this is about, Mr. Gilmore? Gods know how I hate visiting him.”

“I haven’t a clue, your highness,” he mumbled stiffly. Tre sighed before getting to his feet and putting his book back in its spot in his bookshelf. His fingers lingered on the leather binding its spine as he noticed just how worn out it was. Has it really been opened that often? It must have been a favorite of Iliana’s. His little sister loved to read, it was her favorite pastime. He would go to see her after he went in to their father, and he prayed that it would not take long, prayed that he was not in trouble.

It was as he left his room that he contemplated what he might have done wrong. As of recently, there were really only small things like sneaking food up to his room or tying Gilmore’s shoelaces together. But those were matters his mother would deal with, not the King. He had just finished searching his memories when he arrived at the doors before the throne room, but he came up with nothing.

The guards just looked at him, their faces plain and gruff and unreadable. He cleared his throat in an attempt to dislodge the nervous lump growing there, and nodded to the first of the soldiers who pushed the door open. Tre moved in, stopping in the center as he usually did, and bowed his head. When he lifted it again, his gaze found the King’s, and he held it there.

His father was fat and miserable looking in that throne of his. It was never made for someone of his size, and Tre liked to think that the kings of old would be ashamed if they saw it. The throne itself was beautiful; made of marble with finely carved designs meant to represent the history of Alynthi. The head of it was adorned with painted flowers that spilled over the sides, some of which weren’t painted at all but were made from gold. Unfortunately, the miserable sight beneath them greatly dulled the look of it. The king’s body was properly wedged between each armrest, his big face scrunched up and his arms reached across his chest in an attempt to cross his arms. They didn’t quite make it.

“Atreus,” he said. Something in his eyes shifted, and they seemed to burn hard into his soul. Tre didn’t look away, but he took a deep breath.

“Yes, your majesty?”

“You will be leaving the castle in the early hours of tomorrow morning. I expect no arguments.”

Tre stiffened, but he managed to lock the rest of his features so that he didn’t move. If he moved, if he showed anything besides nothing, he wasn’t all that sure he wouldn’t be hanged. Still, his heart flared up in his rib cage, pounding mercilessly as if it wanted to escape.

“Can I ask why?” The king shifted in his seat as if to lean back, but he couldn’t quite move.

“I’ve grown tired of watching you play about my castle like a peasant boy. You need proper schooling, Atreus, so I’ve enrolled you at the Avalon Academy, maybe you’ll actually be useful there.”

The Academy? Fucking great. He tried not to think about it, but he knew that place. He knew what its purpose really was. Something in his stomach lurched suddenly upwards, but he caught it before it could release from him. His fingers tingled, but he didn’t move.

“Does my mother know?” he asked, voice as monotone as he could get it. “She will hate to see me leave.”

“The Queen’s opinion is impertinent in this matter,” said the king, before waving his hand. “You may leave now, and I will have a servant send you a list of things to bring.”

That was it.

Atreus closed his eyes as he turned, and walked quickly from the throne room. The rage that broiled within him seemed to singe his skin with heat, and he shook his hands as he held his tongue. He wouldn’t lose it in front of the guards, or Gilmore who now stood at the end of the hall. He waited until he got to his chambers, where his power ripped through him with a snap and destroyed a vase of flowers. He cleaned the shards up himself, cutting his hand on purpose so that the pain would disgruntle the furious energy. He sunk claws into it and shoved it back into place in his gut.

He kept cleaning when he was sure he had a hold on it, letting his blood leak onto the glass and flowers, which he threw into the trash. But soon he became annoyed by the blood, and went into his bathroom to wrap his palm up tight. Then he returned to his book, careful not to stain the pages, careful not to think.

Gilmore came back into his room a couple hours later to alert him that it was nearly time for dinner. Tre thought about not going for all of two seconds. Ultimately, he wasn’t brave enough to stay within the safety of those four walls, so he refreshed himself and left with the servant.