There was a full decade between him and his sister. When their father had died, Avarine had been little more than a baby in swaddling clothes, scarcely old enough to form mories of the man who should have guided them both. In the years that followed, Rylan had stepped into a role that was never formally given to him but had settled on his shoulders all the sa. He had watched over her safety, worried over her future, guarded her reputation as fiercely as if it were his own.
Yet how was he supposed to protect her now, when their own mother continued to indulge what he could only see as foolish, reckless fantasies?
Rylan saw Avarine’s smile falter, dimming just slightly at the edges, and guilt twisted painfully in his chest. The knowledge that he was the cause of that small hint of sadness hurt far more than he cared to admit. It made him feel wretched, cruel even. Still, he pressed on.
So things, no matter how harsh they sounded, needed to be said aloud.
He had spent years trying to make both his mother and sister see reason, only to be t with stubborn refusal at every turn. They listened only to what aligned with their ambitions, deaf to any warning that threatened the future they had already decided upon.
"Can’t you see how excited your sister was?" Lady Taryn scolded, her tone sharp with disapproval as she turned on him. "Why would you ruin that by saying such a thing?"
Rylan barely acknowledged her. His attention never shifted away from Avarine, as though his mother’s presence in the room had ceased to exist.
"What exactly do you intend to do when you get there?" he demanded. His voice was tight, and controlled, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable. "Flaunt yourself in front of him while his wife is present? Or is your plan to corner him the mont you find yourselves alone?" His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking visibly. "Do you have no self-respect at all?"
The words were sharper than he had intended. The instant they left his mouth, the room seed to freeze. Even the faint sounds drifting in from beyond the dining hall fell away under the oppressive weight of the silence that descended upon them.
"Rylan!" Lady Taryn snapped, rising partway from her chair, her face hardening into a mask of fury.
Regret struck him imdiately. It was heavy and suffocating. He hated that he had spoken to Avarine that way, hated the flash of hurt he saw cross her expression before she masked it behind stubborn pride. But he did not apologize. Nor did he take back his words.
He did not hate his sister. Never that. What he hated were the choices she was making and the path she seed determined to walk, blind to the consequences waiting at its end. The fact that their mother not only allowed it but actively encouraged her only fueled his anger further.
He felt like the odd one among them. His mother and sister were so firmly set in their ways that they made him feel unreasonable, petty even, for daring to disagree.
Still, he refused to sit idly by and watch Avarine destroy herself chasing a dream that would never truly be hers.
Ignoring his mother’s simring anger, he continued. His voice dropped lower now. It was calr but no less firm, as he once again tried to make his sister see reason, sothing he had failed to do ti and ti again.
"There are so many young, promising n out there," he said. "Lords and wealthy rchants throughout the kingdom who would gladly seek your hand. Yet you chose to set your sights on soone who is twice your age." Thinly veiled disdain crept into his tone. "His Highness was already fighting in the king’s army when you were still playing with dolls. The two of you are not the sa."
It was a gross exaggeration, and they both knew it. Rylan did not care. He intended every word to sting.
Prince Ragnar was still very much in his pri, and his strength undiminished, his reputation intact and formidable. But there was no denying the truth and it was that Ragnar was far too old for soone like Avarine, who had only just crossed the threshold into adulthood.
Avarine’s lips curled into a sneer. She despised it when Rylan dragged her age into the argunt, especially when it ca to her feelings for Prince Ragnar. His words always felt like an insult, one she refused to accept in silence.
"I heard his wife is young as well," she said, lifting her chin. Her tone was almost haughty, as though daring him to contradict her.
"She is also human," Rylan shot back without hesitation, "and that makes it completely different. You know they age faster."
A cruel smile slowly curved his lips then, transforming his expression into sothing sharp and unkind. "Perhaps if you wait long enough, she will die, and you can beco wife number three, since you don’t seem bothered by the fact that he has already been married twice and is still very much married now."
"Enough of that!" Lady Taryn’s sharp voice sliced through the tension. She rose fully from her seat this ti, her gaze fixed on her son, her tone brooking no further argunt.
The room stilled at once.
Avarine, however, did not look away. She held Rylan’s gaze, her eyes bright and blazing with unwavering conviction, her chest rising as emotion surged through her.
"You don’t know anything," she said, her voice low but steady, resolute in its certainty. "His Highness and I were ant for each other. In the future, he will be king and I will rule by his side." She pushed back from her chair, the legs scraping sharply against the floor, and the sound echoed through the hall. Without another word, she turned and strode out of the dining room, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating silence that lingered long after she was gone.
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