Excerpt: The Winter Regent

The king was dead. His father was dead.

Unwillingly, his hands shook. Iton quickly folded them into his robes, those rich, scarlet ceremonial robes marking his high status in the nation. Now, more than ever, he could not allow his weaknesses to show.

At the sound of footsteps behind him, Iton whirled around, slapping on his trained courtier’s expression.

“Iton Ashrel,” his visitor said, every word somehow managing to sound laconic. There was a pause, just drawn out long enough such that it was painfully evident that the other man thought the title ludicrous: “Prince Regent.”

He swallowed back his own derision carefully. His years had taught him well that emotions were better left checked, especially when at court. “Prince Ithevor. Good morning.”

Something in the other man’s piercing grey eyes had always made him feel like a pretender, an unwelcome guest in the king’s halls – a bastard traipsing as a prince. Ithevor was four years his junior, but unlike Iton, had been honored from birth. He was the darkly handsome firstborn son of the High King’s younger sister, and in lieu of a legitimate son of King Isroth, the heir apparent. His status he had held for most of his life, up until two years ago, with the birth of Prince Issryn.

Yet Ithevor still wore his title and privileges – his confidence and certainty in his good looks and good fortune – like a second cloak.

The prince smiled at him, but it was only a flash of white teeth, nothing more.

“Indeed a good morning.” Another of those maddeningly insolent pauses. “You, amongst us all, must certainly be having the best morning.”

Hidden in his robes, Iton’s hands clenched. Outwardly, he kept that fixedly rigid smile on his face. To drop it now would be dangerous. “I resent your implication.”

And he did. It had been a mere six hours since Iton had received the news, the stunning news that the High King Isroth, the Cluster’s King for more than three decades, had had his vessel attacked by pirates en route to the Outer Five Systems. In that time, Iton had already heard from his trusted friends at court that there were rumors swirling, swirling that the attack had been ordered – by him.

“Resent it if you wish, Prince Regent,” Ithevor’s voice was smooth, perfect. “It was merely a greeting.”