Chapter 3: Making the Moves
Brothers, hear me…
His fingers stilled. His expression darkened. Sweet f**k, he hated the formality. Despised it, even. “Brothers.” As if. As if in a hundred thousand decades that would ever be the feeling he’d have for the rest of them. But the dark old princes insisted on it, and for now it was wise to keep the illusion of servitude. There would come a time when he would make the rules. After all, didn’t they already lean in to listen? Didn’t they already ask him the how and the when and the where? Did they not c**k their eyebrows and pretend to confer and consider while merely waiting for him to give them the answers? Was he not, in fact, already making the rules? Setting up the game pieces? Making the moves?
And was he not already making them very well?
