Backtrack to Part 1
Selena was furious. The hound had very nearly ruined everything with how it had leapt onto the sad excuse for a dinner table and wolfed down everything in sight, including the plate of poisoned meats she had bribed to have placed in front of her brat of a cousin. She could only hope he had ingested enough of the meal for the poison to have its desired effect, and from the reports of his illness that were being carefully disclosed, choice detail by choice detail, she was cautiously optimistic.
Cautiously. She more than half expected the little brat to come out of the ordeal intact—he always did—and it was only now when she was trying to do away with him that his uncanny knack for survival irked and exasperated her. To think, in the past, she had often been grateful for his survival. But now…
Now he had to be done away with if her branch of the family were to have any chance of prospering. Now she had the chance to right the wrong committed unto her father by her uncle and his wife. Now she had the means to enact justice, long overdue, and ensure her brother would sit the throne, as should have been his birthright. But now all of that was in jeopardy, all because of a beastly hound and his untrained appetite.
Selena dropped onto her sad semblance of a bed, grabbed her lumpy pillow, and buried her face in it to suppress her scream of frustrated rage.
“…Lina?” Castor called through her door shortly after her scream died from lack of air. He sounded like he had been crying again.
Selena immediately sat up and tried—in vain; her hair was hopelessly encrusted with mud and tangled with twigs from earlier—to make herself presentable before she called, “Yes, Castor?”
“Lina, I—”
“Quit trying to talk through the door and open it,” Selena snapped, though she immediately regretted doing so. He was her precious little brother, and everything she was doing now was for him, after all.
After a pause, the handle slowly turned and Castor carefully poked his head in. Seeing the dour expression on his sister’s face, he drew partially back behind the door and asked, “Is now a bad time?”
Selena took a deep breath, held it a moment, and then released it along with all her frustration. She smiled at Castor then and told him, “There is never a bad time for you. Now come. Tell me what happened.”
Castor hesitated, but when Selena held her arms out for an embrace, he all but rushed into them and hugged his sister tightly, so tightly that it was difficult for her to breathe, but Selena would never tell him that. As she stroked his hair and murmured soothing nothings into his ear, she found it almost impossible to believe her brother was already fourteen, a boy no longer, and technically a young man. He certainly did not act the part, though Selena could not hold it against him; she never could hold anything against him, at least not for too long.
Once he had calmed a little and the deathgrip on her ribcage had loosened, Selena asked him, “What happened?”
Castor’s grip squeezed tight again before relaxing as he answered, “Ander threw his medicine at me.”
Selena sighed and mentally marked down yet another reason why their cousin had to die. Castor was far too attached to the brat, even as the spoiled prince bullied and abused him mercilessly. It was altogether unhealthy, and Selena could only pray to the gods that one day, soon, her little brother would realize himself just how unworthy Ander was of his devotion he; certainly would not listen to her upon the matter.
Until then, however, Selena would be there for him, to hold him and soothe him and watch over him the way their mother never had the chance to. With that thought in mind, Selena asked, “Did you tell Midas?”
Castor shook his head.
“Whyever not?”
“He was there, and he did nothing.” Castor looked up at his sister. “Are you really going to marry him?”
“Yes,” said Selena, her tone carefully neutral.
“But he doesn’t even like you,” Castor pointed out, as he always did.
“He does not need to like me.” Selena replied, matter-of-factly. “All he need do is marry me.”
Castor pulled away, crossed his arms, and stared into her eyes. Pointedly, he asked, “Has he asked you to marry him yet?”
Selena sighed and looked away, the left corner of her mouth turning down. “You know he has not, which is why I must work harder to draw his attention.”
“And even if you do draw his attention to you? And even if he does ask you to marry him? Then what? I still have to approve the marriage, and I have no intention of approving him.”
“You will approve it if you know what is best for you. For us,” she added a moment later in correction. “Midas may not be of the noblest of origins, nor may he be the most pleasant to share company with, but he is not cruel, nor is he ambitious, and most importantly of all, he has money and our uncle’s favor.”
“I don’t see why Uncle’s favor is so important,” her brother muttered, turning to glare at the wall.
“Castor! First of all, our uncle is the King. Secondly, were it not for our uncle’s mercy—” Born of guilt, no doubt, but Selena would not tell Castor that. “—we would never have been allowed the life of privilege we lead now.”
Castor stayed silent, for once, and so Selena continued.
“I know you miss Father—I do too—but you cannot let it sour your relationship with our uncle,” Selena reminded her brother, pulling him back to her even as he tried to sit stiff and immovable. She did not speak to Castor of hidden things, like her shared bitterness and her plans for vengeance. “He is Ander’s father, after all, and your bitterness towards his father cannot be making our cousin happy.”
“No,” Castor said, some of his stiffness melting away into melancholy, “I suppose not. Is that maybe why he sometimes hurts me?”
“Perhaps,” said Selena as she resumed stroking Castor’s hair, though she thought their cousin’s being a spoilt brat had more to do with his behavior. “I still intend to marry Midas,” she said after a while.
Castor made a face. “Can’t you marry someone else? I thought you liked Bert.”
“I am fond of him,” Selena admitted, “and I know he is fond of me, but he is but a country lord with a small holding. He has very little to offer us aside from kindness. Besides,” Selena said with a wicked grin, “it is not as if I am marrying Theodore.”
“If you were to marry him,” Castor replied, his tone flat and green eyes blazing, “I would lock you up in a tower somewhere with a whole flight of dragons to guard you, and then I’d go throw rocks through all his precious windows again.”
“I still have no inkling of how you managed that the first time.”
It was Castor’s turn to grin wickedly. “I had inklings of my own to help.”
Selena returned the grin with a mischievous smile, glad that her brother was feeling well enough now to banter. “Would you share those inklings with me?”
“I am afraid those inklings are quite flighty,” he said, his hands mimicking the flutter of wings as he spoke, “despite being of ink.”
“Do you at least know where I might find them, where they might be seen?”
“Sleeping in the cold remains of a fire, last I heard.”
“Never to be awakened?”
“Only if a certain door named Theo is reopened.”
Selena pretended to think for a while. “How tempting it is to reopen that door, if only to see the inklings.”
Castor simply looked at her. “I was not joking about the tower and the dragons.”
Selena laughed. “Well, I was about Theodore. Now, it is getting late, and I must sleep if I wish to look lovely tomorrow.”
Castor snorted, and Selena lightly cuffed him about the head. He looked at her balefully as he said, “You were beautiful today, and he didn’t notice. I doubt he’ll notice tomorrow.”
“He would have to be blind not to notice me tomorrow.”
“From what I hear, he is blind, at least with regards to women.”
“Castor!” Her brother nimbly dodged as she threw her lumpy pillow at him. “Good night!”
“Good night, Lina.” Castor opened the door and was half-way outside when he stopped. “Before I leave,” he began before bending down and throwing Selene’s pillow in her face with one, smooth motion, “here’s your pillow back.”
He shut the door with a laugh before Selena could retaliate, and she sat there fuming for a moment before she shook it off in favor of being glad that Castor was in high spirits. She spent a few more hours cleaning her hair, picking out tomorrow’s dress, and fretting about the brat surviving the night before she finally went to bed, too tired to really notice the lumps in the pillow and mattress or the coarseness of the sheets and blankets any longer.
Onwards to Part 3
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