The prince breathes a sigh of relief as that white light flutters around his shoulder from the hands of a healer. A different healer this time, a quiet woman without any need to kick Renit in the ribs. His head tucks into his shoulder as he waits, eyes rimmed with red exhaustion, for the young witch to finish her work.

Once she's done, she stands and against the interests of these rebels, bows her respect. Bren's brows furrow but before he can say anything to tell her the exact reason she's part of this is so she doesn't have to bow, the healer is gone and joining the group on the ground.

Renit examines his wound, still shirtless, and holds that look in his eye that says: this will have to do. Outside the bars, Bren monitors with stance wide and arms crossed over his chest. The empty tray dangles from his fingers at the end of our meal, mostly eaten by Renit since he felt the strength to do so.

I try to keep the rumbling of my stomach down so he doesn't feel guilty, even if I claimed to not be hungry in the first place. Anything to make him eat, to give him the strength to face these rebels and any more kicks in the ribs he may endure. I had asked the healer to check that area but with a soft voice, she told me nothing was broken, only a bruise in the shape of the other healer's boot covers his skin.

His fever has subdued but with infection still lingering, the healers haven't brought it down to a comfortable level. Renit sweats through the night, shifting uncomfortably in the urine-stained straw and hardly finds the time to sleep. He's too busy trying to hold down his vomit and tremors when his fever reaches a low and then spikes again. I can't stand the sight of him miserable.

Normally, his skin has color. With the fever, he's a sickly shade of pale and his lips are cracked, lighter in shade. Trying to force him to move other than to relieve himself is each day's battle, one that we both fight since he wants to stay alive as much as I want him to.

I hand him the flask of water and he takes it with a shaken hand. The swig he takes is not nearly enough, he needs much more than what he's been putting in his body. "Tell me, Bren, why do you hate me?" The prince croaks as he twists the cap back onto the flask. With legs stretched out before him, feet bare to allow the heat from his body to release, Renit rests his head back against the wall.

He's hardly moved from that spot.

Bren snarls before he's had the chance to say one word. "I hate you because of your bloodlines. You've done nothing but terrorize the witches below you, the normal citizens that support your father's rule. It's time for a change, one that will benefit all the witches and not just the lucky souls with sizable dowries," Bren explains harshly. I've seen him stare this way at witches that have flirted with me in Arego, each one I didn't want to converse with. Is that because of jealousy or because he wants to protect me?

For my sake, Renit takes another drink. I watch his throat bob with the swallow. "Roux tells me you have a plan to take my father off the throne and kill the prince, including me. For a witch so young, you're quite ambitious. Normally, your balls don't drop until the Age Lock." I slap his arm as soon as the words leave his throat and he barely registers my silent command to stop. The last thing he needs right now is a well-deserved pummeling.

Instead of losing his temper, Bren smiles down at the dirt covered ground. "We're very capable of taking you out, old bastard. Tesha is the best in the business, she's a sniper and escaped the war your father so desperately needs." He scratches at his ear, a nervous habit. Those dark eyebrows curve inward as Renit snorts his amusement.

"I don't care about your snipers. I'll kill you before you can blink." Now I don't care about him drinking all the water. I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to keep myself from screaming at them to cooperate.

Bren opens his mouth to retort, his hand dangerously close to the dagger at his belt, when I hold up a palm. He stops immediately. "Why don't you call in your witch of all-seeing and Renit can tell you a little about Silas?" I demand through question. Bren backs down, like a dog afraid of its master, and calls to someone from the bottom of the stairs. He won't give the prince a chance to catch a second of relief once he's feeling better.

A few insults and Renit is exhausted once more. That's why he sleeps so much, he's too busy trying to strike the rebels where it hurts. Yet they're the attackers kicking him when he's already down.

Heavy steps trudge down the stairs and metal armor clinks until a shorter witch, barely taller than myself, stands in front of the bars, studying the two of us trapped on the inside. He's shorter yet each part of him is rimmed with muscle—not bulk but with strength that deems him nimble.

"So these are our captives," he says, looking all too disappointed. Renit flashes him a toothy grin, one no doubt fake. I want to ask him where he's getting this behavior from, the stick up his ass is finally gone and I've come to realize he's annoying when his life is on the line. Renit isn't as different from Silas as I thought.

"This is Roux Aimrey, a witch of ground from Arego," Bren introduces. "A close friend of mine."

The witch with slick black hair all the way to his chest nods in my direction. A calm gesture from an equally calm man. He didn't storm in here like Tesha does every time when she's forced to deliver our meal. At least she doesn't stick around long to provide snarky comments. "Akeno Omori."

No further introduction. Yet, Renit cocks his head to the side. "I've heard that name before," he mumbles, eyes shifting to the floor for those answers he won't find in the dirt and rotting straw. Then, his eyes brighten. "You're from Flitsea and you...fled to Lona after my father..." Renit lets his voice trail off.

"What?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. I look between the two witches, even to Bren for answers.

Akeno swallows, dark, teardrop shaped eyes going to the ground as well. "My parents were victims in the king's game." He sucks on a tooth but that's the only amusement he'll show. No grand display of anger or hate for the prince.

I shake my head at Renit and he avoids my gaze. His father has not only created allies because of his strong reign but also enemies. Too many witches have died because of the life he lives, the game he plays, like these rebels describe it. That was the common phrase in Arego, many escaped the game. A cruel one at that, one of killing without reason.

From the map I've looked at of the kingdom, I recognize Flitsea to the south, near the coast. The town is a popular fishing port crowded with salted stone buildings and dark clouds looming overhead with hardly any rain provided. But Lona is a completely different spectrum. It's a mountain city, surrounded by white-capped tips known as Oxpea, and protected by jagged rocks to the east. A land of reject witches, those brave enough to face their frightful streets.

Akeno traveled a long way to escape the king's reign and went to the perfect place. The only witches the king can't stand against are the gathering forces in Lona, yet they play into his cruel game. If anything, their methods of attention are one in the same.

"Let me guess," Renit begins, crossing his arms over his chest. "Judging by the bow strapped across your back, the handmade knives, and the way you're built for swift fighting, you were trained by the assassins. Are you not?" The prince arches a brow and waits.

The side of Akeno's mouth turns up in a grin. "You're smart for someone with hardly any life left to live." His eyes empty of all emotion and Bren clears his throat to bring him back.

Akeno barely turns his head to stare at his leader, the sunlight reflecting off his sharp cheekbone of honey skin. "Renit, tell us about Silas. Is there any reason we should spare his life?" Bren asks. As coldly as his stare left, Akeno averts his eyes back to the injured prince and anticipates. His power, underneath his skin, is already working to determine the truth.

Choosing to cooperate after another swig from the flask, Renit smacks his lips together and shifts to lean against me for support. I keep myself from folding him into me, wanting to spend these moments close instead of fighting to keep ourselves apart. If he dies, I'll never forgive myself. "Silas is a kind prince, he's always helped the people where my father won't. He's donated businesses to the capital, parks to the children, and even slips extra gold coins in when purchasing anything. He's the perfect prince, flawless for your next leader." His eyes flash with boredom.

"He's telling the truth," Akeno confirms.

"But that doesn't mean my father shouldn't be on the throne."

I feel the need to defend these rebels rising up in me. Oh no. This isn't going to be good. I can't choose a side, I want the princes to live yet I don't want their father to rule for another second. Every day he spends ordering witches around is another lives are lost and hopes of ever living a pleasant life in Esaria are gone. Silas will lose his support system before even sitting on his father's throne. The throne his ancestors used to rule with a strong fist.

Silas will be different. He'll rule for the people.

"He needs to die," I say quietly. "Your father can't be on the throne any longer."

Renit doesn't hide the shock in his eyes, even after all his father has done to completely break my life in half. I'm only beginning to mend myself from watching my parents die. "Seriously?" He snaps. "You're siding with them?"

I shrug. "He's done terrible things! The only thing left for this kingdom is Silas."

Renit scoffs and shakes his head, turning back to the two rebels on the other side of the rusted bars. Now he looks even more sickly than he did before. "Join them then," he grumbles quietly, barely loud enough for me to hear.

"I'm not going to join them." I pick at my cracked nails. "Your father doesn't deserve that throne...he's ruined my life, same as theirs."

I hear him swallow down whatever he wants to say before Bren speaks again. "Why should we spare Renit's life then? If Silas is in the clear, what's saying we can't kill the king's weapon?" Bren asks.

The prince tenses at the name that was coined after he served in the war and proved to the citizens he wasn't scared to obey to his father's every wish. A loyal servant, one willing to do anything—even kill innocents. Every time he's called that, it's another slap against the cheek.

I take a deep breath, making my decision right then and there. "Renit's only chance at life was through doing the things his father forced him to do. He's not at fault for his cruelty, his past has made him this way." His fingers reach for my hand, barely scraping across his thigh before they stop, reconsidering. Even if I don't know the whole truth, it's up to me to ensure he has a fighting chance while he's down. I will not give in until he's allowed to go free and no further harm will come to him. Those silver eyes meet mine, a slight turn of his head, and appreciation shines in their wake. "Until the end of our existence," I whisper.

A smile tugs at the prince's lips and I realize that's one of the most precious sights I've seen in a long time. Bren doesn't miss the exchange but he doesn't comment on it, either.

"He's not like this by nature?" Bren questions with a mocking tone. I give him a flat glare yet that grin brightening his cheeks remains.

"No, like the pain his father has caused to you, Renit has been underneath his boot as well. He received two beatings to protect me." My eyes dart to Akeno and he nods, confirming the truth.

Bren sighs and tips his head back to look at the aged ceiling. Nothing in these dungeons will hold the answers everyone is looking for, whether in the floor, the ceiling, or in the decaying skeleton in one cell over. I've tried to avoid looking at the toppled head lying there in the straw, an identical pile to Renit's.

"I will discuss with the group and decide what the best plan of action is. Your life may be spared, prince," Bren concludes. As he steps away, Renit chuckles.

"What's to say I won't kill you when I'm out?" He grovels. My tongue ties itself into a knot but I remember this isn't my battle, as much as I might include myself in it.

To my demise, both the rebels smile. "Maybe I'll give Tesha that killing blow after all. You're worthy of one."

I've never heard such a threatening tone of voice from my friend. He jerks a chin towards Akeno and they leave together, only straying a candle on one of the stone boulders that had caved in long before we ever set foot in here. Bren's flame will keep that candle flickering to release bits of his power so the pressure doesn't build up inside. For a witch of flame, that is very important.

If their power swells beyond a certain point, it's easier for them to lose control. Outbursts, the downfall of each witch, are more common in a witch of flame than in many other powers. Their magic is a blessing and a curse, all wrapped into one fire-lanced bow.

When silence restores itself and only the two of us remain, I say, "You should listen to them. The kingdom will be better off without your father."

"He's still my father, I must remain loyal to him. That's part of the job of being a prince." With a grunt, Renit rolls over onto his good shoulder and tucks his arm into himself. "You wouldn't understand."

No, I wouldn't. I don't have the complex discipline to understand what it's like to remain loyal to someone who has beaten, killed, and taken from his subjects—just because of the seat he finds most comfortable.