“Let’s talk about you now,” I say abruptly, longing to move his attention away from me. “What happened to you that night? After we left?”

He’s still staring at his hand, and when he looks up, his eyes gleam with building tears.

“You rode home with her body,” he murmurs. “My gods. It’s no wonder you hate us.”

“Please, Braizen. Anything else.” My mouth quivers, and I clamp my lips tight and frown so I don’t break into sobs. “Anything else,” I repeat, and my voice wavers.

He nods. “My father spent most of the night trying to convince King Lester that what happened was one of Verdana’s sick measures,” he says. “My mother…Well, your father wasn’t the only one who went mad that night. She completely lost her mind; perhaps seeing the gods in the flesh proved too much for her. Or maybe it was all the bodies,” he adds quietly.

“Horrick took her away,” His eyes snap up to meet mine, and for a heartbeat I wonder if he is going to continue or not. He seems unsure of what information he should divulge. He swallows hard and resumes, “He took her to a place called Pathstowe. He used to take me to visit her until I was old enough to go alone. I’ve only seen her a few times in all these years. She may not have been the kindest woman, but she’s my mother. I can’t bear to leave her alone for too long.” His long fingers flex and dig into the dirt.

“So, she didn’t tuck you in.”

“No. No, she did not tuck me in,” he laughs.

The frigid wind hits my cheeks, and I crinkle my nose in irritation. It’s likely turned deep red by now. This is why I hate the cold.

Braizen gazes at the trees. “I spent most of that night helping the servants drag the bodies from the Hall. My father was too busy with politics to notice what I was doing. We found even more dead outside. The Baellilean council was convinced your father had somehow killed them, too. There was so much death, so much pain. I could hardly stand being in the castle after that. There wasn’t time for tears, no time to grapple with what had happened. Just talk of war and strategists lined up at our gates to help guide us to victory.”

He absently pulled on some blades of grass. “My father told me that leaders don’t have the luxury of weeping. That we must press on and make sure our Kingdom stands tall when something wants to bend or break us. I hated it. I started to leave the castle and found myself in villages and towns far, far away from my home. I still don’t want to be there. I don’t want anything to do with it.”