“Your mother is dead,” Lord Tyke said, and the force of his words made Ren take half a step back. When he turned back to look at Ren, his face was bright red. “After your mother died, King Callun stopped giving a shit about me. Left me to rot in this rat hole. Look at it,” he hissed, gesturing to the window. “Stag's Run is falling apart. This is the kind of place people go to retire, and that's exactly what I plan on doing.” Grabbing the bottle of wine, he inverted it and took several gulps before setting it down on the table, hard. “I want nothing to do with my sister's kingdom. I intend to stay here, be left alone, and eat myself fat on chicken and beef. And if you for one second think that a bastard boy like you can somehow save this nation, then you're as naïve and gullible as my sister was.”

Ren's entire body went tense, nails digging into his palms. No, he had not come all this way for… Failure was not an option. “I don't think you understand what this means. We-”

“Let it go!” Lord Tyke's voice boomed, too loud for the cluttered chamber, but when he spoke again, it was quietly. “Your mother fought for the wrong reasons, and now she's dead. If King Halvard sits on the Fraynean throne now, then that's how it is, and all the rest of us can do is hope he'll be a merciful king. If he's searching for you, then I suggest you take a horse and get as far away from Frayne as you can. That's what I would do.”

Ren narrowed his eyes, his jaw working. How could he say such a thing? How could he watch everything his family had fought so hard for shatter and do nothing to save it? The king was dead. The crown prince was dead. And all Lord Tyke cared about was wine and chicken. “I didn't know the queen's brother was such a heartless fucking coward,” he said, the words coming out hard and sharp.

The sound of the slap resounded in the room and Ren's head jerked to the side. For a moment, Ren stood, stunned. He tasted blood, metallic in his mouth where he had bitten his tongue. Slowly, he raised his hand to his face. Ignoring the frustrated tears welling up in his eyes, Ren opened his mouth to speak, to try again. He'd drag Lord Tyke back to Aleria if he had to.

He didn't get a chance to say anything before the door to his uncle's chambers opened. It was a man in his mid-twenties or so, dressed in the same soldier's uniform they all wore, but his right jacket sleeve had been severed and sewn together at the shoulder to better suit his missing arm. When Ren raised his gaze, he saw that the same side of his face was heavily scarred.