Atlas kneels in the center of the courtyard with his head down and his hands cuffed behind his back. The sight chills my blood, making my stomach clench. My emotions straddle the line between wanting to tear him apart with my bare hands and vomiting in a corner until I have nothing left.

The eerie blue glow of arcturite highlights his shoulders and jaw and the ragged strands of coppery brown hair that fall in his face. I hate the sight of those cuffs. My tongue catches in my throat as I force one foot in front of the other, approaching slowly.

I nod to my brothers where they surround him, their wings spread and their hands hanging loosely at their sides, on the alert for sudden movements.

“Atlas,” I say, and he slowly looks up with cold and tired, bloodshot eyes. The spidering veins tell a story where I read so many things. The years we’ve shared. The childhood we spent together. Everything we’ve been through. The pain he caused. And the laughter, too. Perhaps he was my friend once.

“Gabe,” he says as I come to a stop before him. He doesn’t attempt to rise. He just looks up at me as though he still wears that stolen crown on his head.

He blinks at me, saying nothing with his chin lifted at an arrogant angle. I see no contrition in his eyes. Only the certainty that he had every right to do this.

Is he truly such a lost cause?

“You stole the throne, Atlas. You locked your brother away for decades. You nearly killed him. And then you murdered two of your warders. The greatest crime of all for a king of Aphelion,” I say as if he needs a reminder.

I hope I don’t imagine the flicker of uncertainty that crosses his expression then. Atlas might be many things, but even he’s not this big a fool.

The crowd outside the gate grows increasingly agitated, the noise swelling to a pulsing crescendo on the verge of bursting.

“Secure the wall,” I say. “If this mob enters the palace, I can’t protect the . . . Sun Prince.”

Atlas’s eyes flash at those words. I will never refer to him as my king again.

A moment later, Erevan appears at my side, his gaze on the crowd.

“They want him,” he says, gesturing to the wall. “They want justice.”

I blink, knowing this was inevitable.

“What would you have me do?” I ask. Please. Someone tell me what to do.

“I would have you release him to me. Let those who suffered the greatest under his rule have him.”