"Where is Cyrdel?" the King asked with a tone so cold it could have frozen the room despite the heat outside.

Nyxis stepped back. "Uh..."

"Father!" Cyrdel burst from a corridor to Xanthy's left. Wasn't he out doing who knows what? "What are you doing here?"

The King stepped inside, regarding Reeca's sleeping form. Xanthy moved forward and spread her arms as if guarding the varichria. What's he going to do?

Cyrdel stepped into the King's way, blocking him from walking farther into the room. "Father?"

June and Ravalee popped by the doorway, about to go in. Xanthy shook her head at them. Ravalee's arm shot out to block June from entering. Xanthy glanced at the source of tension to find the King's eyes burning through Cyrdel's. The prince held it even if he stood a head shorter than his father.

"You're out inventing again," the King's nostrils flared.

Cyrdel scowled. It was an expression that didn't suit him. "So you found out about that too?"

The King whipped a pile of parchment from behind him. He swept it past Cyrdel's face, slapping him. Cyrdel recoiled with a deep growl at his throat. "The guards completed their search. Review the list."

Cyrdel glared at his father as he yanked the papers from the King's hand. Silence and the sound of parchment crinkling filled the room as Cyrdel skimmed the pile, his eyes moving rapidly through each one. He froze when he came across something.

"Holy Nira," Cyrdel murmured. A look of defeat flashed across his face. His shoulders slumped. "Anything but that."

The King's eyes narrowed. "Do you know of it?"

Xanthy could see Cyrdel's knees shaking from her vantage while crouching by Reeca who still managed to stay sleeping. Cyrdel met his father's eyes. "They took the maximizer."

Xanthy felt like she was punched in the chest. Her conversation with Cyrdel went back to her.

In the wrong hands, it can destroy cities.

The prince had shrugged back then. It's just a test run to see if my theory works.

Xanthy's stomach soured. If that's only a prototype, who knows what's going to happen if someone uses it?

The King seemed to grow larger as Cyrdel shrank from his father's shadow. "I'm guessing it wasn't good news?" the King growled.

"No," Cyrdel squeaked.

The King pinched the bridge of his nose. "I keep telling you, Cyrdel," he hissed. "Keep your hands off your crazy ideas and care about your people for once. You're the Crown Prince, for Nira's sake! Act like one!"

"I tried, Father!" Cyrdel's voice rang back. Xanthy winced. It felt bad just being here, witnessing a private moment. Cyrdel clawed at his hair in frustration. "It didn't work! I'll go insane if I don't invent! Everything I did was to be the perfect son for you. This is the best leniency you can ever give me."

"Then, I'll have to take it away," the King nodded with finality. A dozen other expressions flashed across Cyrdel's face as he stepped back like he couldn't believe this was happening. "I gave you too much freedom and look what happens! You will go back to your training first thing tomorrow."

The King turned and began walking away.

Cyrdel stomped his foot, the rug muffling the impact. "It's not my fault things happened today!"

The King whirled back and stalked towards Cyrdel before jabbing a finger at the boy's chest. "Isn't it?" the King's voice dropped into a hard whisper. "Who invented that cursed thing in the first place? Where were you when the thief got into your workshop and stole it? Gone!"

The King drew back and waved his arms wildly. "You're out there, cavorting with friends you shouldn't even have, leaving your duties like a nimba leaving her eggs because you know you still have us to take the burden of maintaining a dynasty and a territory!"

The King took a deep breath, passing a hand over his face , seemingly tired. "We will not be here forever, Cyrdel," his voice had softened but still carried enough anger and authority. "When we're gone, you will have no choice but to take the throne and rule your people. If you're not ready? What will the Court say of our family name? The Sonasson family is the mightiest Brownie clan. We have stood for centuries. We have our legacy to uphold! I can't have you ruining it."

"Yeah," Cyrdel's voice shook, his fists clenched at his sides. "All you care about is that sacred legacy of yours. You don't care about me. You don't care about Mother. You only care about yourself and your perfect image."

The King's face darkened. "Say that again."

Xanthy started shooting up.

Stay back, Ravalee's urgent voice tore through her mind. She whirled to the door to find her half violently shaking her head. Don't get involved.

Xanthy pursed her lips and crouched back down. Despite the edge in the King's voice, Cyrdel plowed on.

"I said, you only care about yourself!" Cyrdel yelled, his voice echoing across the room. "You care about your image so much you stopped caring for your family! What are we to you, just a prop? A passive, lifeless doll for you to gloat about in your parties?"

"Enough."

Cyrdel scoffed. "Why? Finally sinking into you? You're just a pathetic, old hag that thinks the island revolves around him. You—"

"ENOUGH!"

Cyrdel flew across the room. He slammed into a pile of instruments. Xanthy winced when she heard distinct snapping. Gods, she hoped it was just from an instrument.

The sound jolted Reeca awake. Xanthy moved and she and Nyxis dragged the blubbering varichria out of the room. Nyxis propped Reeca against the wall and made a show of checking her wings for anything that might distract them from witnessing the events unfolding inside the room. Xanthy joined June and Ravalee by the doorway.

The King's hand glowed red with smoke curling from his fingers.

Cyrdel stumbled out of the wreckage, staggering. A thin line of blood dripped from his hair to his chin. Xanthy noticed Ravalee's hand clench.

It's always like this, Ravalee's voice shook in Xanthy's head. Whether from anger or helplessness, Xanthy didn't know. The King resorts to violence whenever Cyrdel talks too much.

Xanthy's stomach curled with hate. He's hardly a brownie at all too. She thought back to her half.

Ravalee glanced at Cyrdel's stooped form with inscrutable sadness. There's really no perfect fairy. We claim we have no tolerance towards violence and war, but the truth is we're scared. We're just scared, Xanthy.

Xanthy raised her eyes to meet Ravalee's gaze. Brownies are so afraid of dying that we leech through every way we could invent, Ravalee continued. Not tolerating war, conflict, and violence seem to be the only one working, so we stood by it.

Ravalee blew a silent breath through her lips. It's not always because one brownie is nice, all the others are the same. We're people too. You'll be surprised how the Court of Varis themselves hate each other and barely agree with anything.

Xanthy nodded. Her attention was drawn back to the room when Cyrdel laughed. It wasn't a happy laugh, not when it carried more semblance to a madman's.

"You just have to do that, right?" Cyrdel wiped at the blood at the side of his face with the back of his hand. He stared at it before meeting the King's eyes once more. "Father, I'm not five."

"Then you know that what you're doing is direct negligence of your duty," the King rasped, his jaw visibly clenched. "Your workshop will be closed and you will have no access to it. Be ready to sit on my throne for the whole day. Contemplate what you did at this moment," the King narrowed his eyes. "You will be the heir and should you forfeit the throne in your ignorance, I will personally hunt you down and skewer you alive. Remember that."

With that, the King turned and trudged out of the room. Xanthy and her friends scooted out of his way as he disappeared into the corner. Then, almost like a whirlwind, Cyrdel whizzed past them and stalked off the opposite direction.

No one spoke for a long time.