Ilmur had forgotten the time while he was practicing. If he didn’t start getting ready soon, he would be late for the dinner, and that wouldn’t do at all. He made the sign that they should stop for today.

  “Same time tomorrow, my friends?”

  The men only grumbled as they walked away. They could show him a little more respect, but he decided to let it slide this time. Maybe calling them friends didn’t do much for morale. If he was going to be a commander someday, he needed men who trusted and respected him. Beating them day after day didn’t seem to be the right strategy. Ilmur liked wearing his white soldier uniform as much as possible, but today he needed something more extravagant. He didn’t even know what he had in his closet; servants took care of that.

  What Gandon had said about Alexandra worried him, even though he had thought about it himself. He wasn’t as confident as saying no to his father as he had exclaiming earlier. How long until they arrived? If they had started their journey over a week ago, they would be here maybe next week. He didn’t really want to think about this right now. He would deal with it later.

  When he arrived in his chamber, he decided to dress himself, not bothering to call his servants. Gandon would be able to tell immediately if he had dressed himself or not. This was an important day for Gandon, and Ilmur wanted to show that it meant a lot to him as well. He decided on a blue robe with a matching silver necklace and a brooch featuring the two towers—his house sigil. This looked much more festive than his worn white soldier uniform, but it wasn’t as comfortable. He was a soldier, true and through.

  He arrived at the dinner hall, and they hadn’t started eating yet, which was good. The soldiers had captured a boar earlier today, and the cook was famous for his fine culinary arts when it came to that animal. He knew nothing would be left if he arrived too late. To his surprise, he discovered that Gandon hadn’t arrived yet.

  He sat down and looked at his father. It was clear something was bothering him. Ilmur thought he could puzzle it out. He wasn’t good with books, but he understood people, and he knew his father and Gandon better than anyone. Father had probably wanted to have a private talk with Gandon since it was his day, and he always did that with his sons on every birthday. Gandon was intelligent, no question about that, but he wasn’t as good with people. Ilmur knew how to make people comfortable and appreciated, and best of all, he knew when to be silent. Gandon himself wasn’t always as subtle, and he had probably pushed father too hard this time. But what could they have been arguing about? He hoped Gandon would arrive soon; it wouldn’t do to have him miss the day he became a man.

  Mother was sitting next to father and seemed to be in a much better mood. She was clad in a red dress and wearing her silver crown, her black hair in a tight knot. He knew that his mother was seen as beautiful, and he didn’t like the look one of the bards gave her.

  Taln asked how the training had gone, but Ilmur didn’t have much to say about it. He liked to train and keep himself in shape, but talking about it felt so meaningless. Gandon never asked about Ilmur’s training and always challenged him intellectually instead. He needed Gandon in his life, for that reason and many others, and even though he had two biological brothers and Gandon had none, it had always been clear to Ilmur that he appreciated Gandon’s friendship more than Gandon did. It was a disturbing thought, and he tried not to think about it. It wasn’t a competition, and they saw each other as brothers—that was enough.

  Suddenly, Gandon arrived and took the empty seat on Ilmur’s left side. Mother beamed at Gandon. When Taln was born, father had told mother that there wouldn’t be any more children, but thanks to Gandon, she had gotten at least one more. Father had a cold stare when he looked at Gandon, but Gandon himself wasn’t looking at anyone in particular. It was deliberate—too deliberate. Father and Gandon had much in common, maybe too much. Ilmur should have been there when they talked with each other. He could have defused the situation.

  Mother clapped her hands, and in came minstrels and bards who started to play in Gandon’s honor. It was lovely, but Gandon himself didn’t seem to care. It was clear he was somewhere else.

  A beautiful maid came in and put several necklaces and rings on Gandon’s fingers. Ilmur was quite surprised by that. This showed that father and mother saw Gandon as a man with royal blood. Gandon nodded to father without smiling, and father nodded back and emptied his cup.

  Mother gestured to the servants to take the boar to Gandon so he could start carving.

  Saran started talking with Gandon as Ilmur cut his share, saying that his feast was much more beautiful than when he had turned eighteen. Ilmur didn’t really remember it like that, but decided not to comment. He noticed to his delight that Gandon was wearing the necklace he had gotten for him.

  “Perhaps we should go and see the master tomorrow. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him,” said Ilmur.

  “I don’t know what he’s been doing lately. He never seems to be in the tower when I come and visit,” answered Gandon.

  “That is strange. I hope he isn’t in trouble. He could always ask father for help if his life is in danger or if his funds are low.”

  “His Majesty cannot solve all the problems.”

  “What do you mean?” said Ilmur, surprised.

  “Nothing,” said Gandon, patting him on the back. “Let’s eat, and I want you to sing for me as well during the feast.”

  Ilmur scoffed. “I don’t know about that. But I could come to your room afterward, and we could play five towers like we used to when we were children.”

  Ilmur could see Gandon brighten up. “Really? But you never want to play with me!”

  “Perhaps that was a mistake. Anyway, I’ll bring some wine. It will be fun.”

  After dinner, the king clapped his hands, and servants came in with presents for Gandon—swords, shields, jewelry, gold, books, perfume, and more. Ilmur had briefly feared that father would give Gandon less, but it didn’t seem like father played favorites. Whether it was father or mother’s decision, he didn’t know.

  The last program was going to be a dance, and Gandon could ask any lady of the court to dance. No one could really say no; it would be highly frowned upon since it was his day, the day he came into manhood. To his surprise, Gandon extended his hand to mother. She looked surprised but also delighted to have someone to dance with.

  He could ask anyone, and he asked mother? What game is he playing? thought Ilmur.

  Ilmur started to look around the court. It wasn’t his day, but he wasn’t afraid of being rejected. He knew how some of the women were looking at him. Who should he ask first? The lovely Aviena with the pretty eyes? Or Dana, perhaps? She was known for being a good dancer and looked lovely in her red dress. Besides, their last encounter had been fun; she didn’t take herself too seriously.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The bards started playing Two Roses when he walked up to her. She gave him a coy look, and he already knew that he didn’t need to say much.

  “Care for a dance, Dana?” said Ilmur, extending his hand.

  “Perhaps. Can you promise me you won’t stomp on my toes?”

  “Don’t you worry, I’ll only do it with the pretty ones.”

  She laughed and gave him her arm. This song was a little slow for his taste, but it was also good because he wasn’t the best dancer. Even though fighting itself was a form of dance, it was strange how they didn’t transition well with each other. The bard started to sing when he put his hand on Dana’s waist.

  Oh, a kiss as sweet as honey

  Who could ask for more?

  A kiss or a treasure trove, what fool would ponder on such thoughts

  A rose is growing in my heart, it has your name on it

  You’ll be my rose and I’ll be yours

  Oh, a kiss as sweet as honey...

  The dancing was going better than he could have hoped for. However, Gandon’s words were still troubling him. What if father forced him to marry soon? He liked spending time with Dana, and he wanted to give Aviena some time as well; they hadn’t had a chance to talk much yet. There were many other lovely ladies at court he wanted to know better. He knew many had mistresses—father was accused of that, even though he didn’t believe the rumors. The thought of having mistresses didn’t sit right with him. It was alright for him to fool around a little as long as he wasn’t promised to anyone.

  He gave Dana a kiss when the bard sang you have thorns but I don’t care, and she reciprocated it. It was a bit risky, but who would see? Everyone was busy doing their own thing. When the dance ended, he looked around and saw Gandon back at the table discussing things with Saran. He sighed—talking with women wasn’t as hard as some made it out to be, and Gandon could at least try a little.

  He danced with several girls, but after a while, you could feel the party losing its energy. He excused himself, grabbed a few bottles, and made his way to Gandon’s room. Gandon was already busy setting up the pieces.

  “I didn’t know how long I’d have to wait for you,” said Gandon.

  “Why are you like this?” said Ilmur.

  “Like what?”

  “Don’t feign ignorance with me, Gandon. You come to your own party, barely look at anyone, you and father are obviously angry with each other, and then you ask mother, the queen, to dance. On your day of manhood. You should have seen father’s face!”

  “Calm down. Why must everyone fight with me on my own day?” Gandon said, pouring another glass of wine.

  “Why must you be this way? Why do you think you’re better than everyone else? You saw the maid. Father and mother treat you like their own flesh and blood.”

  “Because I am better than anyone,” Gandon smirked, emptying his cup. “Besides, that doesn’t make me their flesh and blood. You know the court calls me a bastard behind my back.”

  “Father would never do that to mother.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Gandon.

  “What did you say?! How much have you been drinking? Have you been emptying your cup all night while I’ve been dancing?”

  “You sound like mother. I’ll spend my night however I like.”

  “Why didn’t you dance with anyone? The feast was to celebrate you.”

  “You know women don’t interest me.”

  “Or are you just saying that because you don’t know how to talk to them?”

  A vein nearly popped on Gandon’s forehead. The words had struck a nerve.

  Gandon pointed at the game board. “Sit down now! We’ll have our duel, but we’ll do it on my terms, on my day.”

  Ilmur sat down, probably shouldn’t drink more, but he opened the second bottle nonetheless.

  Ilmur moved one of his dragons to capture one of the five towers.

  “You always move in hard, but you can never back it up,” Gandon said, moving one of his knights.

  “The purpose of the game is to capture the most towers by the end, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, and by the end, that tower will be mine.”

  It was a long game of Five Towers. Gandon had been drinking much more than Ilmur, and the playing field seemed much more even now.

  “Have you been playing behind my back?” asked Gandon.

  “Some women actually like these kinds of games, you know. You’re just too stubborn to realize that.”

  Gandon ignored the comment. “I should have moved my king with the wizard, but I still have my emperor. Your dragon’s trapped. Yes, everything will be alright, eventually,” he said, reassuring himself.

  Gandon was right. The tower Ilmur had captured in the beginning was now being overtaken by Gandon’s forces. They played a while longer, but Gandon had three of the five towers, and they were well-guarded. Any troops Ilmur sent would only be slaughtered.

  “I surrender,” said Ilmur.

  “Naturally,” Gandon said with a smile.

  Ilmur put away the pieces. “I’ve humored you, and I did my best. Now I want some answers. What did you and father fight about?”

  “I asked about my father, but his royal highness was too much of a coward to tell me what had happened. I left even though he commanded me to stay.”

  Ilmur decided to ignore the insult to his father. Gandon wasn’t himself.

  Gandon drank some more. “Has the king ever told you how my father died, or who he was? You wouldn’t hide it from me, would you?”

  Ilmur shook his head. “Nothing. Whatever happened, he must be really embarrassed by the whole ordeal.” Ilmur needed courage and decided to refill his glass, against his better judgment. “I must confess, when we were little, I hoped you were a bastard, then at least we’d be half-brothers. But father would never do that to mother. He isn’t a bad man, but he is proud.”

  “We are brothers, Ilmur, but the king and queen aren’t my parents,” said Gandon.

  Ilmur nodded, holding his glass in both hands. “Yes, you speak the truth.”

  “Sorry about earlier.”

  “No, I’m the one who is sorry. I could have waited until the morning, when we both would be sober.”

  “Should we open the last bottle?”

  “Why not? We’re going to feel horrible tomorrow, either way.”

  “I don’t like that the king’s friend is arriving soon. Nothing good can come of it.”

  “Maybe not, but we can’t do anything about it for now.”

  A glowing sheen outside Gandon’s window caught Ilmur’s eye. He drew the drapes aside to see better. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was a full moon, but not its usual color—it was crimson red. He couldn’t help but think of blood.

  “Do you know what this means?” asked Ilmur.

  “No, but I’ve heard of it. It’s supposed to be very rare. How peculiar. I hope it’s not a bad omen, it is, after all, my day.”

  “That’s it. I’m going to see my master tomorrow. It’s been too long. If anyone knows anything about this, it’s him.”

  They talked late into the night, rattled, speculating what it all might mean, until Gandon fell asleep.

  Ilmur walked back to his own quarters, doing his best not to think about the blood moon. Oh, my head. I wish I could be someone else tomorrow.