Prodigy

you say that you’re friends with him?”
    A bit of an odd question. Maybe he wants to find Day? “Yes,” I reply, trying not to distract myself with memories of Day’s hands entwined in my hair. “He has his reasons for staying—I have mine for leaving. But yes, I think so.”
    Anden nods his thanks. “You said there are people in my inner circle that I need to know about. Who?”
    I put my fork down and lean forward across the table. “There are two soldiers in your personal guard who are going to make an attempt.”
    Anden blanches. “My guards are carefully chosen for me. Very carefully.”
    “And who chooses
them
?” I cross my arms. My hair falls over one shoulder, and I can see the pearls gleaming from the corner of my eye. “It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. Investigate. Either I’m right, and you won’t be dead, or I’m wrong, and then
I’ll
be dead.”
    To my surprise, Anden gets out of his chair, straightens, and walks over to my end of the table. He sits in the chair next to mine and scoots it closer to me. I blink as he studies my face.
    “June.” His voice is so soft, barely above a whisper. “I want to trust you . . . and I want you to trust me.”
    He knows I’m hiding something.
He can see through my deception, and he wants me to know it. Anden leans against the table and tucks his hands into his trouser pockets. “When my father died,” he begins, saying each word slowly and very quietly, as if he were treading dangerous waters, “I was completely alone. I sat at his bedside as he passed. Still, I’m grateful for it—I never had that chance with my mother. I know how it feels, June, being the only one left.”
    My throat tightens painfully.
Win his trust.
That’s my role, my sole reason for being here. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I whisper. “And about your mother.”
    Anden inclines his head, accepting my condolences. “My mother was the Senate’s Princeps. My father never once talked about her . . . but I’m glad they’re together now.”
    I’d heard rumors about the late Princeps. How she’d died of some autoimmune disease right after giving birth. Only the Elector can name a leader for the Senate—so there hasn’t been one in two decades, not since Anden’s mother died. I try to forget the comfort I’d felt while talking to him about Drake, but it’s harder to do than I thought.
Think of Day.
I remind myself how excited he’d been about the Patriots’ plan, and about a new Republic. “I’m glad your parents are at peace,” I say. “I
do
understand how it feels to lose loved ones.”
    Anden contemplates my words with two fingers pressed to his lips. His jaw looks tight and uncomfortable.
He may have taken ownership of his role, but he’s still a boy,
I realize. His father cut a fearsome figure, but Anden?
He’s not strong enough to hold this country together by himself.
Suddenly I’m reminded of the early nights after Metias’s murder, when I wept until the dark hours before dawn with my brother’s lifeless face burned into my thoughts. Does Anden have the same sleepless nights? What must it feel like to lose a father that you aren’t allowed to publicly mourn, however evil that father was?
Did
Anden love him?
    I wait as he watches me, my dinner long forgotten. After what feels like hours, Anden lowers his hands and sighs. “It’s no secret that he’d been ill for a long time. When you’ve been waiting for a loved one to die . . . for years . . .” He winces visibly here, allowing me to see very naked pain. “Well, I’m sure it is a different feeling from when that passing comes . . . unexpectedly.” He looks up at me right as he says the last word.
    I’m not sure whether he’s referring to my parents or to Metias—perhaps to both—but the way he says it leaves little doubt in my mind. He’s trying to say that he knows what happened to my family. And that he
disapproves.
    “I know what your experience with
assumptions
is. Some people think I poisoned my father, so I could take his place.”
    It’s almost like he’s trying to talk to me in code.
You’d once assumed that Day had killed your brother. That your parents’ deaths were accidents. But now you know the truth.
    “The people of the Republic
assume
that I’m their enemy. That I’m the same man my father was. That I don’t want this country to change. They think I’m an empty figurehead, a puppet who simply inherited a throne through my father’s