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“No.”

The word was not harsh, nor was it meant to be crushing, but it mercilessly extinguished the hope that had, unbeknownst to him, been flaming in Rúan’s chest.

He nearly dropped Leaghadh.

Instead, he lowered his sword slowly, keeping his elbow locked at his hip. He tried to suck in deep breaths through his nose, but instead, whirled around and stormed away, angrily scrubbing away the tears that threatened to spill over.

I must find them, he thought. Rescue Yulenna and Mother … and put a spear through Osløn.

“Give in, brother,” he mocked under his breath. Who was Osløn to think that they had any relationship at all?

Sure, his mother had been quite flirtatious and bold in her young age, before she married the king, but she had enough common sense to refrain from truly immoral things.

… right?

Sheathing his sword, Rúan plunked himself on the ground and tried to sort all this out, only feeding the boiling frustration by running into dead ends in his reasoning.

(Now I’m doing it again … when I have no clue what to do with my characters, I guess I just slap on an existential crisis. Huh.)