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you for the lives you will lead.”
    Erland couldn’t help feeling embarrassed. They’d been scolded often enough over the years, but rarely punished and, before this morning, never physically.
    Arutha nodded. “You and I have little in common in the manner in which we were raised. Your uncle the King felt our father’s leather belt on more than one occasion when he was caught. I only took one beating as a boy. I quickly learned that when Father gave an order, he expected it to be obeyed without question.” Arutha sighed, and in that sound both boys heard uncertainty from their father for the first time in their lives. “We all assumed Prince Randolph would be King someday. When he drowned, we assumed Lyam would have another son. Even as daughters came and the prospects for a Royal Heir in Rillanon lessened with the years, we just never considered that someday you”—he put his finger on Borric’s chest—“would be ruler of the nation.”
    He looked over at his other son and in an uncharacteristic gesture, reached out and placed his hand over Erland’s. “I am not given to speaking of strong feelings, but you are my sons and I love you both, though you try my patience to distraction.”
    Both boys were suddenly uncomfortable with this revelation. They loved their father but, like him, were discomforted by any attempt to express such feelings openly. “We understand,” was all Borric could manage.
    Looking Borric directly in the eyes, Arutha said, “Do you? Do you really? Then understand that from this day forth you are no longer my sons alone, Borric. You are both now sons to the Kingdom. Each of you is a royal. You are to be King someday, Borric. Wrap your mind around that fact, for it is so, and nothing this side of death will change that. And from this day on a father’s love of his son will no longer shield you from life’s harshness. To be a king is to hold men’s lives by a thread. A thoughtless gesture will end those lives as certainly as if you had chosen to tear the threads.”
    To Erland, he said, “Twins pose a serious threat to peace in our Kingdom, for should old rivalries surface, you’ll find some claiming the birth order was reversed, some who will raise your cause without your consent, as an excuse to make war upon old foes.
    “You both have heard the story, of the First King Borric and how he was forced to slay his own brother, Jon the Pretender. And you have also heard, often enough, of how I stood with the King and our brother Martin in the hall of our ancestors, before the Congress of Lords, each of them with a just claim to the crown. By Martin’s signal act of nobility, Lyam wears his crown and no blood was shed.” He held his thumb and forefinger a scant fraction of an inch apart. “Yet we were but this far from civil war that day.”
    Borric said, “Father, why are you telling us this?”
    Arutha stood, sighed, and put his hand upon his eldest son’s shoulder. “Because your boyhood is at an end, Borric. You are no longer the son of the Prince of Krondor. For I have decided that should I survive my brother, I will renounce my own claim upon the crown in favor of yours.” Borric began to protest, but Arutha cut him off. “Lyam is a vigorous man. I may be an old one when he dies, if I don’t precede him. It is best if there is not a short rule between Lyam’s and your own. You will be the next King of Isles.”
    Glancing at Erland, he said, “And you will always stand in your brother’s shadow. You will forever be one step from the throne, yet never permitted to sit upon it. You will always be sought out for favor and position, but never your own; you will be seen as a stepping-stone to your brother. Can you accept such a fate?”
    Erland shrugged. “It doesn’t seem too grave a fate, Father. I shall have estates and title, and responsibilities enough, I am certain.”
    “More, for you need stand with Borric in all things, even when you disagree with him in private.