Too Many Princes Read Online Free Page B

he looked good. He went out of his way to be noticed, too, whether that meant showing off in the practice arena or pulling some juvenile prank on their sisters. It was a kind of revenge, Lottres guessed. Brastigan had to be better than everyone else, because it was so painful to be different.
    Truthfully, it wasn't all bad for Lottres. Brastigan had always been quick to jump in when one of the bigger brothers, like Albrett or Rickard, sat on Lottres and wouldn't get off. Sometimes, when you were the smallest, it was good to have a shadow to hide in. Lottres knew Brastigan didn't mean to overshadow him so completely.
         Still they weren't boys any more. No one sat on Lottres, not literally, and Rickard wouldn't be bothering anyone, ever again. Lottres was fully grown. He didn't need a champion to defend him, and he couldn't help resenting that it was all so easy for Brastigan. So easy, he never considered it might be hard for others.
    “ Well, how do I look? ” Brastigan asked. He straightened the hem of his tunic and struck a pose.
    Lottres stood, eyeing his brother critically. “ They'll never know it's you, ” he joked.
    * * *
    If the jest was a peace offering, Brastigan was willing to accept it. He grinned and punched Lottres's shoulder lightly, extending a hand to take back the mysterious dagger. He tucked it into his belt again.
    “ Come on. Let's get this over with. ”
    “ It doesn't have to be something bad, you know, ” Lottres remarked, following Brastigan out of the bath. Just beyond the arched portal was a broad stairway, curving upward. They began to ascend.
    Brastigan snorted. “ When has our father ever called us to court for something good? ” he shot back.
    “ We've grown up, ” Lottres argued. “ We aren't a couple of trouble making brats any more. ”
    “ Yes, and have you noticed how boring it is around here? ” Brastigan retorted. He had always hated court, and he made no secret of it. It didn't help that court was the only time he ever saw the king. Bad enough to be a bastard, ignored by his father. The pompous formality of such occasions only grated on his nerves.
    They emerged at the top of the stairs. The great hall, where the king and queen held court, was directly ahead. The crowd made it impossible to see into the chamber.
    “ I hope there's someplace to sit down, ” Brastigan grumbled. Lottres merely sighed in response.
    After much nagging on the part of Queen Alustra, the great hall had recently been enlarged and rebuilt. The rest of the keep was constructed in true Cruthan style: simple, massive and defensible. This hall, by contrast, looked as though it had been built for pixies. Its ceiling arched high, with long, thin, elegant pillars and fancy windows. The stonework was elaborately dressed in the style of Tanix, Alustra's homeland. Even the entrance was carved to look like a bower. There was a gallery from which the court could be viewed, too. Brilliantly colored banners hung along the length of the great central chamber. It was ridiculous, if you asked Brastigan. Totally indefensible.
    From the angle of the sunlight pouring in those egotistical windows, it was late afternoon. Even so, the hall was crowded. Brastigan used his height shamelessly to seek a path. Most of the people, he noted, were dressed like himself, in sober and practical colors. Only a minority had given in to pressure, adopting the bright hues and elaborate costumes Queen Alustra encouraged. Brastigan tried not to sneer as he shouldered a way through for Lottres and himself. Such fancies might be bearable in Tanix and Forix, rival kingdoms in the warmer lands across the sea. Crutham was cold a good part of the year, and her people ought to dress for the climate.
    King Unferth and Queen Alustra sat on a dais, raised several steps and canopied in the Tanixan style. The canopy was of pale gold satin, brocaded with a pattern of black towers. Beneath it were the thrones , of dark wood carved and inlaid