I wait behind the restaurant with my brother, Titus. We both carry our Blades, but outside the Shrouded Kingdom we’re forced to conceal them. In the Shrouded Kingdom, Blades are both a status symbol and the weapon of choice for the nobility. The obsession my people place on them has always seemed ridiculous to me. At the end of the day, a Blade is just a custom-fitted pistol with a retractable metal knife hidden in the barrel. To outsiders, I imagine seeing a huge pistol at someone’s hip would cause alarm, so we wear them beneath our jackets here.

“She is something, isn’t she?” asks Titus, who leans against the wall beside me. My younger brother couldn’t be more different from me. We may share some of the same facial features, but my black hair and his blonde are just the start of our differences.

“She is,” I say, idly running my finger along the smooth, matte black barrel of my Blade, which is holstered just inside my jacket. I let my finger glide over the release switch, which releases a ten inch blade of razor sharp steel. As always, touching the weapon causes something inside me to stir, something that lies dormant at times for days, sometimes more, but never forever. The feelings of violence that swirl within me and grow until I feel like I can’t control them anymore are in a frenzy tonight. I call it the darkness. My long-time companion, who, at times, threatens to wrestle control from me once and for all.

“You had better figure out what’s going on with Tyrese,” says Titus. “It would be unseemly for your little brother to tie the knot before you.”

“My business isn’t your concern. I’ll marry when I marry.”

“Your business is the kingdom’s concern,” persists Titus. He’s using the voice he always seems to use when he pretends to care about anything but himself--it’s a frail impression of the commanding way our father used to speak. “Father is gone. The kingdom will only abide being ruled by a widowed queen for so long.”

I ignore him. Titus has painted a target on my back since father died, and the moment he thinks I’m weak enough to strike, I know he will. He’s masking a taunt with concern, and it’s about as subtle as a brute like my brother can manage.

“There he is,” I say, nodding toward a man who steps out of the restaurant’s back door. His hands are tucked in his pockets and he wears a simple jacket like one of the outsiders, but I notice his family insignia is stitched into the sleeve. Idiot.

His eyes widen as he takes in Titus and I. He takes a faltering step backwards, nearly falling on his ass before reaching for the door.

Titus rushes toward him, pinning the door shut. I grip him by his shirt and lift him so that I can slam him into the wall.

“You’ve been talking,” I say.

“Prince Roark? P-prince Titus? They sent you two?”

“No. We volunteered to educate you,” I say. “How many have you told?”

“I have no idea wh--”

Quick as thought, I snap my elbow out and across his face, gripping him again before he even has a chance to slide down the wall. He blinks through the pain, then groans and spits blood. The darkness is flowing through me freely now, lending me strength along with its red intent.

“Wait. Wait,” he says. “What did you hear?”

“Don’t try to fucking weasel out of this, Gerald,” says Titus, who still leans casually against the door, respecting my right to the confrontation.

“I just--I think you’ve been misinformed. I haven’t even--”

I use my fist this time. The ferocity of the punch ignites something in me, something hot and fiery that feeds the darkness, calming it only slightly. It’s as if I can feel it inching backwards, letting me take full control because I’m giving it what it wants. Just give me a fucking excuse to hurt you more, Gerald.

The brief satisfaction of violence also brings a familiar sense of corruption, but I ignore it, letting the fire of anger grow and focusing it all on the sniveling traitor in front of me.

“Enough games,” I snap. “Gerald Walters. You are formally accused of treason against Burkewood Kingdom. Will you face your accusation like a man, or will it be the dungeons?”

Something unexpected enters his eyes, and I realize he’s going to give me the violence I desire. Anticipation courses through me, so thick and sweet I could choke on it.

He reaches into his coat and pulls a shiny black pistol free. He locks wide, panicked eyes on me as he starts to slowly move to the side, circling me. “I just wanted out. I have family on the outside. I wanted a new life.”

“You swore an oath of service,” I say. I grip my Blade, feeling right in a way I only feel with my weapon in hand. I sling it free of the holster, holding it out, thumb ready to release the steel blade tucked into the barrel of the gun.

“Fuck you and fuck your kingdom,” shouts Gerald. “You’re all corrupt. It’s all shit! All of it!”

I don’t disagree, but I’m not here to argue politics. I’m not even here to exact justice. I’m just here to feed the darkness in me. “Enough,” I say, releasing the blade with a satisfying click. The weapon twitches in my hand as eight inches of cold steel slip out of the barrel.

Gerald does the same and makes a wild, predictable lunge toward me. I swipe his blade away with my own and bury the point in his chest. And faster than Gerald’s last heartbeat, it’s over.

He’s alive long enough to widen his eyes, look down, and then sigh with relief or disappointment--I’ll never know which.

My blade slides out as he slumps lifelessly to the ground. I feel a pang of remorse for the man, to know he gave his life so that I could temporarily appease the beast within me, but he doesn’t deserve my pity. He crossed the Kingdom when he broke his oath, and he knew justice would find him.

But justice is supposed to be cold. Indifferent.

I use his jacket to clean the blood from my weapon and holster it. My heart pounds and my breath comes quickly, not from exertion but from the rush, from the sudden sense of relief and freedom I have when the darkness recoils deeper inside me to wait until it becomes hungry for more.

Titus pushes off the wall, walking a slow circle around the dead man. He carefully avoids getting any of the growing pool of blood on his handcrafted boots, but his calm face contorts in temporary rage when he kicks Gerald’s motionless body. “Scum,” he barks down at the body. “You disgrace your name.” Titus spits, looking up to meet my eyes. He holds eye contact just long enough to challenge me.

Just long enough to give me a fucking excuse.

My arm pistons out and I grip the front of his shirt, dragging him toward me until we’re nose to nose. I’m about to remind him of his place, to tell him brother or not, I’ll put steel in his belly all the same, but instead I shove him back, shaking my head. I don’t know when I became this man--a man who kills out of hunger and a man who spurns his own family. I can feel myself grasping for the light, reaching for all I’m worth and still coming up short.

Titus straightens his shirt with a single, angry tug. He watches me step back into the restaurant with apparent calm, but I don’t fail to notice the way his hand twitches toward his Blade. Family or not, I know better than to let my guard down around Titus.

Maybe he’s right about one thing. A woman in my bed might help to fight back the darkness in me. Or maybe she would only awaken it.