"But our people—" Vaskar's throat caught. "They will believe us dead."
"That is our strength," Aragon said, finally raising his eyes. The firelight caught in them, fierce, unyielding. "He thinks the bloodline ended last night. He thinks he has won. But so long as we draw breath, the throne is not his. One day, we will return."
Vaskar swallowed hard, his chest tight with fear and grief. He wanted to believe. He needed to believe. Yet the image of their mother's chamber doors splintering beneath an axe, of trusted blades turned against them, burned behind his eyes.
Aragon reached across the fire, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You are Delmar," he said, firm as steel. "Do not let him steal that from you. Our time will come."
