Although the cowl of his robe hid his face, Magnus knew that brother. He should know him. He was closer to that brother than anyone else at the monastery.

Prince Talan of the Southlands, firstborn son of Queen Annwyl and Prince Fearghus, twin brother to Princess Talwyn and first cousin to Princess Rhianwen, and what Magnus liked to call “The Consummate Obtainer of Pussy.”

Glancing around and seeing that the halls were barren except for the pair of them, Magnus chased after Talan, catching up with him as the royal made it to the back stairs.

“Talan?”

Talan stopped, his eyes briefly closing, but when he turned and saw Magnus standing there, he let out a relieved breath. “Oh, Magnus. It’s you.”

Magnus noted the bag slung over Talan’s shoulder. “Are you heading into town?”

Usually when they snuck out of the monastery together and headed into town for ale, food, and women, they left later, when it was easy to blend into the dark and shadows. But as bored as Magnus was today, he was willing to risk a lashing or two for leaving the grounds during the day. If they were caught. A big if. Over the years, Magnus and Talan had become very good at not being caught.

But Talan didn’t answer Magnus right away. Instead, he stared at him for a long moment, a frown on his face. Strange, since Talan rarely frowned. He was usually too busy smirking and mocking the other brothers under his breath to ever look serious . . . about anything.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Talan said, “I’m leaving, old friend.”

“Leaving?”

“I have to. My time here is up.”

It was strange how Magnus somehow knew, deep inside, that Talan was never meant to spend his entire life here with the Brotherhood. Talan played along. Practiced all the rituals. Studied diligently. Pretended to respect the Elder Brothers enough to keep from receiving any punishments or beatings. But Magnus knew his friend was not meant for this life. And not because he was a royal either. There was just something about Prince Talan of the Southlands that spoke of more important things than life in a monastery.

“I will miss you, though,” Talan admitted.

“But I’m coming with you.”

Magnus really hadn’t known those words were going to come out of his mouth until they did, but he knew as soon as he said them . . . he meant every one. He couldn’t stay with the Brotherhood. He couldn’t spend his life like this. He wasn’t meant to.

“I can’t ask you to—”

“You’re not asking. I’m telling. . . . I’m coming with you. We’re going together.”

Talan studied him a moment longer before he nodded. “You have two minutes to get what you—”

But Magnus didn’t wait for Talan to finish. He simply went back to his cell and grabbed his travel bag, his short sword, a few daggers, and whatever coin he had, and pulled his fur cloak over his monk robes. It took him less than a minute. That’s what his life at the monastery amounted to . . . less than a minute to pack up and leave forever.

He returned to Talan’s side and together they moved quietly but quickly down the back stairs and out the monastery’s back door. They headed through the forest that surrounded the property until they reached the grazing land where they kept the animals they used for food. They were near the stone wall that surrounded the monastery and was covered in protective powerful magicks when Talan suddenly veered off and carefully approached one of the massive bulls.

“Talan?”

Talan didn’t answer but silently waved Magnus off.

The bull watched Talan’s approach but didn’t run or attack. The monks had taught them how to handle animals, from small to large, no matter the temperament.

Once Talan stood by the bull, he drew his short sword, caught one of the bull’s horns and slammed the blade up into its neck.

The bull let out a cry of pain before dropping to the ground, its blood pouring out onto the snow-covered ground.

Talan knelt by the animal and placed his hand on its head. He prayed over the animal for a minute, stood, and then performed the same action again on two more bulls.

It seemed excessive to Magnus, performing sacrifices at this moment, but perhaps Talan was hoping to bless their journey.

Talan returned to Magnus’s side, wiping his blood-covered hands on his robes.

“You sure about this?” Talan asked Magnus. “You come with me past this stone wall . . . and there will be no turning back, my friend.”

“Then, gods, Talan, what are we waiting for?”

Talan grinned and they walked the rest of the way to the wall. Bending at the knees, Magnus launched himself to the top and over, Talan right by his side. One of the many skills their brothers had taught them over the years.

They landed and stood tall. Talan glanced at him and Magnus nodded. Then they faced the five men who’d clearly been waiting for them on the other side and stopped short. In one second, Magnus felt his bright and brilliant dream of leaving this place forever slip away. A dream, he knew, that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

“Father Robert,” Talan greeted. “Brother Oliver. Brother—”

“Where are you going, dear boy?” Father Robert asked. His voice soft and comforting but, as Magnus knew, his will made of iron.

“I have someplace to be, Father Robert.”

“That’s not possible, Brother Talan. You know that.” Father Robert gave a small smile. “Now you will come back with us. We have a place for you. Both of you. A place for you always.”