Why did that make him feel so instantly ill? “I’m alright.”

“I know. What he said, though, it bothered you.”

Finneas swallowed. “I was just under stress and I reacted when I shouldn’t have. It won’t happen again.” It reflected on both of them when he responded to statements like that. It made him seem overly defensive, as if there was some truth to those words that he was compensating for.

“Stress about the situation we were in, or is there more to it?”

A part of Finneas wished he hadn’t asked. It would have been easy to let it seem like all there was to it was fear in the moment. However, questioned directly, Finneas wouldn’t lie. He couldn’t. “I’ve been trying not to think about my powers at all. Being forced to even consider them while dealing with that… I lashed out.”

Maron nodded. “Tell me why you’re trying not to think about them.”

“Your Highness.”

Maron rose to his feet, and for just a moment, Finneas thought he was angry. In the nearly fifteen years he’d known the man, he’d never stood up and walked away from frustration. Finneas opened his mouth to speak, but found himself without words.

“I should never have set a precedent that we don’t discuss these things. I know I’ve been standoffish regarding magic, and for that I’m sorry. I’ve let my own fears get in the way of your life.”

“You don’t need to apologize. You’re allowed to be afraid,” Finneas said, voice soft.

“Yes. But I am not allowed to let that fear impact you.” Maron moved across the room, retrieving a small box that rested on the hearth of the fireplace. It hadn’t been there before. “You put your own needs and desires away for my sake too often.” He returned to Finneas, settling beside him. Carefully, he placed the box in Finneas’s hands.

Finneas blinked. “What is this?”

Maron didn’t say a word, just watching him.

Finneas’s finger ran along the seam where the lid met the box and he glanced toward Maron. His face was neutral, completely calm, but his gaze was locked on the box. Finneas returned his attention to it. It was ornate, clearly something meant for the family and not for him. Still, he pulled the lid off of it, and then froze, unable to set it down.

“Maron.”

Inside rested a single, miniscule golden key. It was small and plain, but from the size alone, Finneas knew exactly what it was.

“My father gave his permission almost a week ago. I apologize for hesitating. It was wrong of me.” His voice was low, words barely audible over the pounding of Finneas’s heart in his ears.

Finneas swallowed, shaking his head.

He wasn’t angry. If Maron needed time to gather his thoughts further before telling Finneas, that was his right. Whatever he needed, it was fine. Finneas just wished… “I wish you would have told me sooner,” he admitted. “You don’t need to apologize. I just wish I’d known his answer.” It was strange, thinking that just after Joel had spoken to him, the King would give permission. For all that he hated magic, the idea that he would so willingly allow one magician, the one closest to his own son, for whom he had banned magic entirely, was odd. “What are the conditions?”

Maron shook his head. “There is no condition. The Captain encouraged it, and my father left the choice to me.” Maron reached forward, taking the key between his thumb and his forefinger.

His Majesty must have passed the choice to Maron thinking he wouldn’t do it. And if he did, there must have been something he stood to gain. The King wouldn’t take a risk without having some benefit with either outcome. If Maron said yes, there was a chance Finneas would mess up, that he would make some irredeemable mistake. That would reinforce everything he believed and everything the people were told. There were conditions. It was just that they were unspoken.

Maron met Finneas’s eyes and took his arm in his hands, turning it over. His fingers moved over Finneas’s palm, warm and soft. At the bottom of the cuff, resting over Finneas’s pulse, was a miniscule hole, almost unnoticeable. As Maron pressed the key against it, Finneas caught his gaze.

“Are you sure? The people will have a reaction, and your father is going to watch us both like a hawk. And…I don’t have control over anything but fire.” Finneas knew he was speaking too quickly, that his words were running together.

Maron inserted the key, turning it.

Maybe it was silly to expect anything to change. The magic imbued in the cuffs themselves didn’t glow with release. His palms didn’t catch fire. He didn’t feel anything different. Nothing had changed. The bracer upon his wrist simply opened on some previously unseen seam and fell open. Maron looked up to him, as if expecting Finneas to tell him it was different already, but Finneas remained quiet. Maron placed the key in the box, instead taking Finneas’s hand in both of his, lifting it up, the cuff falling away completely. For a brief moment, Maron moved his fingers over the skin, a few shades paler than the rest, kneading them carefully into the muscle there.

Finneas had never felt discomfort with the cuffs. Something to do with the way they’d been created, he supposed. They could grow and bend somewhat with the wearer, but could only be removed completely with a key. Now that they were gone, however, Finneas found himself feeling a bit strange. He was so accustomed to the weight of them, anchoring him, and the skin beneath was sensitive.

Maron sat the cuff aside, letting go of Finneas’s arm. He took the key once again, inserting it into the cuff on Finneas’s left hand.

The moment it turned, Finneas’s breath hitched. It was like a wave, sudden and sharp and hot. No flames appeared over his body. Nothing was wrong. But heat coursed through him, making its path so quickly through him that he felt almost lightheaded. His fingertips bristled, feeling raw in almost the same way as they had when they’d throbbed from being thrust into steaming bathwater after freezing. It burned. And yet, it wasn’t painful. The heat was absent of any hurt–something else completely.

He blinked, and Maron looked up to him, hand making those same small motions over this wrist.

Finneas’s eyes stung. His chest felt tight and his throat was dry.

He was whole.

“Do you feel alright?” Maron asked.

Finneas nodded. If he tried to speak, he had a feeling that whatever was welling up inside him would spill over. He couldn’t cry in front of Maron. What sort of attendant cried in front of his prince?

“Can you use it?” Maron asked, hesitation clear in his voice.

Finneas pulled his hands toward him, examining them as though they were something entirely new. They looked exactly the same as they had before. But he could feel it. “Close your eyes please, Your Highness.”

Maron did as he was asked, placing his own hands in his lap and sitting still.

Finneas raised a finger. He hadn’t done this in fifteen years, but the knowledge of how to handle fire was something he felt more than understood. A small flame appeared at the end of his fingertip, weak at first. It flickered, just a wisp like a dying candle. And then, it glowed brighter, taking over his finger entirely, encircling his wrist. Finneas exhaled, and it extinguished. “Yes. I can use it.

Author's Note!

Finneas finally has his powers again!! Thank you for all your support this year! I was really nervous about posting my work, and all your kindness and support has meant the world. I hope to keep making things you'll like in the new year!

ALSO EXCITING NEWS!! Ottermelon made a print for Maron's birthday, available to all my Patrons, so long as you pledge by Jan 31! Please make sure to check out Otter's work-- she's amazing!