Xirin quietly watched as you finished tucking in his baby brother, Kelas. Ailea had already went to bed on her own a while ago. Xirin hadn’t followed.

He liked his parents and siblings. He also liked horses and cakes. Xirin thought he probably liked his family more than cakes, but he wasn’t sure.

There was a few things he was sure of. One, he was not going to be king. That was for Ailea. Papa made that obvious. Two, Papa really, really liked Ailea. Probably more than he liked cakes. Three, you were busy with Kelas now. Kelas was the littlest, and he cried over everything. Xirin understood he needed more help. Maybe Xirin was jealous of Kelas, too.

The servants said Xirin was independent and smart like King Aiwin. Papa didn’t seem independent—his tutor had taught him what the word meant—he was always with you when he wasn’t in his office.

The moment you stepped away from Kelas, Xirin reached out to grab your sleeve. “Sleep next to me,” he said, relentlessly staring up at you. “My room is too dark.”

It was an excuse. Xirin had to sleep in a completely dark room with no noise, but he wanted the same attention Ailea and Kelas always got. He wanted to be carried around, too. Xirin wanted to feel included.

He wasn’t like Papa. The servants were wrong. Xirin wasn’t like any of his family even though he liked all of them.

Xirin tugged on your sleeve again, like he was worried you’d ignore him. His tutor told him his face was too serious for a five-year-old. Xirin tried to smile, but he didn’t like it much. Would Papa and you prefer if he did?