Everything in the room sparkled from the circlet on his step brother’s head to the crystal stemware on the table. Everything shone because it was new and clean and hopeful. Kurt felt anything but either. He was once again watching as the King gave everything to the son he truly wanted. As his gaze scanned those assembled for any sign of a friendly face, Kurt caught the queen’s eyes and held them, drowning for a moment in the gentle warmth. She smiled, and Kurt felt some of the ice melt from around his heart. Letting the pain get the better of him was a disservice to the man the day celebrated, to the new crown prince of Albion. Finn deserved the honor. Of course he did.

Closing his eyes, Kurt took a deep breath and forced himself to smile. Every time his father’s attention showered down so easily on Finn it cut him deeper, but his brother didn’t deserve to suffer for that. He loved Finn too dearly to something so entirely out of their control stand between them. Kurt’s problems with his father were between the two of them. He loved Finn, and he loved his stepmother. They made him feel included and loved even when Kurt wondered whether his father had forgotten him entirely.

When the King raised his hands and proclaimed, “Long live the Prince!” the room roared, and Kurt cheered along with them, raising his glass at the boisterous toast. He watched his stepbrother rise, smiling, to greet the nobles assembled to wish him well with the new responsibility. Finn looked brave, dashing and entirely unsure of himself with all eyes on him.

The formality drained quickly away after that. Speeches gave way to chatting on the sidelines and servants pouring drinks. Kurt lost track of everything as he drained his third glass. The alcohol created a pleasant disconnect from everything and everyone. He was so lost that he did not notice when the queen sank into the seat next to him. He gasped at the touch of her cool hand and then chuckled. “Forgive me, My Lady.”

Emma’s smile shone brightly at the first sign of amusement she had seen from Kurt the entire day. “None is needed. There are certainly a hundred things in this room that might command your attention before I would,” the woman replied with a soft laugh. “And how is my oldest on this day?” Though Emma had not borne Kurt herself, she had raised him since his mother’s untimely death. The Queen viewed Kurt as her son as much as Finn and made that clear to anyone who chose to treat them otherwise.

“Tired, but well enough.” The one person Emma never seemed to convince of Kurt’s worth was the king. More than once he had heard her gentle voice raised in protest over some slight or oversight as she fought for both her sons to be treated equally. “Proud,” Kurt added firmly as he looked over to Finn, who sat uneasily next to their father. “He is the right man for the position whatever the order of our birth. Someday he will make a fine king.”

The Queen squeezed his hand gently, and Kurt could see tears shining in her eyes. “I want to see you find your own way. You may not belong on a dais, but you belong at court more than most here. You are too clever to be forever searching and never finding.”

Kurt’s gaze softened. He had heard the words before and found them no less frustrating now given their obvious truth. “I do not know-”

“Of course not! Your life will not come and find you, Kurt,” the woman broke in. “You must seek destiny if you expect to find it in your life. We all have a place and a time, all of us.” Hearing a call for her presence from one of the guests, Emma sighed and leaned in to press her cheek to Kurt’s. She dared not risk her carefully-rouged lips with a kiss. “Think on it. Your father may not recognize the potential that lies in you, but it is there for anyone who looks to see.”

Kurt watched her breeze away again. She was the perfect amalgam of all a royal could and should be: kind, beautiful, graceful. She was also right, as usual. Kurt made polite small talk with a duke who had perched himself nearby but his mind wandered to thoughts of what might truly hold his interest. He enjoyed music but not nearly enough to dedicate himself to it heart and soul. That pursuit required total passion and commitment, and even then the most he could hope for would be performances to the court itself as a curiosity. He loved fine clothing and fabrics, but the idea of spending his days bent over cuts of it and making tiny stitches made Kurt’s neck ache with phantom sympathy. He wanted to do something real. Something tangible. He wanted to help the kingdom somehow though he might never rule it.

The young man’s bright gaze flitted over the faces of those assembled. He considered the lords and ladies, the attendants standing in waiting, the members of his father’s household who volunteered or were obliged to attend. Finally Kurt found himself staring at a quiet figure who lingered at the back of the room. The man watched but seemed mostly disinterested in the proceedings. As usual, he wore a dark cloak that all but hid his features. The court physician was always required to attend such social functions, but even Kurt who had been treated by him more than once could hardly recall what he looked like.

Despite being dour and standoffish, he was skilled and intelligent, else the king would have already dismissed him for being so pointedly adverse to any social graces. He saved lives day in and day out. Kurt felt hope flaring inside him at the idea of doing something with such impact. Even as an apprentice, he would have the opportunity to help babies enter the world and cure illness. Kurt finally tore his gaze away and let a smile light his face. He knew precisely what he needed to do.