There was a full decade between him and his sister. When their father had died, Avarine had been little more than a baby in swaddling clothes, scarcely old enough to form memories of the man who should have guided them both. In the years that followed, Rylan had stepped into a role that was never formally given to him but had settled on his shoulders all the same. He had watched over her safety, worried over her future, guarded her reputation as fiercely as if it were his own.
Yet how was he supposed to protect her now, when their own mother continued to indulge what he could only see as foolish, reckless fantasies?
Rylan saw Avarine's smile falter, dimming just slightly at the edges, and guilt twisted painfully in his chest. The knowledge that he was the cause of that small hint of sadness hurt far more than he cared to admit. It made him feel wretched, cruel even. Still, he pressed on.
Some things, no matter how harsh they sounded, needed to be said aloud.
