So we start negotiating. Actually negotiating, like the political partners we're supposed to be. It's exhausting and frustrating and absolutely necessary work.
"Military matters are your domain," I concede during one late-night discussion. "But I get full briefings and the right to counsel against any action."
"And domestic policy is yours," he counters. "Education, resource allocation, cultural programs. But I retain veto power if something threatens court security."
"What about things that overlap? Foreign relations, trade agreements, succession planning?"
"We discuss them together and try to reach consensus. If we can't..."
"We fight it out in private and present a united front in public," I finish. "Compromise when we can, take turns when we can't."
It's not perfect, but it's a framework. A way to be partners instead of master and servant, even when our instincts pull us in different directions.
Kieran's funeral is a crystal ceremony that breaks my heart.
I stand beside Aratus as they lower his brother's body into a glacier tomb, the entire court assembled in silent tribute. The ice formations around us sing with harmonized magic, creating a symphony of grief that makes tears freeze on my cheeks before they can fall.
This is my first public appearance as queen, and I can feel every pair of eyes evaluating my worthiness. The way I hold myself, the appropriateness of my mourning, whether I seem properly respectful or appropriately grieved.
"They're watching you," Aratus murmurs during the eulogy, his voice barely audible.
"I know." I keep my expression carefully neutral, letting just enough sorrow show to seem human without appearing weak. "What are they looking for?"
"Signs of how much influence you have. Whether flattering you will help their causes."
The political calculation in the midst of grief should disgust me. Instead, it clarifies something important about what being queen will require—the ability to be genuinely present while also being constantly performing.
After the ceremony, we receive condolences in the great hall. Lord after lady approaches, offering sympathy that's equal parts genuine and strategic. I watch Aratus navigate the conversations with practiced ease, noting who gets more attention, whose concerns receive immediate promises of discussion.
"Your Majesty," Lady Morwyn says when it's her turn, addressing me directly instead of speaking through Aratus. "My deepest sympathies for your loss. King Kieran was... illuminating in our last conversation."
There's something in her tone that makes me pay attention. "How so?"
"He spoke of the importance of choice in building strong foundations. Of learning from past mistakes rather than repeating them." Her pale eyes hold mine with unmistakable meaning. "Wise words from a wise king."
She moves on before I can respond, leaving me to wonder how much the court knows about what Kieran said to us. How many of them are watching to see if we'll heed his warnings or fall into the same patterns that destroyed his sister.
"That was a test," Aratus says quietly when we have a moment alone.
"What kind of test?"
"To see if you understand the subtext. If you're politically aware enough to catch what people aren't saying directly."
"And?"
"You passed. Lady Morwyn will be an ally if we handle her correctly. She values intelligence over blind obedience."
The evening reception is even more complex, a careful dance of diplomacy and genuine mourning. I find myself in conversations about resource allocation, trade disputes, and cultural programs—subjects I know almost nothing about but need to learn quickly.
"The mountain settlements have been struggling with food distribution," Lord Cassius explains during one exchange. "The traditional routes are becoming unreliable due to climate shifts."
"What alternatives have been explored?" I ask, drawing on my merchant father's knowledge of logistics.
"Traditional thinking suggests establishing new trade agreements with the Stone Court, but that comes with political complications..."
The conversation continues for an hour, and by the end, I realize I've inadvertently committed to reviewing the entire food distribution system. The responsibility should terrify me. Instead, it energizes me in ways I didn't expect.
"You're good at this," Aratus observes as we finally retreat to our chambers.
