“That’s unlikely, Princess. Fanciful even.”
“Perhaps, but it’s clear to me that my father has not been fit to rule for many turns. He harms others, his own people, and I can no longer abide by his actions.”
“You’re not mates with either Princess Thyra or Princess Isolde, yet you’ve sworn to them?”
“I have not,” Saga admitted. “However, I have not ruled it out either. Just as you have seen flaws in the current king, I have too, Lord Balik. I love my father, and truly do not wish him to be harmed, but as I stated, I also cannot stand with him.”
The head of House Balik turned to Vale. “And you, Warrior Bear? You’re the head of your father’s army. He might be a miserable fae, and done unspeakable things over the turns, but your father loves his children. I understand that you are mated to Isolde, but could you not have reached a peaceful agreement with your father rather than forsaking him?”
“For my mate, I’d do anything,” Vale replied, and I didn’t miss when Lord Balik looked at his wife. “And, as for forsaking my blood, I am clean of that as well.”
The air in the room seemed to still. Thyra and I had spoken to Vale about this at length, and the time was here. The moment he claimed his name. Just as I had.
“What do you mean by that?” Lord Balik leaned forward in his seat.
“What I mean is that King Magnus is not my father by blood,” Vale spoke so that everyone present heard. So that soon, the word would spread across the kingdom far and wide. “I am the son of Lord Leyv Riis.”
Interlude
KING MAGNUS AABERG, THE WHITE BEAR, PROTECTOR OF WINTER’S REALM
The king stared at the throne room’s door and envisioned the line of commonfae standing outside, all waiting to see him. To hear his judgment.
He released a long breath. Was it not enough that the snow was melting? What more could these people want?
And then arose the question that continued to plague him: Had the Shadow King and those spiders finally finished Isolde off?
“Husband?” Inga asked. “The lords and ladies do not wish to wait all day.”
Nor did she, though she did not say as much; it was clear from her annoyed tone.
The king stared down at the smattering of lords and ladies in the chairs below. All witnesses of the public requests made on the day. Among them were Warden Roar Lisika, Lady of Silks Nalaea Qiren, and the Master of Coin, Lord Airen Vagle—all fae he planned to keep close after the betrayals of Houses Virtoris, Balik, and Armenil.
“The sooner you’re through here, the sooner you can deal with other issues,” Inga added tersely.
By the dead gods, she was in a state. The king wondered if Rhistel was giving her trouble. Not that he’d dare to ask.
“Show the next in.” Magnus waved a moon-pale hand through the air.
“Presenting Ragnor of Avaldenn, Your Majesty,” a Clawsguard at the door announced the next in line.
A dwarf appeared. He wore simple, well-made clothing, and his long blond beard was tied in sections with leather cords. A kept-up appearance that was ruined when the dwarf got closer and the reek of onion and garlic wafted up the king’s nostrils.
“Rise,” Magnus drawled after the dwarf knelt. “What can I help you with today, Ragnor?”
“My king, I come with a request for a business expansion.”
“What is your business?”
“I run a cart that sells hand pies. The best in the city.” Ragnor puffed his chest out.
“We know your wares.” Inga broke into the first smile that the king had seen on her face in days. “I favor the wild boar flavor, myself.”
“Thank you, my queen. I’ll be sure to send a few up after I leave here today.”
“What sort of expansion are you requesting?” Magnus asked, already bored. His wife might be taken with the dwarf’s cooking, but he only wanted to get through his tasks and move on.
“I would like to take advantage of the improving weather and build a greenhouse on the outskirts of the city. In the allotment where a few local merchants have built theirs.”
