“Kyron,” says a gentle voice and a firm hand rests on my shoulder. I take a deep breath before meeting Borin’s dark-brown eyes. With that single look, he reminds me to reel in my emotions and lead with an unwavering resolve. His words resound in my head:show them why they must believe in your cause.
I’m done with reasoning with these people. I want to strip them of their status and publicly humiliate them. Let all of Pliris know that these cowards have no regard for anyone but themselves. But I need them. They have the ear of the people I’m still trying to win over. This is a battle I can’t win alone or even with those soldiers loyal to me. I need the support of an entire kingdom, and to do that, I must first convince the people at this table that my cause is worth fighting for.
I square my shoulders and clear my throat, holding onto the Eporri like it’s my parah grounding me in this moment. “Raelle Mansi is more than just my parah. My uncle chose her to rule his kingdom, and she chose me to be your king. It may be under my rule that Pliris is restored, but it’s by her sacrifice that it was possible. She is the reason that Cyffreds are no longer forced to give their gifts to Khiros. It is because of her that they are not forced into the Stigian prisons when they no longer wish to be siphoned from. She has made it possible to place all Pliris’ people on equal ground. And now, she is our best hope of returning those taken from us to their families.”
I hold in my final thoughts on the matter. It’s my truth that only a select few at this table are privy to. I’ve hidden it beneath the hard exterior of a general, the aloof demeanor of a Stigian prince, and the fake certainty of a king. Raelle Mansi makes me a better man. She is both the source of my strength and my biggest weakness. She showed me how fiercely I can love and broughtme to hate those who stand against her with equal ferocity. I can only be the king Pliris deserves if she stands at my side.
Tucking my vulnerable truth into the depths of my heart, I say, “The least we can do is return her to her family.”
I look to the back of the room where Raelle’s brother leans against the wall. Rowan’s bulky muscles stretch the fabric of his simple tan uniform, and a heavy steel sword hangs from his hip. He sweeps a chestnut wave from his face and burns holes into me with his blue gaze. As a new soldier, he should be training and not in royal council meetings. No doubt, he was with his father when Abrum received word about Raelle’s probable location and barged his way in.
I snap my attention from Rowan and lock eyes with Abrum at the end of the table. He shifts and runs his thick fingers over his face before slicking back his gray hair. The lines on his face are deeper than normal. Bags frame his brown eyes—eyes that remind me of Raelle’s. They are thoughtful, compassionate, and determined. I asked him to retire from his position as the general of the Pliris army and take the post as the commander of my guard. I’d hoped that the new responsibility would give him more time with his family and lessen his stress, but it doesn’t appear to be working.
“We will bring her home, Your Majesty,” Greer says with a glare that dares someone to contradict her. She sits tall in her olive jacket, wearing it like she was born to lead the army. Her mahogany hair is shaved at the sides and the long strands are plaited from the top of her head down the middle of her back. I thought I was an intimidating general, but my best friend puts me to shame.
Leif slides a map into the center of the table, drawing us deeper into the matter at hand. “I understand that we’re lacking details on the island where we believe the Allaji are holding her, but that’s what makes it the perfect prison.”
The small island sits off the west coast of Allaji, meaning that my army would have to cross the expanse of the shifter’s kingdom and then the water to get to it. Pliris doesn’t have the resources to continue to guard our land and a military campaign of that magnitude. If the Allaji get wind of our intentions before we rescue Raelle, Pliris could be at war with scattered forces. My kingdom wouldn’t survive the first battle.
Borin taps his deep brown finger on the map. “We have the means to retrieve her with minimal soldiers needed. We will just have to take to the water.”
His deep voice rumbles through me, and my stomach turns so violently that the contents of my last meal threaten to reappear. I hate the water, the unsteady waves and losing sight of the land. It’s a recipe for disaster. Especially the type that requires a pail and a mop to clean up.
“There has to be a better way,” I say.
“Borin is right.” I lift my gaze to Abrum, and he continues, “If you want to save time and resources, this is how it must be done.”
“We have the most seaworthy fleet of ships on this side of the five kingdoms,” Borin says, coaxing my churning stomach to relax and soothing me with trustworthy words.
As my top advisor, Borin has never sugarcoated the truth. If he thinks my decisions are rash and have the potential of harming our kingdom, he says so. The moments my rule pleases him, he offers me a curt nod. And if I fall into the pit of despair due to my separation from my parah, he’s quick to remind me that I have hope of seeing her again. Perspective. The man always gives me a new perspective.
“Pardon, Your Grace,” Greer says, meeting Borin’s dark stare. “We have merchant ships, not battleships. It’s the reason we keep to the waters along the east coast. We’re not equipped to take on the outlanders who infest the western sea. They areveryterritorial and will attack if they suspect anything of value on board.”
“And you know this how, general?” I ask.
Greer leans back in her chair and crosses her arms with a smug smile. “While you all were reading books, I was looking for answers in questionable places. Two men, who your mother sent to sail in the west, washed up on shore almost a week ago. They said outlanders commandeered their vessel, and they were the only survivors of a thirty-person crew.”
“What did my mother send them out to do?”
“Our conversation didn’t make it that far. They were eager to drown the memories in the whiskey I bought them. But they made one thing very clear: only a fleet of battleships will survive on those waters.”
“Esspress is the only kingdom which can take a war to sea,” says a man with royal blue hair—one of the few council members that once served my mother.
“Fuck,” I mumble.
The kingdom of spirit speakers has been unresponsive to my pleas for help, as has their neighboring kingdom, Sara. The only land that has given me a response is Sibyl—the home of the Statera’s sacred temple and the Divine Sibyl. The Sibyls have never tampered in the affairs of the other four kingdoms, claiming it is their duty to act as the embodiment of the Statera and remain impartial in political matters. All they have offered me is the Sibyl who sits at the back of the room. The hood of their pale blue robe hides their face while they scribble in a leather-bound journal, observing and noting my first months as ruler. The archivist falls into the category of “useless.”
“I don’t suppose you havequestionable meansfor reaching the Esspress emperor?” I ask.
Greer shakes her head. “My connections are more the sordid sort, not the kind of people the emperor is inviting to brunch.”
“I may know someone who can bend the emperor’s ear and obtain an invitation to the Esspress palace,” Borin says. “But she will require a favor in return, and her requests are scandalous.”
“Who is she?” I ask.
“His sixth wife, Lasandra.”
I cock a brow and lean in closer with a smirk. “And how are you familiar with her tendency to ask for scandalous favors?”
