“I know your heart, Erich. And you’re not bloodthirsty like your uncles. Or willing to consult dark magics to your own ends, like Duke Mattison is rumored to be involved in.”
“And when the dragon within me consumes me, will the kingdom be safe? I just spent three days as a dragon. I’m losing control.” Erich’s mouth suddenly felt dry, and he took a large swig of ale, but it was bitter on his tongue.
“I’ve told you that the dragon is not something to fear. It is a part of you, not a monster to be tamed. If you are willing to fight, you could make a real change for Sundland. Have you no sympathy for the innocents who will suffer? This could lead to war or famine. Your uncles’ civil war could destroy Sundland or lose it to the greed of the empire’s expansion.”
Erich leaned back. He wasn’t completely coldhearted; he did feel for the people. But his uncle’s and Ivar’s assumption that he would somehow be better was preposterous. He’d killed a man when the dragon had taken over. His sanity was slipping. And he was on the verge of doing the same to Liane if he couldn’t keep threading this delicate balance.
“I appreciate you coming to find me, Uncle. But I cannot be the king you want me to be. Consider me dead.” Erich stood up from the table, but before he could walk away, his uncle grasped him by the upper arm.
“At least think about it. I brought a ship, the Snow Dragon. If you change your mind, find me at the port; we can sail back to Sundland together. We can make a change, Erich.”
Erich’s lips twisted at the ship’s name. Endland’s family crest was a white dragon; no one would think twice about that name. But he hated his uncle for naming his ship that. As if their dragon-cursed blood was something to celebrate.
Erich shook him off. “Go back to your estate, Uncle. And leave me to my wicked ways.”
23
The night of Duke Krantz’s dinner party arrived, and Aristea felt as if she were marching onto a battlefield. Unlike her mother, who’d ridden into war wielding her Golden Blade, Aristea’s battleground was salons and ballrooms. This salon was packed with many of Heinrich’s former allies. Duke Krantz was seated amongst his guests, sipping on wine. And as was customary, he stood to bow when she entered the room, as did everyone else. But instead of dismissing her as unimportant as he would have in the past, he studied her a moment longer. And she felt the weight of his judgment. Would he find her a worthy ally, or dismiss her attempts? Either way, he was the missing piece to her plan. If she could win him and Heinrich’s allies over to her side, then there would be no more talk of marrying Duke Mattison.
She studied the rest of the crowd. Her gaze snagged on Jonathan, and her chest thumped traitorously. He smiled, and unlike the others who’d given her the perfunctory greetings that were necessary for a monarch, his smile was warm and inviting. And much too familiar for people of their different positions. She looked away as fast as she dared, but she felt that magnetic pull toward him, even as she drifted over to the corner where the wives and daughters of the powerful men sat assembled. She’d mingled with this group before and knew their proclivities for gossip, but she had to put as much distance between herself and Jonathan as possible. The ladies greeted her formally, and even those she’d had an easy rapport with in the past were distant with her. Though she tried to make small talk with them, she felt as if she were standing on an island, looking at them on a distant shore. They floated away one by one, leaving her feeling naked and exposed. She’d never realized how many people hated her until Heinrich had died, how much her influence had been impacted by him standing at her side.
He was right; she was nothing without him. A servant came around offering aperitifs, and Aristea snatched at a glass, desperate for something to do with her hands. She felt Jonathan’s eyes on her, and her gaze slid traitorously in his direction. Just a quick peek, she told herself, but then she caught his stare and held it.
She felt everyone’s eyes on them as he walked over to her. Each strike of his cane on the parquet floor had her heartbeat speeding up. If they were seen chatting for a third time in public, people were bound to talk. She should find a distraction, another person to talk to. But even as she rationalized her plan, her feet remained planted on the ground. She wasn’t sure if she should be excited or terrified.
“Your majesty. It is lovely to see you this evening,” he said.
A pair of women by the fireplace surveyed her up and down before whispering behind their hands and giggling. Everyone gave her nothing more than passing glances and shallow bows.
Aristea’s stomach swooped. She felt as if her feelings were written plainly on her face for all to see. She couldn’t seem to come up with a greeting. What did one say when meeting an old friend? She couldn’t remember.
She was saved from trying to make small talk when Duchess Krantz called for her.
“Your majesty, I would be honored if you would sit beside an old woman and entertain her.”
Aristea latched onto the greeting and gave a hurried excuse to Jonathan before joining the duchess on her sofa. She was holding court among a few of the other duchesses and ladies. And Aristea was spared from having to say anything at all. She could simply sit serenely by her side while she cast sidelong looks in Jonathan’s direction.
He was watching her too, and the attention he put upon her made her face flame. He was bolder than when they were young. He’d been shy and awkward, careful to not cross the line. And it thrilled her to be the subject of his attention, but it was doomed from the start. No matter how bold he was, the dukes and Mother ultimately decided her marital fates, and they’d never agreed to such an unequal match.
“Is there something wrong, your majesty?” the duchess asked.
Aristea shook herself out of her thoughts. “No, nothing at all.”
The duchess harrumphed but did not press her. Aristea let conversations flow around her, sitting like a living statue. She’d come here on a mission, to win Duke Krantz’s favor and the flow of money and power that came from him. If she won his approval, the rest would follow suit, she hoped. But propriety dictated that she sit and chat with the women while the men discussed business. That was how it had always been. She might address them as men in the council meetings with her mother at her back, but here, she was another widow, whom they suffered to have in their company.
A few of the ladies ventured to engage her in conversation, and she may as well not have been there at all. She couldn’t focus on discussions of marriage and births, embroidery, and weaving. If Jonathan were bold enough to make his intentions known and buck tradition, why couldn’t she be? She’d get nothing accomplished sitting in the corner with the ladies, talking about embroidery floss colors.
Duke Krantz was standing off to one side, talking with Duke Licht, a horrid man whom Aristea despised. He was another one of Heinrich’s old hangers-on who’d often traipsed about with Heinrich on drinking trips. He’d also attempted to woo Liane, but she’d been courageous enough to turn him down straight away. Liane wouldn’t have even entertained the idea of Duke Mattison. She’d have refused him and carved her own path. Aristea should approach Duke Krantz; let her ambitions be made clear. Aristea stood and was preparing to approach the two men when a servant came in and announced dinner was served.
Everyone rose and filtered into the dining room and shuffled over to their assigned seats. Aristea was given a seat of honor near the head of the table. To her dual delight and dismay, she was seated across from Jonathan. He noted their placement across from one another and said not a word, but a crooked grin broke out across his face. On her right was Duchess Krantz, and at the head of the table, Duke Krantz.
The first course, appetizers, was served, and servants entered with silver cloches and placed morsels on their plates while a second set of servants filled their goblets with Sundland wine. Dinner conversation was light due to mixed company. Aristea spoke with the duke about his granddaughter, which seemed to be a favorite topic of his. He regaled Aristea with tales of Elisa’s antics. It was a lovely distraction from Jonathan, who her gaze kept straying to throughout the meal.
After dessert was served, the ladies rose from the table, and out of habit, Aristea stood as well. It was normal for the men to linger in the dining room and discuss politics and manly topics while the women drifted off to the salon for private chats amongst themselves. As the other women filtered out, Aristea hesitated and, on instinct, looked at Jonathan, who gave her a nod of encouragement. She’d come here to find a seat at the table with the men, to declare herself their equal. But would they accept her? Did she have the audacity to insist?
“I thought you might stay and discuss kingdom matters, your majesty,” Duke Krantz said, helping aid her decision.
Duchess Krantz was one of the last women to leave, and as she exited, she gave Aristea a nod of approval, which helped to settle the flutter of uncomfortable butterflies in her stomach. This was her destiny. If she wanted to fill her mother’s shoes as future empress, she needed to be strong. The men moved closer, filling the gaps the women had left behind. It was the same group of men she’d sat at a council table with countless times before. But this felt more intimate than a Dukes’ Council.
