“I only see one problem with this, Stas.”
“Sire?”
“Vitki can’t shift.”
“Sire, I have seen him—”
“He’s carrying the next royal heir, Stas.”
Stas’s eyes rounded. “Truly, sire?”
Ivo grinned as he remembered exactly how that amazing news had happened. “Yes.”
Delight shone in Stas’s eyes. “That is wonderful news, sire.”
“We certainly think so.”
“Will you be abdicating your throne, then?”
“No. Once I am king, I’ll abolish the class law and then claim Vitki as my mate.”
“You’re truly staying?”
“I am.”
“I will support you in any way that I can, sire.”
Ivo rested a hand on Stas’s shoulder. “I appreciate that, Stas. It means a lot to me.” He drew in a heavy breath. “And I think I’m going to need it, because I plan to turn this clan upside down.”
“Yes, sire.”
“Well, I suppose we’d better go.”
It would be bad if the incoming king wasn’t there to see off the outgoing king.
Ivo followed Stas out of his bedroom. He nodded and smiled when he saw Miro lounging near the door. “How’s the head?”
“Is attached, sire.”
Ivo chuckled as he headed for the door. “Is good.”
Miro grinned. “Da.”
The funeral for Max had been described to him, but it still wasn’t what he expected. Several hundred people stood around a large wooden funeral pyre in the center of town. A covered stand had been assembled to one side.
Ivo narrowed his eyes when he saw that all the elders were sitting in chairs in the stand while the common class stood on their feet around the pyre. Vitki stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to the largest chair on the stand.
“Stas, where is your family?”
The man’s eyebrows lifted just a little before he hid his surprise. “Fredrick and the girls are standing over in front of the bakery, sire.”
Made sense.
“Let’s go stand with them.”
“Sire, you cannot. You are a royal. You must stand with the others.”
Ivo snorted. “Watch me.”
