Oliver’s fever-sore neck ached from tilting his head back so far, but he couldn’t look away.
“This is what this city could look like—what itwilllook like,” Romanus said, “when I’ve installed you as king.”
Oliver watched the drakes another moment, and then the words registered. His heart slammed hard against his ribs, and the world tilted around him when he whipped his head around to face Romanus. “I’m sorry.” His pulse throbbed in his throat, choking him. “It sounded like you said you were going toinstallme asking.”
“I did.” Romanus glanced down at him, and though his face was composed in its usual, impassive resting expression, his eyesblazed. “That’s what you will be.”
“I…” Oliver began, and then a sharp pressure bloomed in his chest, and traveled up his throat. He thought he was about to be sick, but when the pressure finally burst out of his mouth, it was in the form of a laugh. A high, wild, hysterical laugh that brought tears to his eyes. “Gods! You’re insane,” he coughed out between fits of hilarity. “Installme. Ha!”
Romanus waited, while Oliver clutched his arm with one hand, and the marble balcony railing with the other. He laughed until his lungs burned, and the tears streamed down his cheeks, and when he finally dragged in his first deep breath, he wanted very much to cry.
He risked letting go of the rail and mopped at his wet face with his sleeve. “Gods,” he said again, voice a croak. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Hm. You’re easily amused, then.”
“No.” Oliver wiped a last tear off his jaw and tried to regulate his breathing. “Only cracked in the head after…” He gestured to the view. “Everything.”
“Oliver,” Romanus said, voice growing somehow more serious. “I understand that you have doubts, because you’ve grown accustomed to your weak Northern king.”
Thatdried Oliver’s laughter right up.
They’d developed a delicate balance over the course of their interactions. Romanus permitted him to speak far more freely than Oliver ever would have expected, but he knew the man had limits, and so he tiptoed his way carefully through every conversation, never showingtoomuch cheek. He wouldn’t tolerate slander against Erik, though.
“There’s nothing weak about Erik,” he said. “For instance, he doesn’t have to kidnapwhoresfor his own amusement.”
Afraid he’d gone too far, he braced for anger. A shout, or a slap, maybe.
But Romanus remained patient. He said, “Let’s sit down.”
“No,” Oliver protested, just to be difficult. “I don’t want to.” But he didn’t have the strength to resist when Romanus towed him back inside the solarium and pressed him down into his usual chair. Somehow, its contours cupped his body, as though used to him, despite never having sat in it in his corporeal form.
Romanus took the chair across from him, like always, and poured a glass of wine. He tilted the decanter in offering, and Oliver shook his head. He had a brief span of clear thinking, and he didn’t intend to muddy it with wine.
The emperor sipped from his glass and sat back in his chair. Kicked his foot up onto his knee. At his leisure. “I admire your spirit. It’s one of the reasons I know you’ll serve well once on the throne.” Before Oliver could protest again, he continued, “My sons possess no magic.”
The abrupt change of subject halted Oliver’s building argument in its tracks. “I’m sorry?”
“I have taken three wives in my lifetime. My sisters.”
Oliver shuddered inwardly, but was careful to hold himself still.
“The first two died in childbirth, and the last died of a wasting sickness, ten years ago.”
If he was expecting condolences, he would be waiting a long time.
“Three marriages, and only three children. One daughter, and two sons. My heirs.” He frowned, troubled, as he gazed down into his wine. “They’re powerless. Intelligent, and well-trained. Loyal.” His gaze flicked up, pointed. “But they haven’t one drop of magic.”
Oliver gripped the arms of his chair. “Did you ever consider that it wasn’t the best practice to have children with your sisters?”
Again, he expected anger. But Romanus ignored his question. “You can imagine my…disappointment.” His gaze fell again, and he looked down at his hand where it lay on the arm of the chair. Slowly, he opened it, and then closed it, flexing his long, pale fingers, knuckles cracking. “All this power. All the time I’ve spent learning how to use it,honingit. And I didn’t pass any of it to my sons.”
“What of your daughter? Does she not count?”
“She’s not one of my heirs,” Romanus said. He lifted his head, his gaze direct. Unsettling. “As a bastard, you should know better than to ask such a thing.”
“I’m not a bastard anymore. I’m a Drake.”
“Only because yourkingcalls you such. Your father didn’t give you his name.” His lip curled, a rare show of visible disgust. But then he smoothed his face and continued, “My daughter cannot—could not—inherit, but she did possess magic. A great deal, in fact. But she betrayed her country. Her home. She betrayedme.” The anger flared, finally, an iron edge to his voice. His hand balled into a fist and stayed that way. He shook his head. “But that doesn’t matter. She’s dead, now.”
