Haris could either keep his job for the long term or not.
Nikolas clapped Dimitrios on the shoulder and gave him a once-over. “He’s the spitting image of the Vidalatos men, our Dimitrios. Don’t you think so, Haris?” He met the old man’s gaze. “You heard the council agreed that Mihail and Pandora’s marriage had been legitimate, at least?”
In other words, Dimitrioswouldbe king. It was only a matter of time.
“Aye,” Haris said, his shoulders turning slack. “I heard.”
Dimitrios stared the man down. “Let us know when they’ve weaned.”
Haris hesitated, but then his chin lowered. “Yes, My Lord.”
The title wasn’t respect. Not yet. But it was a step in the right direction.
“And you,” Nikolas said to Caius. “Is there somewhere else you should be that isn’t underfoot?”
Caius grinned. “Yes, Commander.”
“Then get out of here. And don’t let me catch you in here again.”
Caius started off, then stopped to say one final thing to Dimitrios. “I won’t forget this, my king.”
Dimitrios waved him off. “Go on.”
Dimitrios and Nikolas followed the boy out into the bright overhead sun, but at a much slower pace.
“I have to take off,” Nikolas said. “Let’s have a few drinks later.”
Dimitrios nodded, finding it surprisingly easy to agree now that he had a fresh purpose to his life here. Happiness was bound to find him eventually, even if this land was foreign and his family was hundreds of miles away.
The trek back to the palace led him down a path with the best view of Perean’s harbor. From there, the entire city of Praevia spread below—tiled rooftops sloping toward Castona Bay, where masts swayed like a forest of slender trees. The East Harbor Market pulsed with life, the air thick with the scent of spiced fish, citrus, and the metallic tang of blacksmiths hard at work. Children’s laughter caught on the breeze as they darted through the teeming streets, and the vendors called out their wares and prices in a dozen different accents.
This was the country his father died for, and now it was his.
He would not see it stolen from him.
Dimitrios’s gaze snagged on the banner hanging above the palace courtyard. The Perean flag, once a vibrant blue and silver, was faded from salt and wind. Its edges were frayed, curling like parchment on the verge of burning.
How many men had died beneath its shadow?
For the briefest of moments, he was tempted to make his way down to walk amongst his people, but one calculation of the sun’s placement reminded him of the time. The afternoon was growing late, and his mother should be finished with the new Head of House by now. Tonight, it was important he spend these last hours with her.
Tomorrow, Pandora was finally going home where it was safe—he’d never trusted the council with her life. But in accepting that, would this be the last time he saw her? As she got up there in age, she was less likely to travel so far to see him. He was one of five children and dozens of grandchildren; he couldn’t keep her all to himself.
An old ache hitched his step. He was missing so much back in Wairia. He’d loved being the eldest brother and favorite uncle. He’d loved beingElias’s son and caring for the Gabrea lands. Managing a wine trade was easy compared to what he faced here as king.
By the time he entered the palace, his mood had sunk to the dredges of bitterness. Hecouldboard a ship with Pandora in the morning. He didn’thaveto stay here. In fact, heshouldgo. He wouldn’t find happiness here in the shadow of the men who came before him.
Familiar voices inside a room halted his dreary steps and urged him toward the door with a sliver of open space. Councilmen Nektarios Callas and Leonidas Primakos stood inside a chamber thick with the scent of parchment and power. Tapestries hung from the walls depicting old Perean victories—gilded reminders of glory.
The braziers flickered low, casting the two men in long shadows.
A sharp pain flashed through Dimitrios’s clenched jaw. Leonidas had been playing the part of the king since Orestis’s death, and Nektarios, the council’s foreign emissary, had been attempting to micromanage him from behind.
Nektarios’s thick body was braced forward on a table, leaning heavily in Leonidas’s direction, his face blotched and sweaty. The High Chancellor stood upright on the other side, arms folded across the light-weight green himation wrapped over his white chiton. The man never showed signs of tension or worry. It might be his only redeeming quality.
“Soterran forces have never camped so near our borders,” Nektarios was saying. “I don’t care what Tassatos says. Titos has sensed our weakness and plans to exploit them.”
Leonidas rubbed his eyes. “Titos depends on our trade routes as much as we do. Merchants can’t reach Soterra without going through our waters. And the majority of their grains, fruits, and vegetables come from our lands.”
