“Rangar. I’m so sorry. I . . . I didn’t think his ailment was this severe.”
“Nor did I,” Rangar said.
They sat in fraught silence as King Aleth wheezed in his sleep. Despite Mage Marna’s urgings that they return immediately, Bryn had still anticipated that they would have months to prepare for King Aleth’s possible passing. But seeing the king with her own eyes, she worried they may only have a matter of weeks. Or even less.
They sat with King Aleth for some time before Mage Marna appeared in the doorway. “So you see,” she said softly, “why it was imperative that you and Val not spend the winter in the Mirien.”
Rangar stood, his expression grave. “There is no chance of recovery, is there?”
Mage Marna shook her head sadly. “The wasting disease exceeds my healing ability. We brought in mages from the forest kingdoms; they were also unable to help him other than to ensure he isn’t in pain.”
Bryn’s heart faltered. King Aleth, gruff as he was, had become like a father to her in the few months that she’d known him. He had opened his home to her and even risked his life to save her.
“How long does he have?” Rangar asked.
“A few weeks, at most.”
Rangar filled his lungs, letting the breath out slowly. Bryn rested a gentle hand on his arm. The air felt thick with what everyone wasn’t saying: at King Aleth’s death, a successor would need to take the throne. Valenden had surrendered his place in line, so Rangar was the natural choice. But was Rangar ready to be king? Would the common folk accept him as their leader if he wasn’t able to clear his name first?
“Rest,” Mage Marna urged them. “I’ll have a meal brought up to your suite.”
Before heading to the third floor, they checked on Valenden in his room down the hall, though he was asleep. Ren had replaced the makeshift bandages with clean ones and washed the remaining blood off Valenden’s chest.
When they finally reached the door to the third-floor suite, two soldiers stopped them.
“Lord Rangar,” the first one said. “I’ll need your sword.”
Rangar bristled but didn’t argue as he unstrapped his sword and handed it to the soldier.
“And any other weapons you have on you. You, too, Lady Bryn.”
Rangar produced a number of daggers from hidden places along his body, surprising even Bryn. The soldiers patted him down and nodded for him to enter. “If you’ll pardon me, Lady Bryn.” The soldier moved to search Bryn for weapons, but Rangar growled low.
“Touch her, Oliver, and I won’t need a knife to end you. My fists can do the job.”
The soldier, who by his unfazed look was a friend of Rangar’s and used to Rangar’s temper, said evenly, “You know the rules.”
“It’s fine, Rangar,” Bryn said, holding out her arms.
Rangar narrowed his eyes as the soldier, Oliver, slid his hands along her curves and then stepped back with his hands raised and a hint of teasing in his eyes. “Done. Was that really so hard, Rangar?”
Rangar scowled at the soldier, grabbed Bryn into the room, then shut the door. Bryn hadn’t had many opportunities to visit these chambers before; they were reserved for traveling dignitaries who would expect more comfort than sleeping on a pallet on the great hall’s floor. The furniture was heavy oak but simply adorned, with a single wool woven tapestry on the wall.
Bryn placed her hands on the sides of Rangar’s face. “Look at me, Rangar.” His jaw was so tense she felt the muscles popping beneath her palms. “Your father loves you. He knows on some level that you’re back.”
Rangar twisted his head to hide the pain that crossed his face. Bryn shook him slightly to force him to look at her again.
“I know what it’s like to lose one’s father. You were there for me when mine passed. Let me be here for you now.”
“He isn’t gone,” Rangar muttered. “Not yet.”
But pain broke across his features, and he folded himself into Bryn, burying his face against her hair. His hands gripped her waist so hard someone would have to pry them apart. She slid her hands over his shoulders.
“He knows you had nothing to do with Trei’s death,” Bryn reassured him, gently stroking the back of his head. “He always trusted and believed in you. I knew it after spending just a few days with your family. He built a strong Barendur legacy, and you will continue that.”
Rangar pulled back, his eyes wet. “They won’t accept me as king as long as I’m under arrest in my own home. Nor should they.”
Bryn clenched his shirtsleeves in her fists, shaking him out of his brooding nature. “Thenmakethem accept you.”
