Auren has never looked at me the way she looked at me just now, and I don’t like it.
I shouldn’t have lost my temper with her, but she caught me off guard. I expected to get her back broken and afraid, ready to crawl behind her bars where it’s safe.
Instead, she’s...changed.
But that’s a worry for later. I’ll fix things with her, resettle her. She just needs time. I failed her, and I need to prove to her that she’s still safe with me. She’ll be her old self again, and then we can get to work on this drab, icy castle.
Not a moment too soon either, because the nobles of Ranhold are becoming impatient.
I subdued them with the promises of gold, but promises are the debts of demands, and demands can quickly become the clamor of unmet discontent.
They want wealth lining their pockets and filling their coffers. I want to sit on the throne uncontested and merge the borders of Fifth and Sixth.
It’s all within reach, and when she understands that, she’ll come to heel. I’ll be the ruler of not one kingdom, but two.
But first...
I start making my way down the corridor and across the castle to where I’ll be meeting that bastard King Slade Ravinger.
I had the servants prepare the throne room rather than the meeting room or even the war chamber. A calculated move, of course. He’ll be forced to speak with me while I sit on a seat of power.
I’m giving him a message. That I am not cowering from the shadow that his army has cast or trembling from this display of power. I rule here as acting monarch, and his intimidation tactics will not work on me.
After years of plotting, everything is falling into place.
But first, I have to purge the rot.
As I walk, guards follow behind me, a golden procession in a castle of glass and iron and stone. It will be so much better once it’s gilded. It will take Auren weeks, if not months of constantly draining her power every day, but it will be worth it.
Gold isalwaysworth it. No matter the cost.
I enter the throne room expecting for Ravinger and his men to be waiting for me. Instead, the only people inside are a mix of Fulke’s guards and mine standing against the walls.
With a scowl, I make my way across the giant space.
Blue crystals from the chandeliers cast rivers of light along the floor where I walk. There are frosted windows along the back wall behind the throne. Probably a calculated consideration when it was built. A vision of light spilling in to shine on the Divine-blessed monarch. Or to force people to squint at the king’s seated splendor.
Once across the room and up the white marbled dais, I turn and take a seat on the throne. Made of pewter and iron, there’s an amethyst stone set into the center of it—only one, but I’ve already spoken to a blacksmith for him to add five more.
Six is the superior number out of all the kingdoms.
At the back of the room, my main advisor, Odo, comes bustling in. Several others follow, about half of them my own, the other half having served under Fulke.
A few of them are loyalists, so they haven’t fully joined my cause yet. Especially since they have Fulke’s son, Niven, to consider. They’re priming the boy to take over when he comes of age.
Unfortunately for him, that’s not going to happen. Taking overorcoming of age. A mercy, really. I can already tell that the boy isn’t cut out to rule.
While I sit on the throne, eyes straight ahead, I tap my finger against the pewter armrest six times. Then a break. Then six more taps.
With every minute that passes, my impatience turns to offense, and offense is my cornerstone for anger.
My advisors settle on the bench seats to the left, behind the banister built to separate nobles from commoners. Ravinger’s people though, they’ll be kept standing in the common galley.
Another calculated move.
Minutes go by. Then those minutes are doubled.
All the while, I wait, tapping. My irritation rises with the temperature of my temper.
