Mareleau snorted a humorless laugh. “Are we though? Are we truly heirs? You know how they judge us. How they see us as less than a male heir.”
Cora wasn’t sure who Mareleau’s use oftheyreferred to. The people in general? Her parents? Her uncles? She supposed it didn’t matter, for all were likely true.
Mareleau’s tone turned sharper. “My father was so afraid of what my uncles would do to me as his heir. According to him, the only way I can keep my throne is if Larylis and I merge our kingdoms upon Father’s death. Had I tried to rule as queen with only a consort of a lesser title at my side, my uncles would have fought to take my birthright. He went so far as to suggest they’d kill me for it.”
Cora suppressed a shudder. The men she spoke of—Kevan and Ulrich—now had a stranglehold on Khero’s council, on her very kingdom. She knew they were overly ambitious men, but were they truly as devious as Mareleau had said?
The queen seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “I wonder if he positioned them as your councilmen for this exact reason. To have them so preoccupied in your kingdom that I might have a fighting chance at keeping mine.”
Cora bristled. Mother Goddess, was she right? She hadn’t gotten the impression that Verdian thought too highly of his daughter, but what if he’d had more than one motive in appointing his brothers to Dimetreus’ council?
Mareleau turned back toward the window. “Whatever the case, it isn’t fair. Why must this be all we’re worth as royal women? As nothing more than vehicles for our kingdoms’ future kings. Why are we not kings ourselves?”
Cora nearly sagged with the weight of her words. With the truth of them. Yet Mareleau had something Cora didn’t. “Being with child may not be something you’re ready for, and it may be unfair that bearing heirs is expected of you, but what else can you do? At least with an heir, regardless of gender, you hold a weapon against your uncles’ claims to your birthright.”
Her lips lifted in a sneer. “Children shouldn’t be weapons. Or pawns. Or…anything but what they are.”
Cora’s mouth snapped shut. Again, she found herself agreeing with her. Understanding her. But what was there to do about it? Mareleau was in a position where she could rebel against the norms. She was already queen. Her husband was king. An heir was on the way. How would she feel in Cora’s position, if the choice and capability were taken away from her like it had been done to Cora?
Anger heated Cora’s blood, and she let it rise. It felt better than feeling lost. Uncertain. Trapped. “You know what? You are selfish. No, children shouldn’t be weapons or pawns, but here you are complaining when you could be grateful you can have children at all. Do you know what it’s like for royal women with the opposite problem?”
Mareleau scoffed. “No, do you?”
Cora pursed her lips against her own rage, against the truth that scalded her tongue.
The queen suddenly straightened. She must have seen something in Cora’s face, for her own paled. “Aveline…are you…”
“I was cursed.” The words came out sharp yet trembling. “The sorcerer who once invaded my home—the man who forced my brother to wage war on Menah and Selay—cursed me to die childless.”
The same silence that thickened the air after Mareleau’s confession now settled in the aftermath of Cora’s.
Mareleau’s eyes went wide. “So you can’t…”
Cora shook her head. “Not unless I can figure out how to break the curse. Which makes me an inadequate heir. And I don’t know where you’ve been all day or what you’ve heard, but my brother is being forced to abdicate. I’m expected to marry Teryn first thing in the morning and take on the mantle of queen. A queen who may put an end to the bloodline she’s expected to further. I haven’t even told Teryn yet.”
“Why not?”
“I’m afraid he’ll value having children more than marrying me.” Saying it out loud made her wince. Hearing her words somehow made her fear seem even more unfounded.
“Why would he care? It’s not like his kingdom would suffer from lack of heir. Only yours.”
Cora gave her a pointed look. “As king consort, Kherowillbe his kingdom.”
“Well, fine, I suppose that’s true. But all hope isn’t lost. You have relatives, don’t you?”
Cora shook her head. One of the first things she’d learned during her interrogations was that her nearest relatives—most of whom had served her brother at Ridine before Cora was forced to flee the castle—had died, leaving none alive to corroborate Cora’s story. It hadn’t been hard to glean why none remained living. “Morkai ensured all contenders to the throne were eliminated.”
Mareleau furrowed her brow. “Oh. Well…that doesn’t matter either. With your marriage to Teryn, you’ll have new family ties. Teryn and Larylis have younger brothers.”
Cora had never considered such an option, but appointing the role of heir to the nearest male relative wasn’t unheard of.
Mareleau spoke again. “Where do you think my father got his crown? He wasn’t born a Harvallis. He wasn’t even a prince, which is why my uncles are only lords, despite having a king for a brother. My father was simply the eldest living male blood relative of the former King of Selay. I know a distant relative doesn’t have the strongest claim, not nearly as strong as a child. And maybe you can’t further the Caelan bloodline, but do you honestly care about bloodline politics?”
Cora’s answer came easily. “No, I only care about the safety of my kingdom.”
“Then it’s settled. You’ll tell Teryn about the curse, you’ll marry, you’ll appoint an heir, and once your reign is strong, you’ll crush every last hope my uncles have at gaining more power than they deserve. Meanwhile, I’ll do the same from my kingdom.”
Cracks began to form in the heavy shroud of Cora’s fears. For the first time in days, she felt hope. Hope that remained even if she couldn’t break her curse. To think she had Mareleau to thank for such a shift in perspective.
