Cethin
He drummed his fingers on the marble tabletop as dinner plates were cleared. Staring out the window, he could almost glimpse the sea beyond. The sound of waves rolling to the shore was just out of reach, and he was wishing he could be feeling the ocean spray rather than the slight breeze drifting through the open balcony doors.
He’d been in this room all godsdamn day with the advisory council. Meetings didn’t typically take up an entire day, but every twentieth day they did.
Every twenty days he sat in this room at a table of twelve advisors discussing anything and everything. Lunch and dinner were served here, and he’d likely still be sitting here well into the night. The sun was already setting, which wasn’t the problem. His kingdom loved the night. They favored the dark and the shadows so much, their days didn’t begin at dawn. No, the kingdom came to life mid-morning, well after the sun had risen. That’s when the streets started bustling and businesses opened their doors, and they stayed that way long after the sun had set, when the stars and the moon lit their paths home. It was theearly morning hours before most people found their beds, the sun rising a few hours later.
“Your grace?”
Cethin turned from the window, finding the eyes of everyone on him. A glass of liquor had been placed before him, along with a piece of dessert. Some kind of spiced cake that he wasn’t going to eat.
The male who’d spoken was Zayan, Hand of the King, and he sat to his right. He’d been his father’s Hand, and with all the turmoil of a sovereign change, Cethin had kept him in that role. He didn’t know who’d replace him anyway, but Zayan had served at his father’s side for most of the last century. Before that, he’d served on the advisory council as the lord of a city on the west side of the continent.
“What’s next on the agenda?” Cethin asked, swiping up his liquor as they got back to business.
“The matter concerning the Fae,” another male said from down the table, looking up from a piece of parchment.
He swiped a hand down his face.
The Fae.
As if he hadn’t been thinking about that issue for months. As if they hadn’t had this very discussion every twenty days since he’d taken the throne. Fuck, this conversation had been occurring regularly sincebeforehe took the throne, and nothing was ever resolved. The debate was always the same because everyone came to the same conclusion: until the Wards were gone, there was nothing they could do.
The Wards had been in place for centuries, cutting them off from the rest of the realm. No one could leave, and no one could enter. They had been intended for protection, meant to exist for a short period of time until the danger had passed. Instead, they’d become a curse that the kingdom had paid dearly for. Sure, there’d been a glimmer of hope when a ship hadmade it past the Wards three seasons ago, but then the deaths had increased too, and they were back at the beginning. Words without actions.
He’d rejected that inaction decades ago, willing to do what others wouldn’t. Willing to risk things his parents refused to entertain. Doing what needed to be done to bring their kingdom the freedoms they once knew.
“Is it true there were more discovered this morning?” a female with short, wispy black hair asked.
“It is,” Cethin answered, eyeing the empty seat to his left where Tybalt usually sat. He’d excused himself nearly two hours ago and hadn’t returned. “Tybalt and I have already discussed it and sent three Cadre members to search the area for any information.”
A male scoffed. “We never find anything with their searches.”
Cethin slid his gaze to the male, eyes narrowing. “While not entirely factual, what is found often leads to dead ends. I would like to go search some of the more recent sites myself?—”
“You can’t go out there and play detective,” another male interrupted. “You’re the king. More than that, you were nearly killed the last time you were on a battlefield.”
Cethin arched a brow, his fingers drumming once more on the table. “Am I understanding correctly that you are instructing your king as to what he can and cannot do?”
The male’s brown eyes widened slightly, his brows pinching. Hayes was another advisor who’d been on this council as long as Cethin could remember. “No, your grace,” he answered slowly. “I am simply stating that as the sovereign of the kingdom, it would be unwise for you to put yourself in harm’s way. Especially since you…are not in the same position as your father was.”
“Not in the same position? He was the king. I am now the king. What is the difference?” Cethin demanded, his hand fallingto the arm of his chair. His fingers curled around the armrest, and he willed his darkness to remain hidden, but it churned in his soul.
Everyone at the table glanced at each other, clearly debating who was going to be the one to answer him. Finally, Zayan said, “Your father had an heir, Cethin, but more than that he had a wife who was very involved in the running of the kingdom until her passing.”
His mother.
Queen Selinya.
His father had come from a long line of rulers before them, but his mother had been the more powerful of the two. It was his mother’s bloodline that mattered here. Why the council was so adamant about preserving him. Why he was already well aware of the next argument before it had even had the chance to pass anyone’s lips.
“Perhaps it is time for you to take a partner,” Zayan ventured.
One would think they’d be nervous to hold his stare after past discussions of this nature, but every member of the advisory council was watching him. Waiting to see what his response would be this time. He supposed he could give them some credit. They hadn’t brought it up in nearly a year.
His hands flexed around the armrests once more, threads of inky power seeping from his fingertips as he worked to maintain control of his magic.
“That is not a priority right now,” Cethin replied tightly, snatching up his liquor glass and draining it.
