Zayan’s voice drew his attention back to the room, the male coming through the door a moment later with his son at his side.
Finally.
The matter at hand shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to sort out. Everyone knew who was nominated to fill the vacant advisory seat with Lady Nessira’s death, and most were happy with the candidate.
“My apologies for the delay,” Zayan said, genuine remorse shadowing his features.
Cethin waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine, but let’s proceed. I’m sure everyone would like to get home after the extended stay in Aimonway.”
There was a chorus of agreed mutterings from the others, and Cethin looked at Zayan expectantly, waiting for him to go on. But the male seemed to hesitate, sending a skeptical glance to his son.
“Zayan?” Cethin said, trying and failing to hide his impatience.
The Hand of the King cleared his throat, bringing his attention back to those seated at the table. “As we all know, there is a vacancy on this council brought about by tragedy. The mourning period has passed, and while we still carry our grief, we must also move forward for the good of Avonleya. The council has debated and put forth nominations, and it has been decided to offer the seat to Jarek Ophanim.”
Zayan turned to his son, but the look on Jarek’s face was not one Cethin had expected. He thought Jarek would gladly accept the honor of a seat at this table, but the male’s tight features and thinned lips were not those of someone happy about an offer.
“Do you accept, Jarek?” Cethin asked, carefully watching the male he considered to be somewhat of a friend.
“Not willingly,” Jarek answered.
“Jarek,” Zayan hissed in a harsh whisper. “We just discussed this.”
“Let him speak,” Cethin cut in.
Jarek’s dark eyes slid to him, gratitude staring back. The male’s long blond hair had several braids at his scalp before being tied back at his nape, and he wore his Cadre uniform.
Turning to him, he addressed Cethin as he said, “I’m honored by your confidence in my ability, your grace, but this is not a position I want.”
“Why in the realms would you not?” Lord Tovan asked from down the table. “It is an honor to be chosen for such a thing.”
“And I just stated that I recognize that honor,” Jarek replied, still looking only at Cethin. Zayan was glaring at his son, but Jarek pushed on. “I’ve trained my entire life for the Cadre, not to sit in on meetings. If given the choice, I will choose to serve on a battlefield and in the training rings alongside the people I’ve served beside my entire life.”
Cethin understood the sentiment all too well. He was asking Jarek to give up everything Cethin had been forced to abandon when he took the throne. He knew what that would look like. Knew how it would slowly eat away at the male’s soul. Knew the male would someday come to resent the role he was asked to step into.
But part of him had been relieved at the idea of having Jarek on this side of things with him, which is why he found himself selfishly asking, “And if I asked you to reconsider?”
Jarek hesitated, a flicker of dejection flashing in his eyes.
“Appointing Jarek to this position will create another vacancy in the Cadre,” Tybalt interjected. He was the one person who hadn’t voted in favor of offering the advisory seat to Jarek,so Cethin wasn’t surprised the male was coming to his defense now.
“We just filled the spot left by Valric’s death. Draven was appointed only days ago. Hardly enough time to learn the ways of the Cadre. Removing Jarek will leave us with three inexperienced Cadre members. It’s a security risk.”
“Then put Razik back on the Cadre and find another personal guard for Kailia,” Cethin retorted. “I will not force Jarek to take a position he does not willingly step into.”
“But Razik was willing,” Tybalt countered. “You offer a choice to one but not the other?”
Godsdammit.
Refocusing on Jarek, Cethin said, “I’ll ask you one last time to reconsider.”
“If you demand it of me, I will obey my king,” Jarek said. “But if you’re offering me the choice, I will respectfully and humbly ask to remain with the Cadre.”
Cethin could see the despair weighing on the male at the thought of having to sit at this table and govern. Some were made for this life; Jarek was not one of them.
“The choice is yours, Jarek, and your decision will be honored,” Cethin said, the last words forceful and directed at Zayan, who was visibly upset at his son’s choice. “You are dismissed.”
“Thank you, your grace,” Jarek said, his relief palpable as he bowed deeply to Cethin before taking his leave.
