“Of course, miss.”
“I’ll tell you on the way to our chambers. Nalar wants to poke at you with his threads and needles, and I have other matters to attend to.”
Jocasta nodded, wondering what private, royal information she would soon learn.
When she got to her rooms, Girion waited outside the door until she beckoned him in. “What is it?”
“It is customary for younger men than I to wed. Princes can take their brides on a month-long trip to the Spring Kingdoms, or perhaps on a sailing journey to the islands of the Summer Kingdoms, or even simply an excursion within our own borders. I have no one else to entrust the kingdom to. I cannot take you on a lavish trip to celebrate our marriage.”
“Why, that’s all right. I didn’t expect one!” Jocasta reassured. Besides, everyone knew that those trips were really an excuse to give in to long-simmering lusts without everyone in your town knowing what you were doing, and people counting how many days since you’d left your cottage.
“You didn’t, but it will look wrong if we don’t at least make some concession to tradition. People will assume—with my age—that I will want an heir right away.”
“That’s fine,” Jocasta blurted.
Girion’s mouth opened and closed several times before he asked, voice much higher than usual, “It is?”
“Not because of your age, but because the royal house has dwindled. I—I was thinking you’d probably want several heirs. It would be prudent. That is, look at my family. The Watermans are hardly the royal house, but my parents had three children, and only one is left. And if I were to die—”
“Don’t. Say. That.”
Jocasta paused. Girion’s eyes had narrowed, his fists had clenched, and muscles jumped in his cheek.
“I just mean,” she continued gently, “that tragedy befalls us all, from rich to poor. My parents lost two sons. You lost a mother and a stepmother, leaving your father with only one son. I... I would not mind if we had several. Besides, it musthave been lonely growing up without siblings. My brothers and I constantly annoyed one another, but I loved them more than life itself.”
Girion nodded at last, blinking and seeming to snap himself back to the present, leaving whatever sad spot he had journeyed to in his mind. “That’s very generous of you, and forward-thinking. Thank you.”
His tone had become so formal. Jocasta blushed and fell into silence, wondering if the change in his manner was because he dreaded the thought of intimacy with her. Was it wrong that she was far from dreading it?
“We cannot go away, but for three days, we will be left free from any duties, save dire trouble. We will be in the palace, but undisturbed unless we send for a servant. Guards will be stationed at different positions, and our hall will be sealed off from guests or the servants unless sent for. And—and it is likely that everyone will expect you to come to my chambers for those days, and for a while after, until it appears as though we’ve been diligent at trying to expand the royal family. Naturally, since no one will be interrupting us until summoned, you can spend as much time as you like in your chambers.”
“I don’t want to give anyone reason to talk. Lady Renata seems to be keen to spread unkindness. Will she be at this wedding?”
“It is likely, sadly.” Girion paced the floor in front of her hearth. “If it had been a few weeks away, perhaps she could have gone home and found some excuse not to return. As it is, she is here with her father in the city, and so we are saddled with her.”
“Yes, he seems to spend a great deal of time here, doesn’t he? Why isn’t he in Wyndwood?”
“I suspect that he has created some bad blood with Prince Fannar at some point.” Girion’s brow furrowed. “Something Renata said is bothering me, but I can’t place it.”
“About Prince Fannar?”
“No, she was hinting that she’d be the better choice, because she has Fire magic. I pointed out that Air and Earth magic are the closest cousins of it. That our magic pulls the heat of the molten fire from the heart of the Earth itself. That we harness the sun’s warmth out of the air. The kind of heat you have to build and work for... It lasts longer. It is better. It’s the way it is done in my kingdom, and I wish to keep it that way.”
Jocasta nodded, suddenly spellbound by the sight of Girion, firelight casting a glow on him as he stood in front of her hearth, talking about the heat that you had to earn and draw up. That you had to build and make last.
Heat that she wanted to share with him.
In two more days, she’d be bound to him. Maybe in two years, they’d build something beyond an alliance.
A knock on the door made Jocasta swallow whatever tentative thing she’d been about to say.
“Enter!” Girion commanded.
Herrick and Cole were at the door. “Wedding business, sire,” Cole addressed Girion.
“That’s not your job, Cole.”
“Well, it is, sort of, at this moment. My parents are the closest thing you’ve got to relatives, aren't they?”
