“I just do not see why you cannot command the gravels to give us their nature jewelry crowns!” says Lady Genive, a former consort of my father and the mother of my dead brother.
“Can you not see how deeply unfair this surprise gifting is to those of us who must sleep in our chambers?” adds Lady Yilara’s father, Lord Milinos.
“I cannot use force to compel a re-gifting,” Skorrin answers in a barely level tone. “This is something you would need to bring to our sovereign.”
“But his throne hours are not until next week, and the flowers will be dead by then—along with the Eryx Oblation!” Lady Genive protests. “We need those crowns now!”
“My son did not die so that gravels could parade around in handmade crowns they do not deserve,” Lord Milinos insists.
They are so caught up in their own entitlement that they do not notice I’ve landed until I say, “Interesting, that you would use your son’s unfortunate death to argue for the theft of another’s gift.”
Skorrin and the nobles drop to their knees.
I give only one of them permission to rise.
“Skorrin, with me,” I say, turning toward my keep without waiting to hear the nobles’ excuses for their poor behavior.
Skorrin falls into step beside me and delivers a briefing without needing to be told. “Apparently, the Eryx Oblation gave all of the gravels and soldiers crowns made of nature jewelry while we slept—as a farewell gift. The nobles were left out.”
“Of course she did.” I should not have underestimated how much chaos my little liar could cause in just one day.
Dismissing the whining nobles from my mind, I brief Skorrin on my mission and prepare him for Kinnarick’s arrival, along with the rest of the contingent I took with me.
One would think that would be the most complicated part of my evening.
But when I enter the great hall, I find no fewer than three score goats and several gravels—Gravel Matreon Lyxnia among them—waiting for my audience.
All of them are standing directly in front of the altar.
“Sovereign!” they cry, kneeling in unison.
However, quite a few of them shift subtly left and right, forming a living blockade that effectively clogs both of my paths forward.
And they do not move.
It would take little effort to fly over them, but I come to a stop and ask, “What is this about, then?”
I lift an impatient brow at the crowd, all of whom wear the flower crowns the nobles were coveting moments ago.
Lyxnia keeps her head bowed but speaks for the group at large. “We would never seek to direct or influence our sovereign, but we wonder if there might be an alternative to tonight’s wedding and sacrifice.”
I tilt my head. “An alternative?”
“Yes, Sovereign,” a female goat chimes in. “Perhaps instead of offering Eryx an entire bride, you could give him a wee bit of her blood?”
“A cut on her hand, perhaps, like a blood pact,” one of the male Door Gravels suggests.
“Oh no, not her hands,” says a white goat with a blue beard, lifting his head. “She needs those to garden!”
“Keep your head lowered in the king’s presence!” one of the gravels hisses.
The blue-bearded goat quickly bows again, grumbling, “I’m only saying, it should be somewhere else.”
“Maybe a fleshy part of her arm,” a Stone Fae in a kitchen uniform offers.
“And if you don’t wish to keep her as consort after that,” a female goat adds, “my husband Brelliard and I would be honored to house Sallie Rose in our home and raise her as our daughter.”
“Enough,” I say, lifting a hand to silence them. “I am not yours to command. And tonight, there will be a wedding.”
