Senator Idrel’s glare cut deep.
“You were not here when Gearíya was won.”
“I am the reason Gearíya was won!”
The words ripped from Xavien, his hands twitching, unruly—cracks in the calm mask he wore. His beads rattled faintly, revealing his fight for order.
He drew a shuddering breath, forced stillness into his frame.
“And if Gearíya be lost to us now, so be it. We haveCasqadiato gain.”
His gaze swept the senators.
“Will you cling to the old ways until the prize of the realm slips through your fingers?”
Senator Idrel dropped his gilded envelope onto the iron altar.
“I vote to elevate the halfling,” he said, gravel low.
“But I will not grant you divorcement. We cannot lose Gearíya.”
A flood ofayeswashed through the hall.
Xavien’s eyes shuttered.
Out—two, three, four. Hold—two, three, four.
He would not be free of Kastalya.
But Amerei would be named Casqadia’s queen.
And Viktor had sworn to protect the realm—so long as he ceased courting her, until she bore crown and command.
Xavien lifted his hand.
“Let there be no misunderstanding of our support for the halfling. Grant her five hundred of our finest soldiers.”
“No.”
Senator Idrel’s head shook, slow.
“We will not send our sons to bleed for her. Commander Storne must win Casqadia on his own.”
“One hundred,” Xavien pressed, voice steadier than the pulse hammering in his throat. “Send one hundred, as token of goodwill. Casqadia must remain in our favor—”
“One hundred!” King Yethule’s voice thundered, sudden and raw.
Xavien’s beads snapped across his shoulder as he turned, breath locking.
He met his father’s gaze.
A light long absent flickered there.
“I give,” the king declared, “one hundred soldiers.”
Xavien bowed, slow and measured, before rising with renewed control.
“The king, in his divine wisdom, gives one hundred archers to the Queen of Casqadia! Sa laeris velyn Elváliev!"(Swift is the arm of Elváliev!)
