Thrane shrugs, not bothered in the slightest. "That's why we send delegations in our stead. But delegates cannot make decisions like this without consulting with their kings and queens."
"What do you propose?" King Soren asks.
"Invite them to a celebration," Thrane rubs his chin. "One they cannot refuse without appearing rude. Once we get them all here, then we can call a meeting."
"So," Nyx roots his elbows to the table, the wheels of his mind spinning, "we surprise them with a war counsel?" He runs a hand down his jawline and smirks conspiratorially. "I like it."
I clear my throat, garnering the group's attention. "Won't that upset them more? Inviting them here under false pretenses?"
"Perhaps," Thrane nods, but by his unbothered nature, he simply doesn't care about pissing the other rulers off. "The alternative is hoping they show up for a meeting out of the goodness of their hearts and we all know that won't happen."
"You want us to throw a festival or ball?" Atlas chimes in beside me. His left hand hasn't left my thigh since we sat down. "Other than Winter Solstice –"
"I'm afraid it will have to be much grander than that," Thrane interrupts, there's mischief in his grey eyes, as if he's got a delicious secret and is vacillating if he'll share it with us. "And far more important."
Ronan laughs at the far end of the table. He tosses a small cube of cheese into his mouth and shakes his head.
"Is something amusing, Ronan?" Thrane's eyes slice to meet his.
Ronan doesn't bother looking up from his snack. "This is never going to work." When a few grumbles make their way around the room, Ronan raises a hand in surrender. "Listen, I'm in complete agreement with you, Thrane. It has to be an event important enough to draw them out. Hell, my father hasn't left these shores to accept an invitation in years. I'm sent in his stead. So apart from a royal wedding or death of another ruler, I doubt any of them will show up."
Thrane's face lights up. He exchanges an odd look with Soren and then it hits me. Thrane was two steps ahead of everyone. He knew someone would argue with him and mention the two reasons all other rulers would gather in one place. He steered the conversation and allowed someone else to bring forth an idea he could readily back without appearing to be the puppeteer.
The room goes completely silent until Ronan stares at each of us one-by-one.
He frowns. "Why is everyone staring at me like that?" When his eyes meet mine, I can't hide my grimace. Clarity strikes him like lightning and his eyes widen in horror. "No," he shakes his head. "Wait a second –"
"Son," Soren interrupts with a firm voice that chills me. "Now is as good a time as any to take a wife."
And it's like the air is sucked out of the room, tension welcoming itself inside like a dry desert breeze.
"You gave me a year! One year!" Ronan slams his hand on the table, rattling the glassware. "This wasn't our deal."
"There was no deal, Ronan. It is your duty to –"
Ronan turns to Thrane, rage radiating from him. "Why don't you get married? You're a single, newly crowned king."
In typical Thrane behavior, he's unmoved by the fear and anger pointed his direction. He folds his hands in his lap and sighs. "No one would believe I would take a wife. And much stranger to take a wife and have a wedding in Tronovia. I'm afraid you are the more believable choice."
Like a cornered animal, Ronan shakes his head, tears welling in his bloodshot eyes. "I won't do it," he growls.
"As the heir to the throne, you are required to take a wife and sire heirs," Soren double-downs. "We both know by this time next year you will be doing the same thing you're doing now. Partying atPrue'sand avoiding adult responsibilities."
"I'm glad your opinion of me is so decorated," Ronan shrinks in his seat, defeat written across his features.
Soren places a hand on Ronan's shoulder and squeezes. "I know you have traveled a lot in my stead recently and I appreciate you doing so. But now is the time to take a wife and bring all the other rulers together."
Ronan shrugs his father from him. "Instead of being honest with them about what's to come, you'll offer me up as a sacrificial lamb?"
"Does this have to be a real wedding?" My question relieves Ronan of unrelenting stares. "Perhaps we invite them to a wedding and then it conveniently falls apart?" It sounds ridiculous the moment the words leave my lips, but for Ronan, I will try to help anyway I can. Although, I'm fighting a losingbattle. Soren has been itching for Ronan to take a wife and there's no better opportunity than this.
"Her idea." Ronan points at me for emphasis, clutching at it like a lifeline. "Let's go with her idea."
Soren's stoney expression softens for a moment, as if he's contemplating Ronan's pleading for mercy. But determination seeps into his eyes and he straightens. He's decided and it's not looking good for Ronan. "Fate has spoken. It's a sign. Now is the time, Ronan."
In one last act of desperation, Ronan motions toward me and Atlas. "Have Atlas and Shaye get married. She's a princess and he's of royal blood. They're already engaged –"
"Ronan."
