“And I urge you not to undo us all,” she bit back. “We must be very careful about how we proceed. Unruly subjects at a time like this would do no one much good. Your rule is fresh,” she told Skyre, her voice softening to a mother’s coo. “The people have not yet embraced their love for you.”
The words bored holes inside his skin.
The Sun Matron’s honeyed lips had always been full of promise, but now they spoke bitter. “It is important to solidify the Vaich’s place. His title is uncontestable, but the hearts of men must be coerced. You must prove yourself a capable ruler, and this is our first test.”
“What would you have me do?” he asked.
“Eliminate anythoughtof competition.”
Skyre’s fists tightened. “Thereisno competition. I am the last Vaich. A son of Æon’Righ. ThisMoon Kingis a weak, simple-minded wanderer. He should be returned to whence he came.”
“So long as the druid lives, he will be a thorn,” said Othrik.
“But he cannot be killed. To do so would be to mock the gods at our backs,” said Medhin.
Skyre trembled in silent rage. No matter where he turned, his answers were few, and his burdens many. Whyhim? He was meant to be immortal, not to slog through petty struggles of inheritance. This was a matter for lesser lairds. Not a king.
“Then, it leaves little room for question,” said Othrik, begrudgingly. “We must remove his potential for power without removing the heretic himself.”
“And how do you suppose I do that?” asked Skyre, folding his arms across his chest.
“Give the people what they wish,” said Medhin.
His eyes narrowed in confusion. “What they wish?”
“A queen.”
The word settled heavily in the air. Skyre’s arms dropped, his stomach with them. Dizziness gripped his mind, and he staggered, bracing himself against the mantlepiece. His fingers dug into the stone, chipping at his nails.
“You suggest what?” he whispered. “That I—”
Medhin stepped forward, her robes shifting as she cupped his face. “Make the druid your consort. With him at your side, the gods are appeased and our place maintained. The people cannot deny fate as they see it fulfilled. And you will keep all the power granted to you, as intended.”
Skyre shook his head, but could not speak.
“He would need be converted, but a marriagewouldease the fire,” said Othrik. “If made consort, the druid will be subdued.”
“And he would be mybride,” Skyre hissed.
“In name,” said Othrik. “A man is not forbid his lovers, nor a king his concubines. It matters only that His Majesty is proven virile. The kingdom will delight in the spread of the Vaich’s gólneld, and you may sire many children, yet.”
Skyre couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Every Vaich before him had taken a wife, or many, if not just to prove his capability. To take a man as his first bride… that would be asking for doubt.
“And if I do not take him as consort?” said Skyre.
They did not answer. They need not.
Why now?
He was promised the people. He was promised the land. He was a son of Sun, of the divine breaker of skies. The Moon had spoken his name. And now she had spoken another.
Not a queen. But a challenger to his crown.
He glanced towards the window. “I inherit nothing from the gods but a riddle. And the people await my answer.” His fist tightened. “They will wait longer, still.”
“Skyre—”
He grabbed up his mantle, sweeping it around his shoulders. “I’m going down to the pitch.Don’tbother me.”
