The king gave the jester a frigid look. “Psychological pain can be just as effective. When I’m done with him, disembowelment will feel like mercy.”
Our clan moved to the platform’s railing. Lining up, we stared at the montage of leaves that umbrellaed the enclave.
“Eliminating Indigo will sever a line of communication for Summer,” Briar reflected. “But it won’t resolve a war.”
Aspen leaned against me. “You don’t topple an oak by chopping off its branches. You have to destroy the roots.”
Accurate. “We dismantled half of Rhys’s burgeoning army, but not the rest,” I summarized. “Even if we triumph there, we won’t in the long-term.”
Poet sighed. “While slitting the cocksucker’s neck should fix that problem, Summer has proven he knows how to mobilize the vulnerable. He’s amassed followers in the shadows, disciples willing to avenge his legacy and restore the continent’s original prejudices like a recurring trend. The King of Summer might die, but his memory will live on. In that way, we’d only immortalize him like the fucking divinity Rhys thinks he is.”
Aspen gripped the balustrade. “Not that I relished it, but being a spy had a perk. While working for him, Rhys only ever showed real fear about one thing. That is, aside from facing offwith Winter. In any case, the threat of this secret getting out routinely caused the man to piss himself.”
She had discussed this with Poet and Briar in private, then later with me. The army was a component to Rhys’s downfall, part of winning this impending war. However, it was not the key.
Although we hadn’t yet presented this to the clan at-large, realization dawned on Nicu. “Rhys’s missing heir,” he announced. “He’s the key.”
Poet’s mouth slid into a devilish grin. “Do the honors and elaborate.”
My liege’s smile mirrored his father’s. “But we already know.”
Yes, we did. Despite not reaching this conclusion formally, our clan had been ruminating on this subject already, peeling back the layers from the onset.
Rejection and ostracism only went so far. Neither would Rhys’s death be enough. There was only one true and final way to beat this king.
Aspen and I spoke in unison, “We replace him.”
57
Aspen
Usurp his throne. Overthrow the bastard.
But not with just anyone.
After serving Rhys, I knew. This elusive heir scared him more than anything. More than Jeryn. More than Winter. More than the emancipation of born souls. For whatever reason, the King of Summer had one ultimate weakness, one thing that would undermine, demean, and break him for good.
Loss of power terrified this dictator. But how acutely depended on the context.
We migrated to the fire pit where I’d shared meals with Aire, Nicu, and Lyrik. It turned out, Briar, Eliot, and Cadence recalled this spot with similar nostalgia. They had their own stint here once, and this platform was also where they ate together.
Under Jeryn’s direction, Lyrik kept sleeping off his injury. Aside from the rogue, Nicu temporarily excused himself from this discussion. Stress from the battle had exhausted him, in addition to a few wounds Briar and Poet insisted he recover from.
Nicu would join us later. From there, we would recap the details and get his feedback.
A crackling blaze threw light across everyone’s faces. Settling around the benches, our clan balanced steaming mugs and muttered in hushed tones.
“But what about Giselle?” Posy wondered while snuggling with Vale beneath a tartan blanket. “She can rule on her own. Rhys doesn’t need a replacement.”
“Not now,” Eliot contested while peering into the flames. “But eventually.”
“Every ruler’s time comes to an end,” Avalea stated, giving her daughter a proud smile. “If they’re fortunate, they shall look forward to their descendants.”
“Too bad Summer’s court doesn’t have that type of luck,” Cadence said while combing a snag from her evergreen hair. “Since the only acknowledged heir is an uninvested dandy, he’ll reject his seat at the throne.”
In which case, married Royals could appoint alternative successors. But only if both parties agreed. Giselle and Rhys would never concur on that front. So while the queen would likely champion this missing heir—barring the unidentified figure was nothing like Rhys—the king would slit his own throat before sanctioning a transfer of power.
The wild card was the circumstances of this heir’s birth. That alone might be enough to topple Rhys, if we managed to find out and publicize it.
