“Except my freedom.” Even to Wycke’s own ears, the words came out as a pout. But at least he wasn’t being forced to bond with a mate of the king’s choice—yet.
“For now. The people have no reason to trust us. They consider us outsiders. But the crone lied. Old King Umbri wouldn’t have made us pay for our father’s crimes. King Broen doesn’t hold Father’s actions against us, or he wouldn’t make me his queen, instead of using me as a bargaining chip to the northern king to secure an alliance.” Saris’s smile appeared strained.
“Do you want to be queen?”
Saris opened and closed her mouth, then sighed. She ran fingers through her hair, winced when she reached a handful of hairpins, and dropped her hand. “What choice do I have? Father would have brokered a joining contract for me soon enough. At least Broen is kind. He’s been good to you too.”
True enough. High King Broen had taught Wycke to ride, how to hunt— had even given him a horse of his own. “Do you love him?”
Princesses shouldn’t snort so inelegantly. Or so his former governess said. “His father killed our father; how could I?”
“But he doesn’t hold our father’s deeds against us. Why don’t you do the same?”
Saris rose from her crouch and paced the room, skirts swishing across the floor. “My situation is different. I have no choice who to join with. He does. But if I don’t bond with him, how can I ensure he’ll take good care of you and not attack our brother? I’m doing the only thing I can. Love is not a part of the joining contract.”
She used to read books to Wycke about brave knights and fair maidens. True love always followed. “Shouldn’t it be?”
“There was no love between our parents. Father took many lovers, as did King Umbri. That’s the way of men.” Saris smiled, though her eyes shimmered. “One day, you’ll have a string of lovers competing for your affections. You’ll see.”
Saris meant to reassure him, but Wycke doubted her words. People here looked at him with suspicion in their eyes. “Too many of the servants despise me because of our father.”
Saris winked, putting on a show of a good mood. Even Wycke’s magic suppressor couldn’t hide the icy cold Saris felt inside. “Then my first act as queen shall be to replace the servants. The king will not be getting an easy mate.”
“You’ll replace all of them?” Did Wycke dare to hope?
Saris’s firm nod proclaimed her decision. “If needs be. Let’s let the people know I won’t take my position lightly.”
Few of the existing servants merited so much as a second thought from Wycke. Maybe the head cook could stay. She’d learned to make his favorite dishes, brought cookies baked just for him.“My poor, motherless boy,”she’d say, then proceed to mother him herself. She never mentioned Wycke’s father.
“Can we keep the cook?” Wycke asked, gazing up with hopeful eyes.
Saris tousled his hair. “We can keep anyone you want.” She straightened. “Now, since you have time off from your studies, shall we stroll around the garden until my ladies seek me out? I want one last day of relative freedom before my joining ceremony in the morning.” Saris held out her hand, wriggling her fingers.
“What about Sir Broderick?” Or the guards who normally shadowed Wycke’s every move.
Saris waved a dismissive hand. “My future mate pays highly for Sir Broderick’s services as my personal guard. So, let’s make him earn his keep.” She grinned, appearing a young girl again, happy like she’d been before their capture. “He might scold me, but he always forgives me.”
“Tomorrow, you’ll be joined.” Wycke didn’t want Saris to settle for a loveless pairing. But she spoke the truth. High King Broen treated them well.
Saris sighed. “Yes, tomorrow, I’ll be joined.”
Then she’d no longer be Princess Saris but Queen Consort Saris.
Queen first. Wycke’s sister second.
CHAPTER SIX
A manservant woke Wycke the following day from dreams of the dark-haired boy. The governess usually sat in a chair, helping herself to Wycke’s breakfast. This man, though silent, saw to the bath, combed Wycke’s hair with no snide remarks about the color, then assisted him with dressing. Like his sister, Wycke wore his long hair unbound.
Saris likely chose Wycke’s clothing herself: soft hide breeches tucked into tall, sturdy boots, typical of mountain attire. He couldn’t name the fabric of his tunic, the only part of his ensemble fashioned to local tastes, which matched the golden color of his eyes.
The manservant eyed the silver cuff. Wycke pulled his sleeve down to hide the ornament he never intended to remove. Few locals possessed much magic beyond the ability to light a fire or slow a goose for catching. Still, the king employed mages and a sorcerer. Wycke had managed to stay beneath their notice thus far.
He’d love training, learning to use his magic, but revealing his secret wasn’t worth the risks.
When the servant nodded and left the room at last, Wycke glanced at himself in the mirror. While his brother resembled their father, handsome in a rugged way, Wycke resembled his sister, pretty in a more delicate fashion. A trait from their mother, whose portrait hung on Saris’s sitting room wall.
He ran his hands over his heavily embroidered tunic, delicate stitchery depicting a winged horse and flowering vines. No use stalling. Today’s festivities would happen with or without him. Not attending would only hurt Saris.
