Another duke clears his throat. “We have alliances beyond this table. Through marriage. Through faith. Our loyalty is not unmoored.”
Faith.
The Pope’s name is not spoken, but everyone hears it anyway.
Charles’s voice remains steady. “The Church values order. Stability. Protection—”
“So do we,” Tassilo interrupts. “Which is why we hesitate to place ourselves entirely under one crown.”
I glance at Charles. His jaw is tight. The ring on his hand catches the light. I know this look, this is the moment where patience becomes restraint.
“We will not end like the kingdoms you have already folded into your realm,” one of the dukes says quietly. “We will not trade our titles for your favor.”
No one breathes.
Then Charles nods.
“Very well,” he says. “Consider what I have offered. Consider what your refusal will cost.” He rolls up the maps, and the meeting ends without resolution. That alone is dangerous.
As the dukes rise, I see it clearly: this was never about taxes or borders. It was about whether the South would kneel willingly, or be remembered as something that used to exist.
Some of the dukes leave the palace immediately, other stay behind to speak to one another, to ask about their neighbors, family, or talk trade. Charles is in deep conversation with Lord Vexton and Aynhard, when the door to the King’s hall opens.
“Father?”
My heart stutters.
She runs in before anyone can stop her, skirts lifted in small fists, hair coming loose from its braid. A servant follows, pale and breathless.
Charles turns instantly, warmth flooding his face. “Little star. What is it?”
She looks around the hall, curious.
“I wanted to say goodnight,” Thea whispers when she realizes the room is filled with unknown people.
“Well, that was good of you. Good night, darling. Now run along and we’ll play tomorrow,” he says, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead.
Thea runs over to me and gives me a tight hug. “Night, Mama,” then takes the nurse maid’s hand and strides for the door, as if she owns the place.
Then her eyes land on Tassilo, and she smiles.
“Oh! It’s the King of Cheese,” she exclaims, “Mama, look! Where is your crown? And how is Greyson doing? Can I ridehim again soon?”
I move before I think, stepping forward too fast, my breath sharp in my chest.
Tassilo bends down to Thea and pats her head.
“Actually, Greyson has been asking about you, princess. But for now, it is time to sleep. I am sure we’ll see each other again soon.”
My eyes look to where Charles sits. Has he heard the whole exchange?
His hand grips the arm of his chair, his knuckles going white. I can feel it—the flare, the sudden heat, the ring’s magic pulling tight like a snare.
“That will be all,” Charles says pleasantly, already rising. “Take her back.”
The servant obeys at once. My daughter looks back at me and smiles before she is gone.
Conversation stumbles back to life. The dukes pretend nothing happened. Charles speaks when required, calm and measured, but his gaze cuts to me again and again. Each time it does, my skin prickles.
