Page 4 of Golden Queen (Idrigard #1)

Much depended upon the agreements made each year at the King's Day Summit.

Kingdoms could rise and fall based upon their trade with Windemere, so the eldermen took their part in those negotiations very seriously.

The summit would last the entire month, with merchants, nobles, and common people alike, gathering in Albiyn to hash out deals for the upcoming year.

Windemere was by far the biggest producer of food in the world.

The golden grains that covered the kingdom from coast to coast grew year-round, from warmest summer to coldest winter.

But in more than ten thousand years of recorded history, not for want of trying, there had never been a single blade of godsgrass grown outside the kingdom.

The plants simply refused to bear seed or take root in any other soil.

So Windemere was always at the center of the entire world's commerce.

When the eldermen moved on to talk of my marriage, I completely lost the thread of their conversation, intentionally. I had little interest in the way those people wanted to shape my future, and little hope that it would turn out to be anything I would consider a life well-lived.

I stared up at the ceiling at the domed painting of the angel holding her basket of godsgrass seeds.

Her pale hand was extended, letting the little points of light spread out across the land, as her eyes stared off into the distance.

I had always wondered what she was supposed to be looking at to give her such a hungry expression.

The argument in the chamber became incessant. I only perked my ears up when they mentioned Lord Emerus Divestra.

"My Emerus is the best choice for Windemere," said the Duke of Divestra.

He had been angling for the match since we were both young.

I had once even entertained the idea myself that the tall, handsome Emerus might make a suitable husband.

But then I had turned eleven years old, and he had shown me who he truly was.

"They are cousins," Arkadian said, exasperation clear in his tone. It was true, though the relationship was so distant that I could not even name the connection between us.

Arkadian laid his palm on the smooth wood of the table, his expression grim.

I knew he was thinking of the incident with Emerus, when I was so young.

Emerus had been a teenager, old enough to know better, when he had cornered me and my companion, Tatana, in the gardens.

The things Emerus had tried to do did not even bear thinking about, especially not by little girls, as we had been.

I knew Arkadian was still thinking about it though, as he absently traced the edges of the ospherion on his crest; a massive bird of prey that fished off the Point of Lithaway.

"You are also the Princess' cousin, and even if they will not say it in enclave, there are many here who would have the match despite your blood," the Duke of Divestra said coolly.

Arkadian's eyes shot up. "That will never happen." His jaw had gone tight, and his lips thinned at the evidence that many of them still viewed him as the lost Lithaway heir; the one who should be on the throne.

"A match between you and the princess is the only hope of keeping the House of Lithaway on the Godsgrass Throne," the high priestess put in.

She had removed her gloves and was tapping one of her sharply pointed, lacquered nails on the table.

The plum color was so deep it almost looked black.

"Whoever the Princess marries will topple the Lithaway Dynasty for the first time since Edgeon.

We should not discount the idea of avoiding that by installing the last of the Lithawayan blood on the throne. "

"That will never fucking happen," Arkadian reiterated, striking his fist on the table. "Aelia is like a sister to me and she is also of Lithawayan blood. Crown her! End this madness of being willing to hand Windemere over to a fucking stranger to avoid having a woman on the throne!"

"Aelia will be on the throne," Markus said.

"Of course she will, with her power usurped by her gods damned husband." Arkadian was my champion. He always had been.

"Which is the nature of womanhood, my son," the high priestess said, her words deceptively sweet. "Even I must answer to the Dagda."

The Baroness of Khiebol spoke up. "You answer to a god who is either dead or has abandoned you. We all know who holds the power in the Presarion, Merryelle. If it can be done with the kingdom's Holy Order, then there is no reason to believe it would not work for the crown!"

Erelzeba Adiala was another of my champions. She was my most vocal ally on the council, aside from Arkadian himself. She ruled Khiebol, an important estate on the southern border, in her own right since she had married a common born stonemason named Remeus.

Remeus died less than eighteen months into their marriage, and the Lady had never remarried.

"He was my soulmate, my dear," she had once told me, with tears still shining in her eyes after more than sixty years apart. "No man but him could have ever touched my heart."

We'd been having lunch in her chambers that day, and she stripped off her gloves to show me her aged, lined hand. A mark lay in the center of her palm—the mating mark that proved the truth of her words.

It was a diffuse, sooty, red-inked tattoo that extended out from a dot that lay in the center of her life line. The graceful whorls and arcs fanned out to look like the petals of a stylized flower.

I studied the mark as she told me how her father had refused to allow her to marry Remeus. So they fled to the Citadel in Athelen and had their bond confirmed by the masters.

"I knew it from the start, just as he did," Erelzeba told me. "We simply needed proof for my father, who, stubborn as he was, loved me very much. He knew it would have destroyed me to be parted from my mate."

So Erelzeba's father had made her hide the mark, since even the very small amount of magic involved in the mating bond's confirmation was forbidden in Windemere. And he had taken the brunt of the shame for allowing his only child and the heir of Khiebol to marry a common-born man.

I left Erelzeba's chamber that day feeling like I might fall to the floor under the weight of the knowledge that such a love could exist out there for me, a match fates-forged to be complement to my soul, and I would never be afforded the opportunity to find it.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by Arkadian's angry words. I realized the eldermen were still discussing a match between the two of us, the high priestess being the most favorable voice in the room.

"I've had enough of this pointless discussion. It makes me question whether all your minds have gone to rot and ruin," Arkadian shouted.

He was angrier than I had seen him in a very long time, so angry that I was worried if someone else spoke in favor of a union between us, he would leap across the table with his dagger in his hand.

"Surely you must all see that my Emerus would be the best choice," the Duke of Divestra said to a few groans of protest from around the table.

He was not deterred, though. "If a new dynasty must be formed, then it should be of the House of Divestra, who came to these shores with Edgeon himself before the angels planted the godsgrass!

" He finished with a palm laid reverently on the seal of Divestra before him.

"Perhaps we could ask Aelia for her opinion," Arkadian said, darting a glance to where I sat in my little chair by the window.

I shook my head, widening my eyes in warning. I had no interest in discussing this yet...or ever. I would have little say in the matter, even if I did express a preference for one of the useless lords and nobles who had come to court.

"The Princess is not permitted to speak in enclave before she is crowned," Markus said, and then breezed past the whole subject.

"The emissaries from Nightfall will be arriving in a few days.

We should spend some time looking at the terms they sent before we meet them.

They have not expressed any interest in the hand of the Princess," he added, as though it needed clarification.

A fae on the Godsgrass Throne would be unthinkable.

"And is there any word from the tudemond?" Titus Matterson asked, surprising me when the baron from the merchant city of Finharrow steered the subject firmly back to my betrothal.

"Not as of yet," Markus said with a frown. "Though if the word from Balus is true, he may have his hands full at the moment...with an invasion."

"Has the tudemond really expressed a renewed interest in the Princess after...?" Baron Mandelian asked, letting the words trail off meaningfully.

"He has," Markus said.

Many of the eldermen around the table gave me sympathetic looks. It was no secret the disaster that resulted from the attempted marriage contract between me and the Tudemond of Balus when I was thirteen.

"You should have made it clear to that weasel-dicked little prick that he is not welcome in Albiyn after what he did," Arkadian said, rising from his chair and leaning angrily over the table again.

The spoiled young ruler of Balus had reached over and pinched me hard under the arm when I was unwilling to let him look at my teeth.

"Though, perhaps Penjan will do us all a favor and wipe his entire line from the map," Arkadian added coldly.

And then the meeting devolved into talk of the threat of Penjani shadow magic, and I slumped in my seat in exhaustion.

That evening, I found myself in my bedchamber after an exhausting day with the suitors crowding the castle.

Most were staying in the various inns, taverns, and townhouses across the sprawling city, but long-held custom dictated that some of them be invited into the castle to spend a few days and nights in honored comfort with the royal family.