Page 6 of Of Song and Scepter

“Your Highness, please. If you’ll schedule me an appointment with the queen directly, I’m sure she’ll hear my—”

“You are dismissed,” I repeat, waving him away. The guards lurch forward, grasping Lord Varik and escorting him from the chamber.

Miss Varik raises her chin with a jerk and follows him out.

Hugo scribbles in his notes.

I slump into my seat. “How many more, Hugo?”

He checks his list. “Fifty, Your Highness.”

My subjects bear the same requests every time I hear them: higher salary for the harvesters, more restrictions for careless magic-wielders, more parties for the notoriously drunk. No more marriage proposals, thank the gods. I drum my fingers on the armrest with each passing one, impatiently waiting for the line to dwindle. And yet the requests kept pouring through the door.

Between supplicants, I motion for Hugo. He bends down so I can reach his ear. “Make a note for me.”

He readies his bone quill.

“My mother will be pleased to hear she’s relieved of her duty. I will hear our subjects more often.”

He hesitates with his quill in the air, considering my request. My lips twitch. He tucks the pad back into his robe.

“Very funny, Your Highness,” he says. “Her Majesty would disapprove. You’re not king yet.”

“Her Majesty isn’t here to laugh at my jokes. Her absence is the reason I’m doing this at all.”

“Only a handful more until low tide, and then you can kick them out.”

Sighing, I motion for the next request, the ache in my temple now pounding in a steady rhythm.

Five minutes before low tide, as if summoned by my irritation with her, the chamber doors swing open unannounced, and my mother breezes through.

The queen marches down the aisle. Her thick silver hair is knotted atop her head in a towering display. Her soft pink skirts hiss over the floor. The chained weave of her whitesteel chest piece softly clinks with every step, adorned with shells and colored glass that complement the glowing deep tan of her skin. Firm jaw, flashing eyes. At her sides, her hands flex open and closed. The room grows silent and still.

“Out,” she says. The guards file out of the room.

“I’ve found you a queen,” she announces.

“Hello, Mother,” I say, rising from her throne. “How go the matters of state?”

She ignores me. “Since you’ve been so slow to secure a suitable bride, I’ve made the decision for you.”

“Slow? Why, I heard a proposal just this morning.”

This catches her off guard. “And?”

“Unworthy of your appraisal, Mother. I dismissed Miss Varik.”

“No matter. The Abyss has offered a match. Their youngest princess, Aris.”

My eyebrows twitch. From what I’ve known, the reclusive dark-dwellers don’t deal with the surface kingdoms often,preferring to stew in their murk and nurse a centuries-long grudge against us for chasing the dredgebeasts into their territory.

“The princess arrives within the week. You’ll court her, and we’ll hold the wedding at the end of this moon. You’ll be king, and I’ll be in Cresway, sunning myself on the beach and enjoying my long-earned retirement.”

I swallow past the tightness in my throat. “Just one moon?”

My mother massages her temples and closes her eyes. “Yes, Soren. Do keep up.”

My fingernails dig into my palm, and I force my fist to uncurl. If she only knew how much Ikeep upwith the mess she’s leaving me, she wouldn’t be making demands.