Page 7 of The Ever King

“Livie.” My mother’s soft touch fell to my arm. She studied me for a breath, as though she knew my night had been turbulent. She always did. “All right, little love?”

“Fine.” I hugged her waist and let my head fall to her shoulder even though she stood shorter than me. “All gone with the dawn.”

My mother stroked my arm, gentle and safe. She’d done all that could be done to ease the nightmares that had plagued her daughter for turns. Droughts, letting me sleep between her and my father, lullabies, assurances. Now, she simply held me like this, letting me know she was always there.

With a sigh, she tilted her face to the sky. “I hope tomorrow’s games aren’t wet for you.”

“Better not be ‘cause I’m gonna kick Alva in her stupid legs,” Rorik said, abandoning Aleksi and slashing his wooden sword again. Alva was the daughter of my father’s First Knight and had somehow become the prince’s ultimate rival. “They’re so long, like twigs. I bet I’ll snap 'em in two.”

I snorted. Rorik slashed his sword again in sloppy strikes to his invisible villain. He had a long way to go before he donned the black gambeson like Aleksi.

“Gods save me from this boy,” my mother muttered under her breath, then closed her eyes. My mother was no weak thing, but I had a feeling a son like Rorik would be the undoing of any mother.

All at once, Rorik stopped his imaginary battle and beamed when another Rave approached. “Stieg!”

Stieg was my father’s captain and had been beside my parents before they even took vows, turns before the war of the sea. Steady as the sun and firm as granite, I was certain Rorik dreamed not of the crown he’d been born into, but the day he served beside Stieg.

The captain stepped next to Rorik, a smirk on his battle-gnarled lips. “Practicing, young prince?”

“Always.”

Stieg chuckled, ruffling Rorik’s hair. Scars, inked runes on the captain’s cheeks, and the bone hoop pierced through his nose, added a touch of ferociousness, but one look at the playful gleam in the steel of his eyes gave away his true temperament.

“The coaches are ready, My Queen,” Stieg said, tipping his chin in respect.

My mother sighed, and when she looked at me, her brow furrowed in concern.

I linked my arm through hers. “Maj, I’m fine. Go. Be free of us for a few sunrises.”

She covered my hand on her arm with her palm. “Ten turns. Hard to think you were not much older than Rorik when all the fighting ended. This turn’s festival is a landmark in how far we’ve come, so itfeelsdifferent.”

My skin prickled. Did she feel the unease as I did? I swallowed, refusing to spiral into thoughts of what it could all mean if everyone had a bit of disquiet this turn. Odds were I felt strange for the same reasons as my mother. A great deal had changed, and these significant turns caused us to think back on all that had happened.

That was all.

Rose thorns wrapped around a dagger, and a battle axe painted the door of the Night Folk coach that would take my uncles and parents to the annual royal council.

Councils were always held at the palace of the last king and queen to be crowned. Both were rather keen to avoid large gatherings like the Crimson Festival and welcomed the different clans to their palace in the center knolls, a two-day’s distance.

There they oversaw any troubles in the realms, likely reminisced about the wars they all fought together, and kept our world locked in continued peace.

My mother drew both Rorik and me into another embrace, kissing my cheek, and the top of his head. “Liv, swear to me you’ll be wise, safe, and will keep Jonas from making ten new Eastern heirs while we’re gone.”

“How would he do that?” Rorik asked.

Maj and I shared a look and laughed, pulling him close a little longer.

While she fussed over Rorik and the ways he would be expected to abide by Stieg’s orders in their absence, I slowed my steps as I approached his back. No one ever surprised the man, but he was distracted by conversation with my uncles enough I just might—

“Hello, little love.” My father turned around when I had two paces left.

“Gods, Daj. I think your fury accentuates your ears.” I rolled my eyes and waited for him to open his arms, before dipping around him and embracing my Uncle Sol first.

To stir the brotherly rivalry between the two was wholly worth it when my father frowned and glared at his brother.

“Uncle,” I said. “I feel as though I’ve not been able to speak to you since we arrived.”

Sol was handsome like my father, but instead of dark Night Folk eyes, his were deep blue like mine. He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Because my king is an ass and demands all my time.”