Page 6 of The Ivory King (Crowns of Melowynn #2)

IT WAS MORE THAN AMUSING WHEN , as V’alor lounged in the tub after I’d bathed in it, my heart’s desire heard me conversing with the very same valet he had been grousing about an hour earlier.

“Lord Aelir, I am beyond thrilled to be able to tend to your every need while you are here in Avolire,” Joralf gushed as he skipped into my suite, short dark hair brushed back from his face to highlight his pleasing features, with a dish of honey cakes in hand. “I begged my masters to allow me to come in hopes that they would offer me to you since we know you do not employ valets of your own. Oh! Let me brush out your hair on the patio. The setting sun will dry it with golden highlights that will capture the candles in the royal hall.” He took me by the elbow to steer me to the open doors. I moved along with him, eager to see the look that crossed V’alor’s face when he exited the bath in the next room. “Rumor has it that there are thousands and that the light from the candles reflects off the mirrored wall, creating daylight when it is night!”

“Yes, that is true,” I replied when he placed the cakes on a side table and then released me to fetch a padded stool from a dressing table with an ornate round mirror. I snugged my robe tightly around my damp waist, knowing it would not shield much from the servant’s eager eyes. “So the twins gave you leave to tend to me?”

“They did!” He rushed over, placed the stool to face the sun as it kissed the choppy sea, and then gently arranged me as he wished. “They are so good to me. Oh this brush! It is divine! Are those desert opals in the handle?” He scurried around my room like a chipmunk, returning with my brush, my comb, and a box of ruby-red beads that I’d packed for adornment at dinners. “I know that wearing braids when in attendance to the king is forbidden for nobles, but if I am sly, I may be able to use some fine fishing line and attach the line to your circlet so that with each turn of your head your hair shall glisten like a dragon’s horde. What say you, my lord?”

I plucked a honey cake from the platter. I never could resist honey cakes or V’alor’s lips. Both were equally sweet.

“I say that you have stones the size of musk melons to enter this chamber while my lord is not dressed for your eyes,” V’alor snarled behind us. I craned my head to look over my shoulder as V’alor stalked from the bathing chamber wearing naught but a feral glint in his dark eyes. Joralf gulped loudly and shot around the stool I sat on, quaking like a tree in a storm. His gaze fell to my bare feet.

“He is here at the request of the Mossbells, and it would seem rude to dismiss him as he was brought here for my use,” I tossed out, then winced at the way that phrase sounded. “My use as a valet. Now, please, do find a robe to wear back to the barracks, my love, while I begin to ready myself for a meal with the king and his court.”

V’alor mumbled and strode about the room, gathering his scattered clothing and armor while Joralf stood in front of me with his lower lip betwixt his teeth.

I sensed my lover coming up behind me. A strong hand fell to my shoulder, his fingers caressing my throat in a possessive manner.

“I shall take my leave, my lord. Your guard shall be ready to escort you and the grand advisor when the sun has fallen behind the horizon.” V’alor gave my neck a soft squeeze. “I expect you to keep your wandering eyes in your skull lest I pluck them out and feed them to the gulls.”

“Y-y-yes, my lord. My liege. My guard captain,” Joralf stammered, his pretty eyes now squeezed tightly shut.

“Joralf will be courteous. Now go so that we are ready. The king does not like tardiness in his guests.”

V’alor took a moment to leave. I turned on my stool to watch him slip out the door, say something curt to the men stationed there, and then disappear from view. Pasil peeked around the open door, smiled, and then gently closed it.

“That man has a great fondness of thought for feeding me and my body parts to various birds,” Joralf whispered, his grip tight on his thin fishing line.

“He tends to be possessive of me but fear not. He has never fed any body parts of any well-behaved staff to any birds. Now, we should work on the knots in my hair before they dry,” I said, smiling at the soft mutterings of my borrowed valet as he expertly began to gently move a comb through my knee-length hair.

“He speaks as if he were your consort,” Joralf offered as he combed, then worked some scented oil into my hair. “But he is just your guard captain. Is he not?”

“He is not just that, he is my life’s joy, and we are one of heart and soul,” I replied, feeling his fingertips on my scalp stall for a mere second. “Do you find that appalling?”

“No, my lord Aelir, I think he is the luckiest elf in Melowynn.”

Funny, for I thought that I was the luckiest elf in Melowynn for having V’alor’s love.

“You smell like a prostitute’s quiff,” Umeris remarked as we made our way to the royal hall. V’alor and Pasil accompanied us. Tezen, much to her upset, had been summoned to the pixie king’s suite where she had been dressed down and guilted into shedding her armor to dress accordingly. I’d not heard the outrage, but Pasil said that the air was so thick with vulgarities that many of the guards blushed. I scanned the long line in the white hall to find her, but I could not spy any of the pixies.

“It is scented oil from the stores of the king’s own perfumer,” I answered, keeping my pace at a crawl so that Umeris, in his long robes and pointed slippers did not get his puffy feet tangled and fall down in front of his peers of the realm. “You are always encouraging me to use more courtly ways.”

“By courtly ways, I meant ideals, not smells,” he snapped back and smiled at an older woman in deep purple robes. “Ugh, that one should not even be here given her son has been cited by the city manager for public intoxication and pissing in the fountain of Ihdos,” he whispered to the side.

I threw a fast look at the elven crone in purple, then stared at my grandfather. “And you know this how?”

“I keep an ear to the wind, something that you should do if you ever hope to step into my shoes someday.”

“I would sooner have my feet lopped off and walk about on seal flippers than wear those gaudy slippers of yours. They are a century out of style and too small for your feet. Even the royal healer stated that you should use a wheelchair as Bonnalure does—”

“I do not need a wheelchair! I am not a cripple!” His ire flared brightly and then, just as quickly, he got himself under control. It would not do to cause a scene in the line to be presented to the king. To be fair to my grandfather and his crossness, the inside of the royal hall was packed tight with elves, all in finery that, if sold, could feed the whole of Melowynn for ten seasons. The air was hot, stuffy, and reeked of floral oils worked into pale skins and scalps. Much like mine, I lamented. “Now, listen to me, boy, when we are announced we are to simply walk to his majesty, bow, and then leave for our seats at the high noble table. Do not sit at the secondary tables, or the third. Your place is beside me at all meals.”

“I know where to sit. I have come to court many times.”

Umeris sniffed, nodded at the ginger-haired ruler of the Witherhorn dwarven tribes who stood ahead of us, and then leaned more heavily on my arm. The doors were closed tightly on the massive hall as a sea storm had blown in with no warning. Winds raged outside, ripping at the palm trees in the gardens and sending the peafowl into their pens to avoid the rain lashing the coast. Last-minute changes to the meal and presentation to the king had to be made when a large palm tree toppled into one of the twenty panels of stained glass in the throne room. The ivory throne was unharmed but rain and water now soaked the room and the tapestries. That led to mass chaos among the staff who had to move the throne, not a small feat, into the royal dining hall. A testament to the workers in the castle as they somehow managed to change direction on the drop of a silver, or a tree, and make the change seamlessly.

And quite a feat—and feast—it was going to be. Small casks of ice wine, dandelion wine, and rich fruity mead were toted about the tables by servers to refill hammered goblets of silver. Each table bowed under the weight of gourmet fare. Platters of dark lichen bread sat amongst appetizers of heavily peppered rolled rabbit haunch and green mushroom filling, dishes of nuts from around the kingdom, small cubes of red melon heavily doused with honey, and grated nut meat. We elves did enjoy our sweets as did the yeti and dwarves. There were also plates of dried meats and fish served with bright orange fruits from the Black Sand Isles to please the palate of those delegates. The mains would be beasts roasted to perfection in one of the ten kitchens. Wild boar, fatty geese, succulent hams, tiny quails, fish as large as a man filled with heady herbs and golden spinach leaves. For the wood elves in attendance who did not partake in meats, soups created from only beet stock and garden-raised vegetables. The purple soup, a particular favorite of Kenton and Beirich, who were far behind us in line, would be served with hearty buns with thick crusts. My friends would be seated much later than the noble elves but before the city officials. Protocol was all important. Ihdos bless us all if a wood elf might sit his backside next to the heir of a vills to sup. Again, it was all nonsense to me. People were people, let them sit where they wished and enjoy the soup that most in the bowels of Celear would beg, borrow, or steal to take a sip of it.

Still, a breeze would have been pleasant. Sweat rolled down my back. My ruby-red tunic and trousers were heavy, and my newly crafted leather jerkin intricately embroidered with gold swans around each buttonhole let no air pass through. Perhaps I, too, should have worn robes, but only elder elves appeared in public in them now. A breeze on my balls would be delightful.

“Then remember your lessons. My legs ache. Can they not seat the elderly first?” Umeris lamented.

Thankfully, the line was moving quickly, and within a short span of time, I was leading Umeris up the dais to where King Mirolar Raloven sat on the ivory throne, his secretary Le’ral Fylson at his side clad in dark plum and gold tunic and trousers. Both men were striking mature elves. Fylson nodded at those presented to his king with a kind smile but a firm demeanor.

King Mirolar was the opposite of the man who was always at his side. Our king was a regal male with hair in shades of softest red and gold that hung to the floor. His eyes were as green as a clover, his face lean. He had a long nose with a small knob on the end and rather large ears, longer than most and more severely pointed, a sign of our ancestry as fey creatures before the great enlightening took place and Ihdos came to rule over the wild gods and goddesses. He wore a long-sleeved robe of deepest blue and white over white leggings and ivory slippers. Glistening diamonds hung from his lobes and along the shell of his long ears, his svelte fingers bore gold rings heavy with gems from the Witherhorn mines. The silver crown of Melowynn sat comfortably upon his head.

Mirolar was a kind ruler, high-spirited at times, lean and wiry. He loved rich foods and fruited wine, archery, horseflesh, and trying to lead his people forward. A trait that many in Melowynn abhorred as large masses of elves rebuked any kind of change, even if it would benefit them and their progeny. Progeny that our king, at well over six hundred years old, had not produced. Nor did he show any interest in doing so, which gave my grandfather countless sleepless nights.

With his grip on my forearm tight, Umeris did his best to bow before our ruler.

“No, do not go any lower,” King Mirolar called down to us. I rose slowly, easing Umeris back from his knee, and bobbed my head to the king as thanks. “My grand advisors have no need to buckle themselves in front of me. Nor do the heirs to my vills. Aelir, I would like to speak with you over the meal about a few new ideas that I think someone of your forward thinking would find interesting. Please, seat yourself at my left and your grandsire beside you. Le’ral, flag down a servant and have them bring a stool and two pillows for Grand Advisor Stillcloud. I know the pain of such foot ailments well. I, too, am plagued with them after I enjoy too much mead or ox roast.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty, for the honor of sitting at your table,” I said, Umeris smiling at me as if I had done something of great import. We bowed or bowed as best as we could, and I slowly moved Umeris to the head table. There I saw Tezen seated at the farthest left end of the king’s table, sitting among her family. The pixies’ king, queen, and their seven daughters had their own chairs and a small table, which sat atop the linen runner. Tiny servants flitted about bringing the Plumwax family small bits of food and wine. Tezen shot out of her seat upon spying us. The queen, dressed in bright pink flounces, grabbed her as she rose, tugged her back to her seat, and then gave her a most spirited talking to. The look on Tezen’s face made me smile. It was clear she detested being forced to act the part of the royal court. Her scowl would have stalled a snow ox in full charge.

I nodded at the pixies, giving my upset friend in the too-tight bright yellow ballgown that showed a great deal of her bosom an understanding smile. She bowed her head and then mouthed something that made Umeris cough uncomfortably.

“That pixie is surely not from the loins of King and Queen Plumwax,” Umeris muttered as we made our way to our chairs, bobbing our heads in greeting to the dwarven, yeti, and Sandrayan nobility. I was struck by the beauty of our cousins from the Black Sands. The young ruler was incredibly handsome, with amber eyes and a smile that surely stole many hearts. “I suspect she was a foundling who merely slipped into the pack of royal females and since there were so many, the king and queen took no heed.”

“That is highly unlikely. Tezen is simply not a princess who bows to acting as the other courtly pixies do. I see nothing wrong with expressing yourself,” I replied as a servant pulled out a seat and quickly placed a stool in front of my grandfather.

“Of course you would not. Ah, thank Ihdos.” Umeris sighed, sitting at last and then lifting his legs up and onto the plush footstool after he was eased closer to the table. The king’s seat was a monstrosity of pale ash carved into spirals that climbed several feet into the air. The secretary’s seat was far less grandiose but larger than the chairs we sat upon. “Finally, I may rest.” I sat on Grandfather’s right. V’alor and Pasil took their places behind us, leaving room for the kitchen staff to move and serve while still being close in case they were needed. Not that I suspected anyone would rush the king’s table. The castle was as tight as a good sister’s tuppy to quote the plum princess glowering at her tiny goblet of dandelion wine. “Now, I ask that you do not engage his majesty in fanciful discord tonight. Keep your conversation on simple things such as his peafowl, his horses, and his archery. Do not tread into areas of discontent or things that will push him into acting on your radical ideas.”

A servant filled our goblets with ice wine, the liquid as clear as water, while the aroma was fruity and floral.

“I doubt a young elf from the farmlands would hold much sway over the king,” I replied, lifting the goblet to take a drink. The chill of the wine cooled me as it flowed down into my stomach. I was not even all that hungry as I’d eaten several honey cakes while being dressed, powdered, and coiffed. Two roast boars were placed on the table, massive beasts, holding golden apples the size of my head in their mouths. The king rose from his throne. We all stood, even Umeris, who complained under his breath about just resting his ass before being made to rise. The king and his secretary moved across the room to his table at the front of the hall. When Mirolar sat, then we all retook our seats.

Wine was poured into the royal goblet. A thin waifish girl slipped up between the king and me, took the goblet from the server, and sipped at it. How sad that a good and just ruler had to fear for his life but such were the times we lived in. When the taster nodded and did not fall over dead, the wine was passed to the king. Umeris was tucking his robes around his feet now back on the stool under the table, when Mirolar stood up to lift his goblet into the air. Everyone in the hall rose from their seats.

“By Ihdos,” Umeris spat under his breath. I reached down to help him up. He gave me a weary nod of thanks.

“Welcome! Welcome one and all of our cousins, friends, and allies from every corner of Melowynn to this celebration,” Mirolar announced, his deep voice ringing through the hall, his timbre a rival for the thunder booming outside. “It has been my greatest joy to serve you and your vills for so long. I hope you have continued to see prosperous times for your lands and peoples, and that the elven empire continues to thrive and grow.” We all cheered softly. “I have promised Le’ral that I would not speak for ages, for the food that we are now being served is too delicious to allow to grow chilled. Eat, drink, and dance, good people of Melowynn!”

He raised his goblet high. We all did the same, then chanted the king’s name thrice before emptying our goblets. The wine tingled when it hit my stomach. Foolish man that I was, I knew mixing rich sweets with wine would not be pleasant, but my fondness for honey cakes had, as always, won out over common sense.

A quartet of elven musicians in blue and white tunics and leggings appeared off to the left of the king’s table. They bowed to his majesty before taking their seats. One played a flute, one a lute, and two plucked ornate harps. An old song from the days before our king was even born flowed over the assembly.

Once more we sat. Once more I aided Umeris with his pillows. When he was settled, we began the feast. Servers carved the stringy oxen, the fatty boars, the plump geese, and the jellied lamb roasts. The hall filled with conversation and soft music. The king leaned around Le’ral after plucking two fat, soft butter biscuits to sop up the pink juices from the roast ox.

“So, Aelir, it has reached my ear that you are closing down the Renedith menagerie,” Mirolar said before ripping his biscuit in two. “Pray tell why would this be done? The people of Celear love to visit the royal menageries.”

“Well, Your Majesty,” I said, ignoring the dark look from Umeris. He was not pleased about our decision to free our caged fauna. “The delegates from the wood elves have been petitioning that the beasts be freed for many years.” I glanced down at Kenton and Beirich at the noble table where we had been assigned to sit before the king had asked us to sup with him. Bonnalure, Larium, and Luchas Mossbell caught my eye as they were not far from the druids feasting on fruits and vegetables. A look in the gaze of Larium caught me off-guard, for it seemed to be a sour glare. Umeris nudged me on the side. I snapped back to the discussion with the king. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, I was trying to align my thoughts before speaking too rashly or with too much passion.”

“Pah,” Mirolar said while dragging his biscuit through the broth on his plate. “That is what I enjoy about you, Aelir. You are a young man filled with ambition, dreams, and plans to improve this kingdom. You remind me of myself when I was your age. So many of the nobility are content to sit on their wrinkled asses and let time march on, but that thinking does not bring change or growth.”

“I fully agree, Your Majesty,” Umeris announced as he peeled a wood prune and popped it into his mouth. I nearly choked on my bite of pheasant. “Which is why I always encourage Aelir to plan for the progress of Renedith and the rest of the realm.”

I had to mentally tally how much wine I had ingested. Only one or two sips to the king, I was sure. Since I was not drunk, I surely had to be hearing things. Umeris then rattled on about how his visions for the vills that I would soon inherit were steeped in forward-thinking projects. Shaking my head in amusement, I cut into the pheasant breast on my plate, not at all hungry but not eating would be considered a slight. I glanced at the butter biscuits on the platter before the king, wishing it would be acceptable to pluck one and douse it with honey as my grandfather rambled on endlessly.

The king nodded at Umeris, smiling as one does when talking with an elder elf who tended to prattle. The pink in his cheeks paled suddenly. Mirolar began frothing at the mouth. His eyes rolled back, and he fell face first into his platter of roast oxen. The crown of Melowynn tumbled from his head to the floor with a deafening clatter in the shocked quietude of the royal hall. The silence only lasted for a mere second. Then pandemonium erupted.

“ Mirolar! ” I heard Le’ral bellow as I stared at the king lying face down in meat and vegetables. I saw little of anything else, for it was then that I was yanked from my chair and spun to face a chest plate of hammered copper as V’alor enveloped me in his arms. I heard Umeris yelp in surprise when I was pushed away from the table as the sounds of royal guards racing to cover the several doors leading into the hall now reached my ears.

“Into the antechamber,” V’alor shouted to someone, Pasil, I imagined, as he shunted me from the table, kicking aside chairs that had fallen backward as those previously seated in them had flown to their boots in fright. “Carry him if needs must!”

Shouts and wails now began to float by as V’alor steered me around the chaos of healers rushing to the king as nobles tried to flee the hall. I’d not seen any attackers, but those at the other tables knew only that the king was down. Could it be archers in the trusses painted white and blue? I tried to glance up, but V’alor was not having it. He palmed my head, knocking my circlet askew, which broke the fine fishing lines that Joralf had worked so long to secure. Ruby-red beads fell to the floor as I was forced through a doorway that I’d not even seen when I’d sat at the king’s table. The room was on the small side, with only a few chaise lounges, and I recognized it as the queen’s lady’s in waiting lounge. Since there was no queen, it was simply a sitting room for nobles who wished to slip away from the main hall for rest or medical reasons.

“Lock that door! Let none enter!” V’alor barked as I was placed, none too gently, upon a chaise next to Umeris. My grandfather was as white as the tiled floors and shaking. I draped an arm over his shoulder, shocked to feel how frail the mighty Umeris Stillcloud had grown over the seasons.

Pasil rushed to the door and was pushed aside by royal guards carrying the frightfully still King of Melowynn. Le’ral was at his side, his face ashen, his hand gripping the slack hand of our monarch while clutching the crown in his other.

“Bring the nobles in here,” one of the royal guards shouted. Pasil gave V’alor a questioning look. V’alor motioned him away from the door. Protocol called for the palace guards to take command. V’alor and Pasil stationed themselves behind our settee, swords at the ready should someone break into the antechamber. None came in that were not sanctioned. The dwarven and pixie courts, the Sandrayan emissaries, and two towering yeti delegates. There was barely space for Kenton and Beirich to wiggle in, but I made room on my left for my friend. Kenton sat on the edge of the chaise, his gaze on the king now spread out on a soft rose-toned chaise.

“Beirich and I could aid him,” he whispered to me just as the royal healers appeared, looking shaken, and began forcing antidotes into the king’s slack jaw. The door to the antechamber was shut and locked, with two royal guards positioned with backs to doors. Each window in the antechamber was closed off, the wooden shutters slammed shut and latched.

I shook my head. The king’s healers would never allow a druidic potion or magicks to be used. Such things were considered primitive remedies, for use by the uneducated or simple folks.

“They would not allow it, but your kindness in wishing to aid him is indeed noble,” I whispered, taking his hand in mine to give it a squeeze. Beirich stood silent vigil behind his husband, a hand on Kenton’s shoulder, as every noble in attendance waited on word from the healers. They toiled long and hard, popping corks on this antidote and that antidote, dribbling one after the other into Mirolar’s mouth until the fluids began to leak out onto the rosy fabric of the settee. He was not swallowing the potions, for he was dead. I was no healer, but even I could see that our ruler had joined Ihdos. The wail of a man heartbroken rose into the stuffy air. Le’ral kneeled beside the king, his howl of agony and loss, making the short hairs on the back of my sweaty neck rise.

As Mirolar’s secretary wept over the king’s still body, Umeris cleared his throat and wobbly rose to address the elves in the room.

“Our king has been murdered. The throne sits empty. It is time to invoke the decree of noble ascension so that our kingdom is not thrown into chaos or taken advantage of by others.” I gaped at my grandfather. How unfeeling a pronouncement! I was about to snap at him when the Mossbell and Dewfall heads agreed loudly. “Those who are not of noble blood will be taken to their chambers to be interrogated by the king’s guard.”

Yeti, dwarf, Sandrayan, and pixie instantly took umbrage to the slight. Kenton glanced at me, then slowly got to his feet. He and Beirich were led out, much like the others, under a cloud of suspicion.

“Raise the flag of mourning on the king’s tower,” Umeris, who was the oldest of all the elves in attendance, instructed the few guards that remained. “Set up the king’s library as our convening spot. Lady Si’ofra, Lord Ja’nor, and I shall change into mourning robes and convene in the library immediately. Who has the crown of Melowynn?”

We all looked at Le’ral draped over Mirolar, the silver crown gripped in his hand as he wept openly.

“Ah, well,” Umeris whispered as he pushed to his feet with a wince. “Make sure that it is taken to the vault and is put under guard until the process is completed and the next ruler is chosen.” Umeris looked at me. “You are to go to your chambers and await my return.”

The younger ones here, such as the twins and Bonnalure, were sent off as if we were little ones being sent to bed to allow the adults to speak. It rankled, but I was not averse to being in my suite with V’alor to hold me until the sun rose.

Of course, that did not happen, for my love was positioned at my door throughout that dark, wild night, for he would not allow another to guard me against the unknown killer in Castle Avolire.

Sleep, when it finally came, was not pleasant nor restful.

Morning came in with a dull sun stuck behind torpid, thick clouds that refused to leave the city. Lying on my side, eyes sticky from lack of sleep, I watched tiny droplets of rain hitting the patio doors. It seemed as if Ihdos himself mourned the loss of our king.

A soft rap pulled me from my melancholy moment, as I sat up slowly, threw my hair from my face, and beckoned whoever was outside to come in.

V’alor slipped through the portal, looking haggard.

“My lord Aelir, I hope you found some respite,” he said, blocking the doorway.

“Not much, but more than I wager you did,” I replied, and he nodded silently.

“I will head to the barracks when I know you are safe.”

“Has there been any word about the assassin being caught?”

“There has not. The noble council has been locked in the library all night. No word from them has been sent out either. There are rumors amongst the castle staff that the court healers suspect ground death weave mushrooms, which are only found on the Black Sand Isles so that casts a dark shadow on the Sandrayan contingency. Alas, anyone who visits the islands has access to that most deadly fungi, so they are truly no further ahead and are growing more frustrated by the hour. Speaking of frustrations, there is a pest out here that will not stop whimpering about dressing you for the first day of mourning.”

I dreaded the black clothing that was required of all nobility when a monarch passed.

“Fine, yes, let Joralf in so we can begin what will be a long day of prayers, fasting, and interrogations by the royal guard.”

V’alor inclined his head, his lips flat as if he wished to say something more but dared not.

He stepped to the side and Joralf ran into my suite, eyes puffy and red, to throw himself at the foot of my bed and wail.

“Morning bells will chime soon,” V’alor noted before easing back out of the room. The door closed with a snick.

“Your grief is deep, but we have no time for such a pious display.” I threw the tangled covers aside. As soon as my feet touched the cool floor, Joralf was at my side with a fresh robe. Within moments, servants were rushing in with buckets of hot water, V’alor watching from the doorway intently.

“Let me guide you into the tub. We will fix black nettles in your hair today.” Joralf, now feeling better for having given quaking young girls a firm shout for splashing water on the floor, was leading me to the tub with a hand on my elbow as if I were Umeris. I’d no sooner thought of my grandfather and he appeared. Limping into my room in ebony robes that carried the stench of dark herbs of mourning that had been burned, he waved a crooked cane of elder wood at Joralf. The young man dashed out of the room. Umeris looked over his shoulder at V’alor.

“Come inside. Close the door.” Umeris sat down on the bed with a long sigh, his face showing all of his hundreds of years of life. “The council is, as I feared, filled with idiots, toads, and vainglorious asses. Do you not have tea yet?”

“No, I was going to bathe then eat. There are some honey cakes from last night if you’ve not been fed.” I waved a hand at the plate of dried cakes sitting where it had been placed.

“No, no, they fed us, but my throat is as dry as parchment from arguing all night. I am glad we have called for a respite,” Umeris said, then looked right at me. “You do realize that you are, even with your headstrong ways and thoughts, the most capable one to wear the crown, do you not?”

I stood there in my robe, mouth open. “I…no, I am surely not.”

V’alor shifted slightly by the door, the clack of shield touching his armored thigh.

“Oh you are. The Mossbell offspring are a cripple who will never be able to produce an heir or two vapid whoremongers. The Dewfalls have an older leader, that is true, but his children are all half-blooded and ineligible to sit the throne, for the law states only a true nobleman or woman may lead Melowynn so we would be faced with the same untenable problem all over again. I have been arguing for you all night and while the others are steadfast in declaring for their houses, they know that you alone are the best candidate. The major stumbling block for your ascension to the throne is that you are not officially betrothed or wed.”

I felt my legs turn to butter and sat with a thud on the small stool that I’d watched the sunset on just last night.

“I do not wish to wed anyone. I love V’alor,” I managed to say. “He is to be my consort.”

Umeris glanced at my love and then back at me. “Such sentimentality has little to do with the monarchy or lineage. Many noble persons marry for reasons that have nothing to do with emotion, most I should say. Such is the way of nobility. He may continue to come to your bed so long as you are discreet.” I heard V’alor grunt softly. “To that end, I have sent a raven to the sisters of Celinthe, telling them to ready Lady Raewyn and her handmaiden for the trip back to Celear. You will ask for her hand when you see her. She will say yes, and when you return to the capital, you shall be wed. When that is done, I will present your name to the noble council again and they will have no reason to argue against it, for I am sure that you will plant a seed in the belly of the Frostleaf heiress with all expedience so that this situation shall never come to bear again. The other lands are ridiculing us already and our king is barely cold. So, ready yourself, for you are to leave after morning prayers. Take three guards. Travel with speed and do not think to return to this castle without your future bride on your arm.”

Words stalled on my tongue. My stomach fell. I glanced at V’alor.

“We shall be ready to fetch the Lady Frostleaf at your command, Grand Advisor,” V’alor said, lowered his head, placed his fist to his chest, and then backed out of the room.

I stared at the door he had just guarded as I valiantly tried to bury the agony gripping my lungs.