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Two seats down, Belorme, the esteemed Chancellor, slowly set down his cutlery and raised a cloth to dab the remains of dinner from his mouth.

It was a drawn-out spectacle, and Xerxes folded his hands on his lap to wait.

He licked the taste of pears from his lips to keep busy so he wouldn’t speak first.

Finally, Belorme turned in his seat and faced Xerxes. “What is this ?” He nodded to the cobblestone resting between them all. His voice remained cool and calm, as always.

Xerxes tapped a finger against his chin, thinking about the fool in the vest he’d chased out of the palace. The man had gotten away. Barely. “It’s number four,” he informed the Intelligentsia.

Belorme’s face twitched ever so slightly. “Number four of what?” he asked with his mouth while his eyes made it clear he didn’t want to know. Or, perhaps by his divine insight, he already knew what Xerxes was up to.

Xerxes pulled his boots off the table and leaned forward to look the sages in the eyes. “I have recently acquired ownership of this young maiden in a deal. Since she’s mine, I’d like you to bring her to me.”

Belorme pursed his lips, tightening up the soft wrinkles around his mouth. After another long second, he asked, “And?”

Xerxes rarely smiled, but every so often a ‘somewhat-smile’ threatened his face. This was one of those glorious moments. “And she shall be number four. Four maidens will compete, not three.”

Down the table, one of the Intelligentsia coughed. Another glanced at Belorme to see what he would do. Even the charmed serving spoon piling hot rice onto Yelenos’s plate stopped moving as though it sensed the tension in the air.

Xerxes and Belorme stared at each other in silence.

Of course, this was expected. Xerxes never made demands.

He rarely went against the Intelligentsia, against Belorme.

He hardly ever even raised his voice, but at Belorme’s request, he’d courted six different noblewomen in secret now since the incident , and it always ended the same.

Xerxes could not stand them, and he couldn’t hide what he was from them.

It left him miserable and even crueller than before.

At least this time he could perform a noble deed on behalf of a stranger while conveniently undermining the Intelligentsia.

Ever since they’d announced to the whole kingdom their intention to audition three of the fairest young maidens in the kingdom to be his next wife and demanded “he” choose one by the end of three months, he’d been looking for a chance to retaliate.

That announcement was a slap in the face.

But no surprise, really, as they must have all been eager to replace the Queen they’d formerly been using as their political puppet.

Belorme likely already had Xerxes’s next wife picked out, thus why this grim event was announced without Xerxes being notified.

But what angered Xerxes the most was that the Intelligentsia sages were using the Queen’s open seat as a horrifying display of power against him during a time when Per-Siana was at risk of being crushed by their neighbouring kingdom.

The sages should have been strategizing over battle plans, not putting on a ghastly show for the people.

He would not marry any of the women anyway. He would never marry again. He didn’t care if the kingdom had no heir.

Belorme turned his attention back to his plate.

He picked up his fork and resumed eating.

The rest of the Intelligentsia watched in uncomfortable silence as he took a bite, chewed, and swallowed.

Only after he made sure the whole table was waiting for him to speak did Belorme say, “You’re not exactly in a position to make demands, Your Majesty. ”

Xerxes’s ‘somewhat-smile’ vanished. He wondered why the Intelligentsia even bothered to call him “Your Majesty” when they made all the rules.

Xerxes reached for the cobblestone.

“What is this maiden’s name?” Belorme asked, and Xerxes’s hand paused in midair. Rather than take the cobblestone away, he turned it so the sages around the table might see the name messily carved into the stone. Everyone leaned in to read it.

“At least her last name is one from the noble class,” Damon murmured from down the table.

Belorme sat back in his chair, his mouth twisting in contemplation. He went back to his plate again. “I suppose including her in the trials is a necessary disturbance to keep you happy, Your Majesty.”

Happy?

Xerxes bit down hard on his pursed lips.

“But let me be clear,” the Chancellor articulated. “She won’t win.” Belorme seemed to have forgotten Xerxes was there as he took a bite of spiced meat. As he lightly dabbed the juices from his mouth again with a napkin.

She. Won’t. Win.

As in, “She won’t steal the King’s heart.”

“Because the King has no heart to steal.”

“Because I’ll be choosing your wife, Xerxes, not you.”

Xerxes stood from his chair and huffed a bitter laugh. “For her sake, I hope she doesn’t.”

The King left the Intelligentsia to their midnight meal. A meal where they discussed kingdom affairs. A meal he’d stopped attending long ago, ever since the day he lost control of himself.