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33

A Foregone Conclusion

I refuse to leave Daenn’s side.

He stirs occasionally, almost like he’s waking. He hasn’t yet actually woken up, but I will be here if he does.

Sigrid brings me food, and Eskil often keeps me company. Slowly, he fills me in on the years I spent away, giving me details about Daenn’s reign I surmised but Daenn didn’t fully disclose himself. The picture he paints is of a good man struggling to bear the weight of his kingdom when many are against him, whether from fear, resentment, or indifferent awe.

It makes my heart ache even more than it already was.

Advisors come to me, too. I recognize all of them, though many were not the king’s direct advisors when I was a child. Evidence of Daenn’s tale of his magic striking down those close to him, I suppose.

They’ve decided that given that I’m Daenn’s wife, and the people are hailing me as a hero, I am fit to make the decisions they would normally bring to Daenn.

I don’t appreciate their vote of confidence. Or maybe it’s the inanity of the questions they see fit to present to me that I don’t appreciate. All I want to do is watch Daenn and be ready to leap up at a moment’s notice if he needs me.

All I want is my husband to wake .

Let him handle the inanity.

But I can’t have that, so I don my lowland noblewoman mask and I do my best to direct them how I think Daenn would.

Their flattery of my every comment wears thin quickly. It’s all “we are so blessed to have you here, Your Majesty” and “your wisdom is only matched by your beauty, Your Majesty.” I want to scream at them to keep their ridiculous opinions to themselves. Especially when their opinions veer in Daenn’s direction. They act like his death is a foregone conclusion.

I’m at the end of a long morning of tolerating these antics when one of the advisors, Lord Beck, clears his throat. “We have a… most delicate matter to discuss with you, Your Majesty.”

The way he avoids meeting my eyes immediately raises my guard. “Delicate how?”

“Ah, well. Securing the throne is of the utmost importance, of course.”

The other advisors present nod. They’re also avoiding my gaze.

“And an integral part of that is the, ahem, line of succession.”

Dawning shame rises in me, and I shoot a horrified glance at Eskil. His lips press together, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“You want to know if I’m with child,” I say, too mortified to dance delicately around the subject like they’re trying to do.

Lord Beck’s ears turn pink and he nods. “Given your past… Well, such a confirmation would put us all at ease about the future of our clan.”

This is the most humiliating conversation of my life. This isn’t something I want to discuss at all, much less with them. It was bad enough when Viggo pointed out my defectiveness to the clan, but this…

And I may have never been pregnant, but even I know it would be too soon to tell. This line of questioning is awful and ridiculous on so many levels.

“No.” I manage to keep my voice even, and I mentally congratulate myself.

Their faces collectively fall.

“Ah, well, you were only married for a short period of time,” says Lord Beck. “It’s understandable.”

Very magnanimous of him.

He continues in a matter-of-fact voice. “We’ll find you a new king in time. After the mourning period ends, of course.”

Rage lights my insides in an instant, burning away my shame. “No,” I snarl. “We won’t. Your king is right there.” I stab a finger toward the bed, where Daenn lays, blissfully unaware that I’m on the verge of murdering all of his advisors. “I don’t need nor do I want a new king. The next man who dares suggest as much can find his way off the mountain, or I will have Storm forcibly remove him from the mountain. Have I made myself clear?”

They stare at me, every one of them stunned. After a moment, Beck stammers acknowledgment, and I receive a chorus of agreement from the rest.

“Get out.” I’m finished with them for the day. I really will throw someone off a cliff if I have to tolerate any more of their nonsense.

It’s a wonder Daenn never stabbed any of them. The man has self-restraint the size of our mountain.

They leave with impressive speed. Eskil lingers, but I turn my back on him and go sit by Daenn .

“I’ll go tell Sigrid you need some lunch,” he announces, a sliver of humor in his voice. Of course he finds it funny. He has no way of knowing how tender the topic is for me. Or maybe he’s just trying to pull me back from my homicidal thoughts.

I don’t have a chance to snarl at him too, though, because he leaves promptly after speaking.

I sigh and drop my head into my hands. I’m glad I don’t have to deal with any of the advisors anymore, but I don’t truly want to be alone.

But then, I’m not. It’s just that the man I want to be with and talk to can’t talk back.

I tilt my head in my hands so I’m staring at Daenn. “I miss you,” I mutter, misery thick in the words. A trace of the anger threads through it. “If you don’t wake up, I’m never speaking to you again. I’ll leave and let your advisors deal with their own stupid questions.”

It’s all angry fluff, but venting my frustration helps loosen the knot in my chest. I sigh again and lean forward, pressing my head against Daenn’s bicep. The fabric of his sleeve is rough, but I don’t care.

His arm shifts under my forehead, and I jerk back.

“Daenn?” I reach for him, frantic hope bursting and drowning every other emotion.

Slowly—agonizingly slowly—he opens his eyes.