Page 40 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea (Avalore Chronicles #1)

He crossed the sand and unhitched the horse from the buggy.

It would be faster to ride than to take the buggy, as they’d had to take the long way to avoid the streets still choked with storm debris and shattered crates.

He shortened the reins and swung up without a saddle.

The horse stamped once, then settled. They set out down the road at a comfortable trot, the horse easily able to navigate around the deeper puddles as the sun dried out the mud.

The breeze tugged at his collar, but it carried the promise of summer, not the threat of storms.

A flurry of people bustled about the Coorie Inn as he drew near. The scent of smoke and salt lingered in the air, mingling with the sharper tang of fresh-cut wood and damp stone. He reined in the horse and swung down, pausing just long enough to find Elsbeth.

Like he and Sorcha, she had spent the night at the castle. But she’d already left by the time he awoke. Now, she stood by the kitchen door, directing a pair of sailors as they arranged a table against the wall. Her sleeves were rolled, and her hair was tied up with more practicality than style.

She spotted him and offered a smile, though her eyes immediately swept him head to toe.

“Alright, lad?”

“Aye,” he said. “Sorcha’s off to visit her family.” He let the words carry more weight than they seemed to on the surface.

Her eyes widened with quiet understanding. The corners of her mouth lifted knowingly. “We were right then. She’ll be back?”

“Yes, this evening.” He took in the movement around them. “The inn was undamaged?”

“A bit of water on the floors,” she said, waving it off. “Nothing a mop and a bucket couldn’t handle. But others weren’t so lucky. And the clean-up crews need to eat.”

His grin widened. “So you’re feeding the whole harbor?”

“Not alone,” she said briskly. “Others are pitching in.”

“I’m heading to the castle now. I’ll let the steward know you could use more supplies.”

She reached into a basket on the table and handed him a tidy stack of shortbread, still warm. “Then take these for the road. Can’t have you facing royalty on an empty stomach.”

He gave her a grateful smile. “You’re a treasure, Elsbeth.”

She shooed him off with a wave.

Navigating the cluttered streets was slow going, with debris piled high and fabric banners still clinging to broken windows and railings.

The air smelled of rotting seaweed, but the breeze from the hills brought with it the wild moors.

His horse skittered sideways every time a scrap of cloth flapped in the breeze, ears twitching.

At the castle, Arick returned the borrowed gelding to the stables, offering a few quiet words to the stable hand before making his way to the king’s large office beside the council chambers.

Inside, the atmosphere was tense but orderly. Thomas, King Craig, Queen Freya, and Ailsa were seated around the long polished table, joined by Lady Quigley, Lord Beattie, and two other council members Arick didn’t immediately recognize.

“Ah, Arick,” King Craig said, gesturing for him to join them. “We’ve just been discussing MacIsaac and his future serving this country.”

Arick slipped into the seat beside Thomas, giving the prince a nod.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“Sir,” he began, but faltered as Lady Quigley leveled a look of smug satisfaction at him across the table.

“I’m anxious to hear all that’s happening,” he said instead, steadying his voice.

“Yes,” the king said dryly, casting a glance around the table. “As I was saying, MacIsaac has been stripped of his position on the council and encouraged to retire to his estate in the northern hills.”

Beside Arick, Thomas gave a barely contained wriggle of delight.

Arick flicked a glance toward Lord Beattie, noting how the man’s mouth tightened. Beattie’s gaze dropped to the table, avoiding Arick’s entirely.

Across from them, Ailsa signed “wait,” her expression calm but firm. Arick settled back in his seat. Now was not the moment to challenge a second councilman.

“Given MacIsaac’s continued efforts to sow discord among this council,” King Craig continued, “his reckless provocation toward the merfolk, and worst of all, his attempt to manipulate succession by undermining the rightful crown prince, I exercised royal prerogative and bypassed a full council vote.”

A sharp intake of breath from Beattie drew all eyes to him.

“Well,” the man began, his voice brittle, “with so many — ah — complaints stacked against him, I suppose it was inevitable.”

The king leveled a steely look in his direction. “It was necessary.”

Silence stretched.

Arick let out a slow breath, a quiet satisfaction rising in his chest. No more would MacIsaac be lurking in the shadows, twisting words and bullying Thomas.

“Now to our next order of business,” King Craig moved on. “A number of prisoners were released from the dungeons without authorization.”

Arick’s stomach churned. He had known doing so could lead to trouble. If there were consequences, he would face them. He squared his shoulders, waiting for his chance to speak.

“Prisoners, Father?” Ailsa interjected smoothly, her tone crisp and composed.

Despite her petite frame, she radiated command.

“The merfolk were being held in the lower levels — a section the steward’s report previously deemed unfit for long-term confinement.

So it’s possible whoever released them was merely rescuing them from unsafe conditions.

” She paused, flipping through a few neatly stacked papers.

“Either that, or we may need to investigate why the crown was holding prisoners in such inhumane conditions.”

The king blinked.

Then he barked a laugh, loud and genuine. “Very well, then. Does anyone wish to challenge the princess’s interpretation?”

Silence.

“Good.” He dipped his quill and made a note on the parchment before him.

Arick let out a slow breath. Across the table, Ailsa remained composed, but a tiny triumphant smile curved the corners of her mouth.

He shook his head in quiet admiration.

“Now, if that is all, I believe we’re all eager to return to the business of cleaning up after the storm,” King Craig said, his gaze sweeping the table.

Queen Freya slid a parchment toward him.

“Ah, yes,” he said, peering at it. “How forgetful of me. The official presentation of the next crown prince of Toravik will be moved back a few days to allow for storm recovery. However, now seems as good a time as any to confirm one small detail.” His voice sharpened.

“The identity of the person who will be presented.”

He looked around the room, gaze lingering on each face. Lord Beattie shifted uncomfortably, refusing to meet anyone’s eye. Arick met the king’s stare evenly. He’d already told Thomas his answer and had nothing left to apologize for.

Thomas rose to his feet. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his ears flushed red, but his voice rang clear.

“It’s me. I am the crown prince. It’s my birthright, and I will work hard to prove myself worthy of it.”

Arick nodded at him in pride. Thomas had never been a coward, but now he was ready to take charge.

The king turned back to the table. “Any objections?” His tone dared anyone to speak.

Beattie twitched as if tempted, but the silence that followed was heavy with warning. No one else moved.

“Excellent. No changes to that, then.” King Craig signed the parchment with a flourish and passed it back to Queen Freya.

“Well,” he said, standing. “Meeting adjourned. Let’s get back to work. If necessary, we’ll convene again to address the flooding and what our people need most.”

Arick stood, ready to join Thomas on an inspection of the damaged tower, when the king’s voice stopped him. “Arick, a quick word before you go.”

He stepped aside as the other council members filtered out. The queen and his cousins remained, lingering nearby.

King Craig moved to the window, hands clasped behind his back, staring out over the city and the harbor stretching beyond.

“Thomas knows this, but I think it’s worth stating plainly,” the king began. “My son will always have my support should he choose to be king.”

He paused, then turned to face Arick, his gaze steady.

“But I’m not blind to his difficulties. Or to the fact that there will always be men like Beattie and MacIsaac, waiting to exploit any weakness.” He stepped forward. “So I ask you plainly: Will you support him? Will you take your brother’s place on the council?”

Arick drew in a sharp breath. He’d already offered Thomas his loyalty, but this — this was a formal promise. A lifelong one.

“It doesn’t have to be now,” Queen Freya added gently. “By the Creator’s grace, Craig and I intend to be around a good while longer. But it would ease our hearts to know Thomas has trusted voices at his side.”

Arick smiled and squared his shoulders. “It would be my honor.” He hesitated. “But…”

“Out with it, lad,” the king said, though his tone was kind.

“I want to finish my training. I want the chance to earn my own command. To captain a ship.” A flicker of something filled his mind: sapphire scales, red hair, and a smile that lit the morning brighter than the sun. “To show Sorcha the world.”

Before he could say another word, Thomas pulled him into a tight hug, knocking the air from his lungs.

Arick froze — then wrapped his arms around his cousin, holding on just as tightly.

He couldn’t help but remember that first night back in Iskarraig, standing together on the open terrace as the storm raged around them. Thomas had looked so young then, weighed down by expectations and fear.

Now, he stood tall. Surrounded by family.

By love.

“You’re going to be the best king,” Arick whispered, voice thick with emotion. “And I’ll be there — whenever you need me.”

The storm had passed. And for the first time, Arick believed what came next might actually be peace.