Warrior's Ransom (The First Argentines #2) - Jeff Wheeler Page 0,81

had done a much better job of inciting a revolt than his older brother had. He’d learned from his mistakes and turned himself into a formidable enemy.

Ransom clenched his fist and grimaced. It was the king’s own fault things had come to this point. His arrogance and pride had led to this rebellion. And certainly Estian had done his part to curdle the milk.

Go to the king.

He recoiled upon hearing the whisper from the Fountain. He did not want to see the grief of Devon at that moment, nor did he imagine he would be of any comfort. What he wanted to say would be salt, not a balm. Yet the command had unmistakably come from the Fountain. It had not sprung from his own thoughts.

He’d promised to obey the voice.

Raking his fingers through his hair, he breathed out in a grunt. His stomach twisted with agitation. The very last thing he wished to do was confront the king, but he would do it. Even though he had no idea what to say.

Ransom left the courtyard and started walking toward the king’s personal chamber. Before reaching it, he encountered Lord Kinghorn, who looked grave as well.

“Are you looking for the king?” he asked.

“Yes. I was just on my way.”

Ransom was afraid his kinsman would counsel him to leave the king in peace, but the older man surprised him. “He’s out at the dock to be alone. I’ve wrestled with this feeling that he needs someone right now, and I am not the one. Will you go to him, Marshall?”

He nodded, feeling it was no accident he’d met Lord Kinghorn in the corridor. Ransom turned and hurried away, walking in long strides to the doorway leading to the dock along the river. Sir Harrold and Sir Axien guarded it, which did not come as a surprise, but they both knew Ransom and let him pass without a word.

He found Devon standing on the planks, gazing at the mighty river as it swept toward the falls. Memories poured over him of lifting the funeral boat, of hoisting Devon the Younger into the river. No doubt that was what had drawn the king there, although this time his grief was all inside. The palace of Kingfountain rose behind Ransom as he walked away from its shadow. He gazed over his shoulder at the beautiful stone walls, the intricate towers. When he turned back, he saw the Elder King had also turned, and he stood facing him, arms folded.

The rush of the falls in the distance grew louder as Ransom approached, mingling with the Fountain magic burbling inside of him. The king looked much older than his years, his emotional torment manifesting in physical pain. Thick clouds loomed in the sky, threatening rain. A distant rumble of thunder boomed far away.

“How did you know that you are the one I wanted to see?” the king asked, his voice raw with grief.

Ransom felt sorrow for him. Although he did not always agree with Devon’s judgment, the king was a man of deep feeling. “The Fountain told me to come,” he answered.

“Did it now?” the king said, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “That is very interesting. I’ve been thinking about you, Ransom. Isn’t that curious?”

A prickle of unease tugged at the knots of dread already in his stomach. “Why did you want to see me?”

“You are loyal to me, are you not? You will not abandon me during my hour of need?”

“I am your sworn man, my lord.”

“We are alone, Ransom. I hate such formal little speeches. Are you faithful to me or not?”

He felt his dread increase. “I am.”

The king nodded, his brows furrowing. “I will tell you what I was thinking.” He turned his head and looked back at the river. “I was never close to Goff. I did not hate him. I just found his manners . . . tedious. But he was my son, and I did not wish him any ill will. Now his son has been left without a father.” He turned and looked at Ransom again, his eyes fierce and determined. “He needs a protector, my boy. I want you to marry Constance and be that boy’s guardian until he is old enough to rule the duchy himself. He’s an Argentine. I must look after his interests.”

It felt wrong from the first utterance of the king’s words, and the feeling of wrongness only intensified.

“I cannot,” Ransom choked out.

The king’s lips went tight with anger. “Are you loyal to me or