nor seen the Elders
in a generation,” she said primly. “Tell me, my lord, would you not have done the same? Would you not
have sent men to answer a monarch’s summons?”
Erida narrowed her eyes, knowing her cousin well enough to guess.
He would have gone himself. Taken a retinue of knights and his own men-at-arms, a wagon of gifts, a
parade of servants, and a pair of heralds to shout his titles and his bloodline. Make way for Lord Rian
Konegin, grandson of Konrad the Great, King of Galland. He would have been a spectacle for commons
and immortals alike, as close to an emperor of Old Cor as he could make himself, Erida thought. Her
jaw clenched. And if I were not chained to this throne, I would have done it too.
Konegin was undeterred. He glanced at Derrick and Thornwall, looking for support. “I’d like to summon
the squire and hear his story for myself.”
After four years of rule, Queen Erida was as skilled an actress as any of the pantomime players on the
stages of the Ascal streets. Her strength flagged as she bowed inward, her shoulders drooping as she
shut her eyes. She passed a hand over her face.
“Trelland’s agony is my burden to bear, Lord Konegin. Mine alone,” she said wearily. “That is the cost of
the crown.”
A crown you will never claim.
It was enough to placate even Konegin, who retreated like a shattered army.
Erida dropped her hand, and her mask of sympathy. Her face turned cold as she stood from the table,
dismissing them with her action.
“Konegin still has not presented his son as a suitor.”
Only Harrsing stayed behind. Even Erida’s Lionguard had retreated to the hallway, giving their queen a
private audience with the old woman. The two stood by the largest window, watching the river as it
carried on to Mirror Bay. Green freshwater swirled with darker salt. On the far bank, the famed Garden of
Ascal stretched along its island, its trees and flowers manicured to perfection. Despite the heat, nobles
and the wealthy merchants of the capital strolled the lawns and paths of the Garden, their shrieking
children in tow.
Erida contemplated the greenery across the water. She’d played there as a child, surrounded by a circle
of knights. As the only heir of the king, her life was more precious than any treasure. I never even
skinned my knees. There was always someone to catch me.
With a sigh, she turned to face her advisor. The usual headache thrummed at her temples.
“Because Konegin wants to take my country by force instead of marriage. He’d rather sit the throne
himself than put a grandchild upon it peacefully,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the
world. “He’ll only push Herry at me when he has no other choice.”
Heralt Konegin, the Prince of Toads. An apt nickname for Erida’s mean, squat, and croaking cousin, who
did little but drink and stare, fog-eyed. Her stomach twisted at the thought of having such a person
foisted upon her.
“There are still suitable partners,” Harrsing said, gently guiding Erida away from the window. The Queen
allowed herself to be led. “Easy to control, rich in land, gold, armies. Good men who will protect you and
your throne.”
Protect me. Erida wanted to retch. There is no man upon the Ward who would not take my crown if he
could, nor one who is worth the risk of losing it.
“I decide who is suitable, Bella. And so far, I have seen none,” she said. Though the old woman returned
her to the table, it was Harrsing who leaned heavily on the Queen’s arm. While her health was certainly
better than Ardath’s, there was no denying the age that weighed on Bella. Erida winced at the thought of
losing her, and she forced a smile instead. “No, not even your Ibalet princeling,” she said, winking at the
old woman. “Who you so often forget to mention is your grandson.”
Harrsing shrugged with a wry smile. “I just assume it’s common knowledge.”
“Indeed,” Erida mused.
The map wall of the council chamber flashed with light rippling off the river. It seemed to dance, the lines
of rivers and coasts and kingdoms bending and changing. Erida watched and, for a moment, saw no
kingdoms at all. None but her own, in every corner of the Ward. She stopped before the painting, her
face raised.
“Before his death, my father made his wishes known,” she said. “They are easy to remember. There
were only
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