Valgar
“Stronger.”
He made himself sip slowly at the drink, though no flavour could override the bitterness he felt.
Mar hadn’t taken it well. Of course Mar hadn’t taken it well, she was already heartbroken she hadn’t been able to give him a child, and now they were proposing that he replace her like she was nothing more than an aged horse.
That was the other reason he’d married outside Saran. The other reason he had been sent abroad now; they thought his ancestors had kept it a little too in the family by marrying their own cousins for generations and what the magic truly needed was an infusion of fresh blood.
Not peasant fresh blood, naturally, but any foreign omega of respectable family would work, someone with a magic bloodline of their own.
Valgar wished he could refuse them, for his own sake as well as Mar’s, but he was not fortunate in being so blind as to not see how vital their magic was to the war effort.
The invaders came in ships and of all the provinces of Aliria, Saran had made the most significant contribution through their water mages.
His own parents had loved him, spoiling him a little, their youngest child and with only a decent amount of magical talent.
Once he’d been older, he’d understood they had been fairly confident in being able to keep him home, unlike his older siblings, each of them lost throughout the years of his childhood.
Lavan had been the last one to go, the only one that had felt like a true loss to Valgar himself.
His mother’s favourite, too, despite how she’d braced her heart against loving the children she knew she’d had to send to war way too soon.
They’d called her own death a withering, which sometimes came upon a perfectly healthy individual, but Valgar knew better; her heart had broken one too many times and she simply hadn’t been able to put it back together.
And now, he’d have to do the same, bring a child into the world just to—
“The bath is ready, milord” Revel announced.
Valgar saw his glass was empty and hoisted himself to his feet.