Chapter Three
“Your Majesty is so wise to consider the economic implications of the harbor expansions.”
Darragh resisted the urge to bang his head against the ornate armrest of his throne. Lord Marcus - or was it Martin? - smiled at him with what was probably meant to be an admiring expression, but looked more like he’d eaten something that disagreed with him.
“The harbor expansions were finished three years ago,” Darragh said.
“Oh.” Lord Marcus-Martin blinked. “Well, yes, of course. I meant the...the ongoing maintenance of those expansions, which is equally wise. Very forward-thinking.”
Kill me now.
“Thank you for your time, Lord Marcus.” Darragh stood, which was the signal that the interview was over.
“Martin, Your Majesty.” The man bowed deeply. “And may I say what an honor…”
“Noted.” Darragh gestured to the guards, who smoothly ushered Lord Martin out.
The doors closed behind him, and Darragh turned to where three of his advisers sat at a small table to the side of the throne room. Helena looked pleased. Aldric was taking notes. Thomas was nodding thoughtfully.
“Well?” Darragh crossed his arms. “That was number what? Fifteen?”
“Twelve, Your Majesty.” Aldric consulted his ledger. “Lord Martin is quite well-connected. His family has ties to…”
“His family could be related to the gods themselves, and it wouldn’t matter. The man doesn’t know the difference between current events and ancient history.”
“He was nervous,” Helena said. “Meeting you can be intimidating.”
“I wasn’t intimidating. I asked him basic questions about Safe Harbor.” Darragh paced in front of the throne. “He couldn’t answer a single one without stumbling over his words and trying to guess what I wanted to hear.”
“He showed proper deference…”
“He showed that he’d memorized a list of compliments and had no idea how to have an actual conversation.” Darragh stopped pacing. “Next.”
Thomas cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, perhaps we could take a short break…”
“No. Let’s get through these. The sooner we finish, the sooner I can tell you all that I told you so.”
The next candidate was worse. Lady - and yes, despite his advisers’ assurances that they weren’t limiting the search to men, somehow the candidates were split evenly - Catherine spent the entire interview complimenting everything from Darragh’s hair to his choice of throne cushions.
“Such excellent taste in furnishings, Your Majesty. The blue really brings out your eyes.”
“These cushions were here when my father was king.”
“Then your family has always had impeccable taste.”
Darragh counted to ten in his head. Then twenty. “Lady Catherine, what do you think is the biggest challenge facing Safe Harbor right now?”
She blinked at him, those long lashes fluttering in what was probably meant to be attractive. “Oh, well, I’m sure whatever Your Majesty thinks is the biggest challenge is absolutely correct.”
“I’m asking for your opinion.”
“Well...” She twisted her hands together. “I suppose...making sure Your Majesty is happy? A happy king makes for a happy kingdom.”
I’m going to abdicate and move to a farm.
The interview after that featured Lord Phillip, who spent twenty minutes explaining how his family’s political connections could benefit Darragh’s rule, as if Darragh were some minor noble scrambling for influence rather than the actual king.
Lady Sarah, after him, discussed fashion trends in other kingdoms for fifteen minutes before Darragh interrupted to ask if she had any questions for him.
“Oh!” She looked startled. “I...no, Your Majesty. I wouldn’t presume.”
“Presume away.”
“Well...what’s your favorite color?”
Darragh stared at her. “My favorite color?”
“Yes. I think it’s important for couples to know these things about each other.”
He’d sent her away without answering and ignored Aldric’s pointed look about being rude.
Lord Baltic was obsessed with protocol. He spent far more than the time allocated discussing proper forms of address, seating arrangements at state dinners, and the appropriate depth of bows for various ranks of nobility.
“And of course, as your consort, I would ensure that every detail of court life adhered to the strictest standards…”
“Court life in Safe Harbor isn’t particularly strict,” Darragh interrupted.
“Yes, well.” Lord Baltic sniffed. “That could certainly be...refined. With the World Council summit approaching, it would be an excellent opportunity to demonstrate Safe Harbor’s sophistication.”
“Safe Harbor is plenty sophisticated.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. I simply meant that there’s always room for improvement. For instance, the tradition of the king personally greeting merchants at the harbor could be...reconsidered. Delegated to appropriate officials, perhaps.”
“That tradition stays.” Darragh’s voice went flat. “Anything else you’d like to reconsider about how I run my kingdom?”
Lord Baltic had the grace to look nervous. “I...no, Your Majesty. I apologize if I overstepped.”
“You did.”
The man was ushered out, and Darragh dropped back onto his throne with more force than necessary.
“He made some valid points,” Thomas ventured.
“He made some points,” Darragh corrected. “Valid is debatable. Who’s next?”
The parade continued. Each candidate was more polished than the last. Each one saying exactly what they thought Darragh wanted to hear. Each one boring him to tears.
Lady Miranda gushed about how handsome he was.
Lord Geoffrey outlined a detailed plan for social reforms that were either already implemented or completely impractical.
Lady Anne spoke so softly that Darragh had to lean forward to hear her, and when he asked her to speak up, she’d nearly fainted from embarrassment.
Lord Christopher brought a list. An actual written list of his qualifications, which he read aloud like a student reciting a prepared speech.
“Your Majesty, this is going well,” Helena said during a brief break while the next candidate was brought up from the waiting room. “These are quality individuals from respected families.”
“These are people who have no idea how to be themselves.” Darragh accepted a glass of water from a servant. “They’re performing. Every single one of them.”
“They’re trying to make a good impression,” Thomas said.
“They’re trying to be what they think I want.” Darragh drained the glass. “Not one of them has said anything honest or interesting or remotely genuine.”
“Perhaps your expectations are too high.”
“My expectations are that someone can have a real conversation with me.” Darragh set the glass down harder than intended. “Is that really too much to ask?”
Aldric consulted his ledger. “We have three more candidates today, Your Majesty. Perhaps one of them…”
“Will be exactly like the others.” Darragh slumped in his throne, aware he probably looked like a petulant child and past the point of caring. “Fine. Bring in the next one.”
Lord Benedict was obsessed with lineage. He traced his family tree back seven generations and seemed to expect Darragh to be impressed that his great-great-great-grandmother had once met a visiting prince. I’m a freaking king!
Lady Marilyn wanted to discuss literature.
Which would have been fine, except she only wanted to discuss romantic poetry, and she kept looking at Darragh with an expression that suggested she was imagining him as the hero of one of her novels.
I’d disappoint her in less than an hour.
Darragh didn’t have a romantic bone in his body.
Lord Nathan was...actually, Darragh wasn’t sure what Lord Nathan was about, because the man agreed with everything Darragh said before he even finished saying it.
“I think the weather…”
“Is absolutely perfect, Your Majesty, I completely agree.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“Nevertheless, I’m certain you’re correct.”
Darragh had ended that interview within five minutes.
“Your Majesty.” Helena stood, smoothing her skirts. “I understand your frustration, but you must admit these candidates are well-qualified…”
“For what? Being decorative?” Darragh shook his head. “Not one of them has challenged me on anything. No one has offered an opinion that differed from mine. They’re all so busy trying to be perfect that they’ve forgotten to be people.”
“Perhaps that will change,” Thomas said. “We have one more candidate today.”
“Let me guess. Another lord or lady who will compliment my hair and agree with everything I say?”
Aldric checked his notes. “Lord Finn, fifth son of the Earl of Winrone.”
“Fifth son?” Darragh raised an eyebrow. “That’s...unusual. Most of these candidates have been first or second children.”
“Yes, well.” Aldric cleared his throat. “His brother submitted the application. According to the file, Lord Finn himself was...reluctant to be considered.”
“Reluctant.” For the first time all day, Darragh felt a spark of interest. “How reluctant?”
“The notes say he believes himself completely unsuitable for royal life.” Helena read from her own papers. “He has no court experience, a limited knowledge of politics, and spent most of his adult life working with his hands rather than attending society functions.”
“He works with his hands?” Darragh sat up straighter. “Doing what?”
“General repairs, apparently. Helping tenants with various projects around the Winrone estate.” Aldric looked disapproving. “Quite unusual for someone of his rank.”
“Quite unusual for someone of his rank to be honest about his limitations, you mean.” Darragh felt the first real smile of the day cross his face. “All right. I’ll see him.”
“Your Majesty, perhaps we should review his file more thoroughly…”
“You said he thinks he’s unsuitable. That already makes him more self-aware than anyone I’ve met today.” Darragh gestured toward the door. “Bring him in. Let’s see if reluctance translates to honesty.”
Thomas and Helena exchanged glances, but Aldric nodded to the guards.
The doors opened.
Darragh leaned forward, curious despite himself. After numerous candidates who’d all blurred together into one mass of compliments and careful political maneuvering, someone who didn’t want to be here might actually be interesting.
Please, he thought. Please let this one be different.