Chapter 2 #2
“The tallest,” Wen assured him, smoothing his hair down.
I immediately messed it up again, just to see her swat at my hand. She did, and Killian giggled at our familiar routine.
“There’s SO MANY people coming!” Killian bounced on his toes. “Like a million!”
“Not quite a million.”
“A hundred?”
“Closer. About seventy.”
“That’s... that’s...” He tried to count on his fingers, got confused around six. “I don’t know that many numbers!”
“We’ll count together, baby,” Wen said.
“I can count to ten!” He straightened, very proud. “Wanna hear? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, twelve!”
“Close,” Wen said gently. “It’s ten after nine.”
“Oh.” His face fell slightly. “Can I try again?”
“Later, pup.” I ruffled his hair again, unable to resist. “We need to go.”
“Do I gotta be polite?”
“Very polite,” Wen told him. “Say please and thank you.”
“What if they’re boring?”
“You stay polite anyway.”
He considered this. “Even if they got bird nest beards?”
I remembered Ambassador Crescentborn’s unfortunate facial hair incident. “Especially then. We do not mention bird nest beards.”
“Why not?”
“Because some truths are secret truths,” Wen said.
Killian’s eyes lit up and he dropped his voice to a whisper that was somehow louder than his normal speaking voice. “Ohhh. Secret truths. Got it.”
“Stay close to us during dinner,” I told him.
“Can I sit between you?”
“Of course,” Wen said immediately.
“Good.” He grabbed both our hands. “‘Cause I don’t like strangers.”
“They are not strangers. They are visiting royalty.”
“What’s roy-al-ty?”
“Important fancy people,” Wen explained.
Killian processed this. “So fancy strangers.”
“Yes, essentially.”
Torin appeared in the doorway, bowing slightly. “Your Majesties, the guests have arrived.”
Killian immediately perked up, swinging our hands. “Let’s go! I’m gonna count everyone!”
“Quietly though,” Wen reminded him.
“I’ll whisper!”
I caught Torin’s eye as we moved toward the door. “Stay close to them tonight.”
“Always, Your Majesty.”
We walked through the corridors toward the throne room, Killian between us, swinging on our hands like we were his personal playground equipment. He was chattering non-stop about counting people and asking questions about everything we passed.
“Why are there so many guards?”
“To keep everyone safe.”
“Safe from what?”
“From anything that might try to hurt us.”
“Like monsters?”
“Like people who make bad choices.”
“Oh.” He thought about this. “That’s lots of people then.”
Wen and I exchanged a look over his head, both fighting smiles.
The throne room doors loomed ahead. I could already hear the murmur of voices inside. Seventy representatives from seven kingdoms, all about to meet my hybrid son and human mate.
I straightened my spine. Tried to remember I was a king and not just Wen’s husband and Killian’s father. Tonight required politics, diplomacy. Careful navigation.
We entered the throne room and silence fell immediately. Every eye turned to us, every guest bowed or curtsied except the other Kings and Queens.
I helped Wen onto her chair, then lifted Killian onto the smaller one we’d had made for him. His legs swung freely, too short to reach the floor, and he looked around with wide eyes that were trying very hard to be brave.
“You are doing wonderfully,” I murmured to him.
He nodded seriously and started counting on his fingers, mouthing the numbers silently.
The representatives began approaching to pay their respects. I’d memorized every name, every face, every political stance and potential threat.
Then it was time for the Royalty. Valerius Crescentborn arrived first, the King of Valoryn. Tall, imposing, a man of few words who somehow made silence feel like a personal attack.
“King Malachar, Queen Gwendolyn. It has been too long.”
“Indeed. Welcome to Ravenor.”
“I trust the border situation remains resolved?”
“For now.” I kept my tone neutral. We’d fought over trade routes last year. The matter was settled but tensions remained.
His eyes slid to Killian. “And your unique heir?”
The way he said “unique” made my jaw tighten. “My son is thriving.”
“Of course.” He bowed and moved on.
Xander Silvermane from Wynter Kingdom appeared next, looking like he’d aged ten years in the last five. The stress of being a perpetual asshole was clearly catching up to him.
“A human queen,” he said, his tone making it clear this was still a problem for him. “Still so unexpected.”
Wen smiled sweetly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was not intended as one.”
I growled, low but audible. “Careful.”
Wen’s smile never wavered but it took on a sharper edge. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to be rude. That would be terribly embarrassing for you.”
Silvermane’s expression flickered as he realized he’d been outmaneuvered by a human half his age. “...Of course not.”
He retreated quickly. I made a mental note to accidentally step on his foot later.
Mortimer and Elspeth Goldridge, King and Queen from Duskmere, approached together, both radiating the kind of warmth that came from a long, happy marriage. I actually liked them, which was rare.
“The young prince,” Mortimer said kindly. “May I?”
Wen nodded. “Of course.”
He knelt down to Killian’s level, which immediately earned him points. It was so fucking rare to see a King on his knees, but Mortimer was just a great person. “You look just like your father.”
“Yeah!” Killian brightened. “Papa says I’m gonna be SUPER tall!”
“I’m sure you will.” Mortimer’s smile was genuine. “How old are you?”
Killian held up four fingers. “This many! How old are you?” He asked back.
Mortimer chuckled. “That is not a polite question, young prince.”
“Oh.” Killian’s face fell. “Sorry. Are you older than Papa?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. You’re REALLY old then.”
Wen started to intervene but Mortimer was already laughing. “It’s quite alright. Honesty from children is refreshing.”
“You got kids?”
“Two sons and one daughter.”
Killian perked up immediately. “Are they here?”
“Just one of them. My middle son, Pattryk.”
“Can I play with them?”
“Well…” He cleared his throat. “Yes. Perhaps after dinner.” He said, which made me snort. Pattryk was younger than me, in his twenties. He was not anywhere near Killian’s age. But I appreciated Mortimer not destroying Killian’s mood with this bit of information.
“Good!” Killian nodded seriously. “‘Cause I’m bored.”
Mortimer laughed again and stood, definitely strengthening our alliance with Duskmere. Anyone who was kind to my son earned loyalty.
Kane Aurelius from Ebonvale Kingdom was next, all intensity and superiority wrapped in formal wear. He looked at Killian like he was examining an interesting specimen.
“Hybrid children are so rare. Fascinating.”
“He is my son,” I said, my voice cold. “Not a curiosity.”
Killian tugged on Wen’s dress. “Mama, what’s fas-in-ate-ing?”
“It means interesting, baby.”
“Oh! I’m interesting!” He turned to me, beaming. “Papa, I’m interesting!”
I looked at Kane pointedly. “Yes. Very.”
Kane had the grace to look uncomfortable before moving on. Good.
Lastly, Kazamir Briarfield from Moonhaven approached, looking like speaking actual words might cause him physical pain. He grunted what might have been a greeting, nodded at Killian, grunted again, and moved to his seat.
“I like him,” Killian whispered loudly. “He’s quiet.”
“He is very quiet,” I agreed. Kazamir communicated primarily through grunts and facial expressions. I respected it. Saved time.
More representatives approached. More bowing and showing respect for being the hosts.
More thinly veiled judgment of my human mate and hybrid son.
Killian waved at a few of them, friendly little guy completely unaware of the political undercurrents.
One severe-looking woman actually smiled back at him, which probably surprised her as much as it surprised me.
I scanned the room constantly, cataloging positions and exits, but my eyes kept drifting back to Wen. The way she handled each representative with grace. The way she smiled at Killian when he got confused counting. The way she-
“Your Majesty?”
I blinked. Someone was talking to me. Right.
“I apologize,” I said to whoever it was. A woman from Valoryn, I thought. Maybe. “You were saying?”
“I was asking about the trade agreements.”
“Of course. The trade agreements.” I had no idea which trade agreements. I’d been watching Wen tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and wondering if I could convince her to leave early.
Focus. I needed to focus.
“The terms remain as discussed,” I said, hoping that was vague enough to be accurate.
The woman nodded and moved on. I had no idea if I’d just agreed to something terrible.
Nearby, Torin leaned toward Wen and said something. She laughed, bright and genuine and beautiful, the sound cutting through the murmur of politics.
My attention snapped to them immediately. Wen had moved from greeting the dignitaries to the middle of the room, Killian hand-in-hand with her. She was showing him the decorating flowers and the different food being brought by our staff, trying to make our son less bored.
That was Wen’s real laugh. Not the polite one she used for diplomacy. Her actual laugh, the one that made her eyes crinkle, the one I worked so hard to earn. And Torin had made it happen. While I was talking about trade agreements I didn’t even remember.
Torin, who was there for Killian’s first word. Torin, who saw my son’s first shift. Torin, who apparently knew how to make my wife laugh while I was too busy playing king to notice she needed it.
My hand tightened on the arm of my seat.
This was ridiculous. Torin was loyal, protecting my family, doing exactly what I’d asked him to do. He was a good man. But right now, watching Wen’s face light up at something he said, I wanted to throw him out a window.
“Brother.” Aurion appeared beside me, smirking. “You’re glaring. You look like you want to commit murder.”
“I am considering it.”
“At your own banquet? Tacky.”
I forced my expression into something neutral. Or tried to. Based on Aurion’s widening smirk, I was failing spectacularly.
“Torin made Wen laugh,” I said, as if that explained everything.
Aurion blinked. “That’s... nice?”
“No. It is not nice. I should be making her laugh. I am her husband.”
“You’re also hosting seventy people. Bit busy.”
“I am aware.” I watched Wen say something back to Torin, still smiling. “I should be with her.”
“You should be here, greeting dignitaries.”
“I have greeted enough dignitaries.”
“You’ve greeted maybe twelve.”
“That is enough.”
“There are seventy.”
“Way too fucking many.” I grunted.
Aurion snorted. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I am being reasonable. She is my-” I cut myself off, aware I sounded insane. “Never mind.”
“No, please continue. This is the most entertainment I’ve had all night.”
I shot him a glare that would have made lesser men cower. He just grinned.
“Shall we all take our seats?” Aurion announced to the room, clearly sensing the need to move things along before I did something regrettable. Like abandoning my duties to sit Wen on my lap and glare at anyone who looked at her.
Servants stopped bringing appetizers and began bringing out the first course. Wen took her seat, Killian between us, and immediately reached for her hand behind Kill’s chair.
She squeezed back, leaning toward me, whispering. “You okay? You look tense.”
“I am fine.”
“You’re doing the jaw thing.”
“What jaw thing?”
“The clenching thing. You do it when you’re annoyed.”
I consciously unclenched my jaw. “I am not annoyed.”
“Okay.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Torin was just telling me about Killian’s afternoon. Apparently he tried to teach the stable cats to count.”
“Did it work?”
“The cats were unimpressed. Killian was devastated.”
I huffed a laugh despite myself. “Our son is…Creative.”
“He gets it from you.” She squeezed my hand again, her thumb tracing circles on my palm. The tension in my shoulders eased slightly. She was here. It didn’t matter that Torin made her laugh earlier. I would make her laugh later. And scream. Mostly scream.
Killian was counting on his fingers again between us, his little face scrunched in concentration.
“One, two, three...”
“Quietly, remember?” Wen whispered.
“Four, five, six, um...” He looked at his fingers, confused.
“Seven,” Wen supplied quietly.
“Seven! What’s after seven?”
“Eight.”
“Eight, nine...” He paused, clearly struggling. “Twelve?”
“Ten, sweetheart.”
“Oh yeah! Ten!” He looked around the room, then back at his fingers. “I need more fingers.”
“You can use your toes later,” I told him.
“Really?!” His eyes went huge. “I have TEN toes!”
“That’s twenty total,” Wen said.
“TWENTY! That’s SO MANY!”
Several nearby guests were watching our son with expressions ranging from amusement to bewilderment. He was waving his fingers around now, apparently trying to figure out the logistics of counting his toes while wearing shoes.
I surveyed the room one more time. Wen’s hand was warm in mine, her thumb still tracing those absent circles on my palm, and across the room Torin caught my eye with a small nod. Reliable, trustworthy. Completely not deserving of the window treatment I’d been imagining earlier.
This was going to be a very long night, but at least I’d get to make Wen scream later, and that made everything worth it.