Chapter 15 Alfred
“Crown Princess Jessia Vester, Heir to the Kingdom of Spires, and Second of her Name,” the royal doorman announced in a booming voice as the audience hall’s massive bronze doors flew open.
In perhaps the least dignified entrance in royal history, Jess streaked into the Throne Room at a full sprint.
Strips of fabric the color of ripe strawberries flew behind her like a cape made of flowing strands.
She darted past the assembled members of the Privy Council, and skidded to a stop at the foot of my throne.
“Father, please don’t let her do this,” she begged through heaves and tears. Her eyes remained fixed on mine, as to avoid the withering gaze of her mother who sat on the throne next to mine.
Before either of us could respond, Jess hurled a crumpled wad of parchment into my lap and ran out the side door. The note fell to the floor as I stood, staring after my daughter, then shook my head and settled back onto the throne.
“I swear that girl will be the end of me,” Isabel hissed through pearly white teeth and brightly painted lips. Even angry, the Queen was the picture of elegance, though one the Privy Councilors chose to avoid at all cost.
I couldn’t hold back a chuckle. Though, I immediately regretted the slip as chilly brown eyes drawn into slits bore into me.
The Queen was not pleased.
My wife and daughter had been at each other’s throats for the better part of three years, and no one was brave enough to negotiate a peace, least of all me.
Jess might have been the heir, but she was still a teenage girl prone to fits, and no force of nature could tame her.
I only hoped age and experience might smooth a few of her rougher edges.
I knew I should reprimand Jess for her behavior, especially in front of the Council, but, more often than not, the proud father in me overcame the frustrated King.
I turned, leaning toward Isabel, and whispered so only she could hear. “My dear, she’ll grow out of this. I seem to recall another sixteen-year-old girl with a fiery temper years ago . . . uh . . . a few years ago,” I corrected quickly.
Isabel’s glare narrowed further.
Every Councilor seated at the high table snapped to their feet as the Queen rose. “By your leave, husband, I need some air. The betrothal will be complete by the end of this week, no matter what our precious little Princess thinks.”
She offered a perfunctory curtsy and glided out the side door opposite the one Jess had fled through.
The Ministers exchanged glances. Some offered a sympathetic grin.
They had witnessed similar tantrums several times over the past weeks as planning of the royal betrothal sharpened into focus.
The royal family put on a unified public face, but the rift between Queen and Crown Princess was one of the worst-kept secrets in the Kingdom.
I did my best to referee larger squabbles but had resigned myself to more of a “duck and cover” approach with smaller tiffs; and, while I cherished my daughter, I was embarrassed my chief advisors had to witness what should have been a private spat.
I turned to my Council with a heavy sigh. “Where were we?”
“The letter from the Triad, Your Majesty.”
High Chancellor Danai Thorn cleared his throat as the members resumed their seats.
Thorn’s oily black hair lay slicked back across his head and limp behind his shoulders.
“Right.” I fumbled through a stack of papers on the table beside my throne before lifting the letter in question.
I broke the navy wax seal bearing the crest of the Melucian Empire, then scanned the letter.
A page shot forward, took the letter, and delivered it to Thorn.
“It appears the Melucians would like to put a horse in our race. They propose we marry Jess to their Master of Arms, Titus Vre.”
Chatter and uneasy laughter flitted about the chamber before I raised a palm, silencing everyone. “Stephan, you have something?”
Stephan Bril, Minister of War, had served for more than twenty years. He was one of my closest friends and most trusted advisors. “Your Majesty, Vre? Are they serious? Isn’t he near fifty now? Are they thinking we’ll marry her off to any old man just to secure better trade deals?”
“Royal marriage often involves older men or women. This is about strengthening ties.” My brows creased as I chuckled. “Besides, he’s younger than you, Stephan.”
“Perhaps . . . but I’m much younger than my King, Majesty,” Bril said with a tilt of his head and smirk on his lips.
“Your Majesty, forgive me for interrupting such a poignant exchange, but I think we should take this offer seriously. Melucia is our primary trading partner, and securing a stronger alliance could only boost the flow between our nations.”
Destin Carver was a fairly new member of the Council, appointed to serve as Minister of Trade.
His mustache was so thin as to barely be seen, and his cheeks were nearly as round as his enormous belly.
An annoyingly dusty wig wiggled as he spoke, spilling powder across his shoulders—and anyone nearby.
Still, the man was competent, if a touch full of himself.
Thorn nodded. “Your Majesty, I agree with Minister Carver. Our Gifted ranks are extremely thin. Less than twenty percent of our population now wears the gold, and we believe fewer will in the next generation. Without increased trade and movement between our countries,
our Gift may die out when your grandchildren sit the throne.”
Thorn served as High Chancellor and leader of the Kingdom’s Hall of Mages. His public role focused on magic and its users, but the Council knew that he also served as my Master of Spies, administering the most widely respected network of informants throughout the known world.
Thorn preferred a black robe styled as a military jacket above the waist that flared into a floor-length cloak below.
Highly polished golden buttons formed ranks from his shoulders to his belt, and a high collar was adorned with two rows of rich, silky gold.
A powerful Mage with hundreds of years of experience, he looked to be in his thirties, though his clothing had fallen out of fashion centuries earlier.
Thorn went on, “I need not remind this Council of the precarious balance of power between our two nations. We are significantly stronger in arms, but the sheer proliferation of the Gift among the Melucian population is a direct threat to our own security.
That does not even consider the mundane functions like enhanced farming and fishing, healing—and a hundred other abilities we used to take for granted that are now rare. We need Melucia’s bloodline as much as we need their trade if we are to secure our people’s future.”
I regarded him a moment.
Everyone else seemed transfixed by the shine on the table in front of them. The chamber was silent; the creak of a shifting guard’s armor echoed off the walls.
I stood. “Thank you, everyone. I have much to think on. It has been a long day, and I have a family dispute waiting behind those doors. We will resume tomorrow.”
The Councilors gathered their notes, bowed respectfully, and filed out, leaving me alone and lost in thought. I’d barely noticed them leave. The Triad’s letter stared back at me, daring me to decide.
It pained me to think about betrothing my daughter to anyone, let alone someone who lived across the continent, months of travel from our home.
My relationship with the Melucian rulers had always been strong and didn’t really need a boost, but I understood the arguments in favor of the match.
No one understood why, but the Kingdom’s bloodline was losing its magic, and the long-term threat to my nation was plain.
A cynical part of me worried that Jess might actually make matters worse.
She had always been spirited, but in her teen years she’d become an unmitigated disaster.
A dark cloud of resentment and rebellion followed her into every room.
A few weeks with her might turn a solid relationship into a full-blown international crisis.
I chuckled to myself at the image of the Triad trying to tame my little girl.
A gong sounded in the distance, marking a turn of the hour.
I had just enough time to make a quick change of clothes before dinner would be served.
Most nights, I was surrounded by supplicants, nobles, or hangers-on, but tonight was to be a rare, intimate family meal, something our family desperately needed more of if we were to stand together in the battles to come.
I folded the Triad’s letter and placed it in the ornate cabinet that sat by the throne.
The box had been a gift from one of the small nations on Melucia’s eastern border, at the far end of the continent.
Nearly as large as a trunk, the gilded container bore enough rubies and emeralds to purchase a small island.
It was easily one of my favorite gifts received during my reign, and held an endless stream of requests and appeals.
But the jewels were not the only things I loved about the piece.
I touched my fore and middle fingers to its lid, activating the locking spell placed on the piece by the last person to live who possessed the Gift of Enchanting. Each time I triggered the spell, I felt a boyish thrill run through me.
Satisfied with the click of the magical lock, I turned to leave, but the crumpled wad of parchment Jess had tossed in my lap crunched under my shoe. I’d forgotten about the note.
I kneeled, retrieved and smoothed the paper, then read:
Mother’s marrying you to that fat old Duke from Huntcliff. You know, the one with the crossed eyes and squirrel on his head for hair? He’s got to be at least forty. I overheard Lord Sneak talking to her last night about it. – J
I sucked in a deep, calming breath and wiped my brow with a kerchief. Justin was a year younger than Jess, and the siblings were virtually inseparable. Reading the scrawl, my hope for a peaceful evening dimmed.