Chapter 43
Aedlin
Before Dother’s Death
The incessant tap, tap, tap of King Dother’s ring on the round table’s wooden surface was maddening.
Aedlin could feel her eye twitching; she hoped no one noticed.
Keeping her face carefully blank, she placed her hand over the king’s, a delicate touch that appeared to be a loving gesture to the Council.
They both knew it was anything but—the queen was making a demand, and Dother listened, his fingers stilling.
His eyes narrowed before flicking to her, a tick in his jaw the only show of his true emotion. Then, they drifted to her stomach, to the small bump encased in emerald silk, evidence of his heir growing in her belly. A triumphant smirk growing on his face.
Somehow, Aedlin managed not to shudder.
She took a breath, nearly cursing when citrus invaded her lungs, the sour aroma coaxing bile to claw its way up her throat.
A fragrance she rarely tolerated, the suffocating odor a reminder of their wedding night.
A taint that had stolen Kalyan’s scent from her bed.
Thankfully, Dother stayed away, except when it came to matters of the Crown.
She swallowed hard against her nausea, losing focus.
Lord Falcrest’s voice fading to the background.
All she could do was pray silently to the Gods she wouldn’t vomit all over the documents the Council placed before her.
Clutching the stack of papers like a lifeline, Aedlin lifted her chin and forced herself to pay attention.
“What I’m hearing,” Lord Briar interjected, lips tipping into an arrogant grin, his stormy gray eyes gleaming, “is you cannot control your domain.”
Falcrest bristled. “There’s unrest everywhere, do not act as if Moldenna is above this.
” He scrubbed at the bridge of his nose, long, black strands of hair obscuring his features, but the exasperation in his voice was unmistakable.
“If we aren’t careful, these sparks will fester into a raging fire. ”
A grimace tugged at the wrinkles on Lord Clairmont’s withered face. “We created that spark ages ago, we know exactly how to stomp it out.”
Aedlin didn’t miss the way he looked at her, his snarl barely concealed, the man still furious her head remained on her shoulders. He’d been the most vocal among the Council when she and Kalyan overturned the Laws of Confinement... and in the years since.
Flames crackled in a sea of amber, the lord flinching as his queen glared back. “The Laws are not up for discussion.”
He clamped his mouth shut, heeding the warning in her voice.
They both knew she couldn’t remove Clairmont’s influence from Castle Berwick, but she could force him to step down and make way for his son.
It was always a game of cat and mouse with these men, though the roles were never stagnant, the mouse discovering their fate only when a cage of teeth clamped down on their head.
The wedding band digging into Aedlin’s finger a stark reminder of her own losses.
She dismissed him, smoothing her hand over scribbles of ink and turning to Falcrest, Kalyan’s dear friend and the one noble in this room with any sense. “I understand you’re—”
“Your concerns are noted, Lord Falcrest.” Dother’s voice cut through the air, capturing the Council’s attention, as if he were the true ruler, and the Althenis bloodline meant nothing.
He looked the part. Draped in a silky royal blue tunic with a perfect silver crown resting atop his head, his chocolate brown hair expertly coiffed.
Aedlin’s fingers curled into fists before she could think better of it, parchment tearing under her nails.
She was the Crown of Berwick, the only one in this stuffy room with royal blood.
She’d listened to their insistence that a queen needed a gods damned king...
She’d done everything right, with her head held high and her mask perfectly plastered to her face.
Emotions locked away so they’d have their stoic ruler. Still, it wasn’t enough.
Her eyes roved over the men sitting in their cushy royal blue seats, their traitorous eyes trained on the damned king.
It hadn’t been like this with Kalyan... though her love had never cared much for politics.
When they’d first married, he’d scoffed at the nobles who looked to him as if he’d lead, happy to point them to their queen.
Except when it came to overturning the Laws.
His fear for their daughter had been so potent...
Aedlin smiled sadly at the thought of his passion, and how she’d cautioned him to staunch it.
It was too out of character. Too suspicious.
Kal never learned to hide behind a stony face and cunning eyes, unable to be anyone but himself.
She supposed that was something she’d loved about him.
... Had loved. Not loved.
Tears lined her lashes before she could blink them away, a tight feeling cinching around her heart.
Kalyan was gone.
And so was Mora. Three months and they’d found nothing, no word from Philip despite Aedlin’s many letters.
Falcrest’s brows knit, but he wasn’t the only one to notice her demeanor crumbling.
Dother’s hand found hers, his tight clutch pinching her skin, a silent admonishment for letting her mask slip.
“And while I understand your frustrations, Lord Clairmont, there are far better ways to empower yourself and placate the people than to reinstate the Laws.”
The lord rolled his eyes like a petulant child.
“Paying Forbidden will accomplish nothing. I’m aware you enjoy your”—he pointed to Dother’s unearthly ring, a spark of envy on his face—“magical relics. We all did the same under the Laws. But, need I remind Your Majesty of the child who died in Reverie a few months back? Allowing the Forbidden to run wild leads to violence.”
The king nodded, his free hand slipping off the table to fondle the strange bottle he kept tethered to his belt, black smoke flinching away from his touch. “And who killed this child?”
Clairmont savored a sip of wine, beads of red liquid clinging to his gray mustache. “He was taken care of, if that’s your concern.”
Fingers stilled on gilded daisies, muscles feathering in Dother’s cheeks. “My concern is that you think me a fool.”
The lord’s withered face paled until he nearly matched his ivory waistcoat. “I never said—”
“That this human child was murdered by human hands? Indeed, you failed to share those details, but I am well aware. The question is, why did you choose to use this instance as a means to push your agenda when you know as well as I do it holds no grounds? Do you believe your king is daft, or have you grown senile in recent months?”
Clairmont slammed his silver goblet on the table, red wine spilling over the sides. “How dare you call me senile!”
A quiet, unnerving chuckle was Dother’s response, Falcrest beaming from across the table. “He did no such thing. You were offered two choices, and it seems you’ve decided.” Falcrest turned to Aedlin. “Perhaps Matthias’s time grows near?”
Aedlin covered her mouth, hiding a grin she had no hopes of keeping at bay.
It felt good, watching one of her tormentors squirm, though she detested it wasn’t her own doing.
“The king makes an excellent point, my lord. What have you done to ensure the people of Reverie understand they are more likely to die at the hands of a harsh winter than that of a Forbidden?”
“Halfling,” Dother corrected, squeezing her hand once more before pulling away, the dark void in his ring swiveling in its casing to glance up at Aedlin one final time.
The hair on her arms prickled. Why did it always feel like it was watching?
“If you’re unable to control your domain, we’ll send a contingent of King’s Guards to Reverie to staunch any unrest.”
Aedlin stiffened. What guards did he intend to send?
They were stretched thin already, searching for Mora.
“What about my daughter?” Her voice was too quiet, weighed down by too many emotions clogging her throat.
Dother prattled on, Clairmont sinking deeper into his chair’s plush cushions with every venomous word, but no one bothered to look to their queen.
“I asked you a question,” she said to Dother, louder this time. A royal command.
Muscles flexed in his jaw, a divot appearing on his left cheek. “What did you need, my queen?”
“We cannot spare guards until we find Mora.”
“A small group will continue the search, but it appears she does not wish to be found. I believe we’ll need to exercise patience.
” He turned to his papers, fingers roving over numbers scrawled in messy ink, dismissing his queen.
His other hand fondling that gods forsaken bottle. “Mora will return when she’s ready.”
Aedlin stood before she thought better of it, the slap of her palms against the table’s hard surface echoing throughout the circular room.
Tense silence blooming in its wake. “We don’t know that!
Months of searching and we’ve found no sign of Mora.
For all we know, she could be...” Her breathing turned harsh.
She couldn’t face this. Couldn’t voice it.
“We cannot afford to reduce our efforts; not until we bring her home.”
Lord Briar sighed, picking bits of lint off his deep red tunic, gold embroidery glinting on his shoulders. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, it’s not as if the kingdom will be without an heir.”
“Mora is more than a placeholder for the crown!” she snarled, resting her hand on her belly. Fingers clawing at her dress’s satiny emerald fabric, as if she could dig her way to the seed Dother had planted beneath and pluck it free. “She will not be replaced by—”