Chapter 4 Cethin
Cethin
He drummed his fingers on the marble tabletop as dinner plates were cleared.
Staring out the window, he could almost glimpse the sea beyond.
The sound of waves rolling to the shore was just out of reach, and he was wishing he could be feeling the ocean spray rather than the slight breeze drifting through the open balcony doors.
He’d been in this room all godsdamn day with the advisory council. Meetings didn’t typically take up an entire day, but every twentieth day they did.
Every twenty days he sat in this room at a table of twelve advisors discussing anything and everything.
Lunch and dinner were served here, and he’d likely still be sitting here well into the night.
The sun was already setting, which wasn’t the problem.
His kingdom loved the night. They favored the dark and the shadows so much, their days didn’t begin at dawn.
No, the kingdom came to life mid-morning, well after the sun had risen.
That’s when the streets started bustling and businesses opened their doors, and they stayed that way long after the sun had set, when the stars and the moon lit their paths home.
It was the early morning hours before most people found their beds, the sun rising a few hours later.
“Your grace?”
Cethin turned from the window, finding the eyes of everyone on him. A glass of liquor had been placed before him, along with a piece of dessert. Some kind of spiced cake that he wasn’t going to eat.
The male who’d spoken was Zayan, Hand of the King, and he sat to his right.
He’d been his father’s Hand, and with all the turmoil of a sovereign change, Cethin had kept him in that role.
He didn’t know who’d replace him anyway, but Zayan had served at his father’s side for most of the last century.
Before that, he’d served on the advisory council as the lord of a city on the west side of the continent.
“What’s next on the agenda?” Cethin asked, swiping up his liquor as they got back to business.
“The matter concerning the Fae,” another male said from down the table, looking up from a piece of parchment.
He swiped a hand down his face.
The Fae.
As if he hadn’t been thinking about that issue for months.
As if they hadn’t had this very discussion every twenty days since he’d taken the throne.
Fuck, this conversation had been occurring regularly since before he took the throne, and nothing was ever resolved.
The debate was always the same because everyone came to the same conclusion: until the Wards were gone, there was nothing they could do.
The Wards had been in place for centuries, cutting them off from the rest of the realm.
No one could leave, and no one could enter.
They had been intended for protection, meant to exist for a short period of time until the danger had passed.
Instead, they’d become a curse that the kingdom had paid dearly for.
Sure, there’d been a glimmer of hope when a ship had made it past the Wards three seasons ago, but then the deaths had increased too, and they were back at the beginning. Words without actions.
He’d rejected that inaction decades ago, willing to do what others wouldn’t. Willing to risk things his parents refused to entertain. Doing what needed to be done to bring their kingdom the freedoms they once knew.
“Is it true there were more discovered this morning?” a female with short, wispy black hair asked.
“It is,” Cethin answered, eyeing the empty seat to his left where Tybalt usually sat. He’d excused himself nearly two hours ago and hadn’t returned. “Tybalt and I have already discussed it and sent three Cadre members to search the area for any information.”
A male scoffed. “We never find anything with their searches.”
Cethin slid his gaze to the male, eyes narrowing. “While not entirely factual, what is found often leads to dead ends. I would like to go search some of the more recent sites myself—”
“You can’t go out there and play detective,” another male interrupted. “You’re the king. More than that, you were nearly killed the last time you were on a battlefield.”
Cethin arched a brow, his fingers drumming once more on the table. “Am I understanding correctly that you are instructing your king as to what he can and cannot do?”
The male’s brown eyes widened slightly, his brows pinching.
Hayes was another advisor who’d been on this council as long as Cethin could remember.
“No, your grace,” he answered slowly. “I am simply stating that as the sovereign of the kingdom, it would be unwise for you to put yourself in harm’s way.
Especially since you…are not in the same position as your father was. ”
“Not in the same position? He was the king. I am now the king. What is the difference?” Cethin demanded, his hand falling to the arm of his chair. His fingers curled around the armrest, and he willed his darkness to remain hidden, but it churned in his soul.
Everyone at the table glanced at each other, clearly debating who was going to be the one to answer him. Finally, Zayan said, “Your father had an heir, Cethin, but more than that he had a wife who was very involved in the running of the kingdom until her passing.”
His mother.
Queen Selinya.
His father had come from a long line of rulers before them, but his mother had been the more powerful of the two.
It was his mother’s bloodline that mattered here.
Why the council was so adamant about preserving him.
Why he was already well aware of the next argument before it had even had the chance to pass anyone’s lips.
“Perhaps it is time for you to take a partner,” Zayan ventured.
One would think they’d be nervous to hold his stare after past discussions of this nature, but every member of the advisory council was watching him. Waiting to see what his response would be this time. He supposed he could give them some credit. They hadn’t brought it up in nearly a year.
His hands flexed around the armrests once more, threads of inky power seeping from his fingertips as he worked to maintain control of his magic.
“That is not a priority right now,” Cethin replied tightly, snatching up his liquor glass and draining it.
“While it is certainly not your priority, it should be one of the king’s,” a female down the table said. “You wish to investigate death scenes without a partner or an heir? If you cross the Veil to the After, what then, your grace?”
He sat back, pinching the bridge of his nose at the same old arguments.
“Your father—” someone else started.
Cethin didn’t even know who was speaking when he interrupted. “My father ruled for centuries without a wife, and they were together for decades more before I was born.”
“Be that as it may, we have a proposal that may satisfy several urgent matters,” Zayan cut in as a staff member refilled Cethin’s glass. “If I may present this proposal to you, your grace?”
He didn’t dare reach for that liquor glass, knowing the dark power he possessed was thickening beneath his palms. With a sharp jerk of his chin, Zayan continued.
“It has long been the tradition of the Sutara kings that their partners be Fae, with the recent exception of your father. With the continued decline in the Fae population as of late, we agree this is even more urgent now. It would show the kingdom that you have a personal interest in the matter.”
“I do have a personal interest in the matter,” Cethin gritted out. He was only half-listening anyway, too focused on keeping his power in check. “They are part of my kingdom. That is all that is needed for me to have a personal interest.”
“And that is noble. No one is discrediting that, but taking a Fae as a wife would reiterate long-standing alliances,” Hayes piped in.
“It would provide reassurance that you are taking the threat against their kind seriously, especially after the last few decades of history and the need to strengthen the laws around taking Sources.”
His jaw clenched. He’d sat in on countless meetings when his father had sat at the head of this table. Nobody had questioned him or spoken down to him. Truth be told, he felt like he had more respect and freedoms as their prince than as their king.
“Beyond all that, it would be beneficial to you as the king and leader of the kingdom to have a wife that could potentially provide a Source of your own. The fact you don’t have one after centuries is, quite frankly, troublesome,” another female contributed.
“You are growing rather bold, Lady Odessa,” Cethin ground out, his voice as dark as the power he was working hard to contain.
Everyone straightened, recognizing the edge in his tone.
His father had been known to be levelheaded.
Strong-willed and uncompromising, yes, but he rarely lost his composure.
Cethin was known to be just as strong-willed, but he was also said to have a temper that came with an unfavorable recklessness when he lost control.
It didn’t happen often. He was the epitome of discipline; his mother had ensured it once his power had emerged.
Everyone had assumed he’d control the water element like his father—who was a descendant of Anahita, the god of the seas, water, and ice—but his parents had known that wouldn’t be the case, even if they hadn’t known which gifts would emerge.
All of Avonleya knew of his darkness. They all assumed it was the same magic his mother’s shadows had been, except more powerful because of his father’s bloodline.
When two Avonleyan bloodlines crossed, the offspring emerged with one side’s power—whichever side was stronger.
The other bloodline simply strengthened or weakened that power.