wagering; nobles casting lots on who and when Zachary might marry.
To keep the confidence of the realm, to end this speculation, he must marry one of suitable rank and produce a royal heir. Soon.
Laren found his resistance confounding. There were no ongoing illicit romances, despite various rumors of a secret lover tucked away in some tiny hamlet on the coast somewhere, and though he had not always led the chaste life of a cleric, he hadn’t even sired any bastards. She had checked.
Colin Dovekey broke the tense silence. “We were speaking of refugees.”
“And so we were,” D’Ivary murmured, his gaze intent on the king.
Zachary crossed his legs. He was not in good humor, but he refused to rise to D’Ivary’s bait. “I do not condone the use of force,” he said, ignoring the subject of an heir altogether. “Nor will I provide you with soldiers. Much of my force is patrolling the north anyway. If the refugees are such a drain on the province, find a way to make use of them so they help themselves. Lord Adolind has found a way to manage, and he possesses fewer resources than D’Ivary Province.”
D’Ivary scowled, then forced a neutral expression on his face.
Zachary leaned forward. “Not so long ago you swore an oath of fealty to me when you took on the mantle of lord-governor. Will you give me your word on your honor that no harm will come to these refugees?”
D’Ivary puffed out his cheeks. “Of course, sire.” He bowed. “I shall abide by your wishes. On my honor.”
Laren fingered her winged horse brooch, reaching out to D’Ivary with her special ability to determine the honesty of his words. The answer came to her like a caress in her mind, and it surprised her.
After D’Ivary departed with his secretary in tow, the king turned his gaze upon her. No longer the stern king, he simply looked a very weary man.
“Well?” he said.
Laren smiled weakly. “He spoke truth. He will not harm those people.”
Zachary raised his eyebrows. “You are certain?”
“It was a clear reading.”
He removed the shiny silver fillet from his brow and passed his fingers through light, amber hair. “Of course. I shouldn’t even have to ask. You’ve never been wrong before. It’s just . . . It’s just that he’s difficult to trust.”
“That goes for the whole cartload of ’em,” Colin said. “The lord-governors.”
The grumpy disgust in his voice made Laren and Zachary—both tired by the long day themselves—laugh.
“Truly,” the king said, as the laughter died down, “as much as those border people disdain governance, they are within our borders. With no lord to speak for them, especially to the likes of Hedric D’Ivary, they’ve only me.”
“And not the sense to appreciate it,” Colin muttered.
Hear, hear, Laren thought. The border people had no notion of the champion they had in their king. They certainly wouldn’t thank him for it even if they knew. Non-interference was what they desired in their lives—until they needed help, of course. While she agreed with Zachary’s support of them, it would not endear him further to the lord-governors, or to the hardworking folk of the provinces who faithfully paid their taxes and obeyed king’s law.
Before they could speak further, there was a commotion at the throne room entrance. A boy in the livery of the Green Foot burst through the doorway and hustled down the throne room runner. Laren and Zachary exchanged glances, wondering what else could possibly happen this day.
The boy slid to his knees before the king, and Laren grimaced at the clumsy obeisance, but she observed the hint of an amused smile lingering on Zachary’s lips. Perhaps he remembered himself as a boy.
“Rise, lad,” he said.
The boy did so, cheeks pink from running. He was no more than eleven years old with a mop of sandy hair falling over his eyes.
“You’ve a message for King Zachary, Josh?” Laren asked.
The boy looked startled to hear his name issue
To keep the confidence of the realm, to end this speculation, he must marry one of suitable rank and produce a royal heir. Soon.
Laren found his resistance confounding. There were no ongoing illicit romances, despite various rumors of a secret lover tucked away in some tiny hamlet on the coast somewhere, and though he had not always led the chaste life of a cleric, he hadn’t even sired any bastards. She had checked.
Colin Dovekey broke the tense silence. “We were speaking of refugees.”
“And so we were,” D’Ivary murmured, his gaze intent on the king.
Zachary crossed his legs. He was not in good humor, but he refused to rise to D’Ivary’s bait. “I do not condone the use of force,” he said, ignoring the subject of an heir altogether. “Nor will I provide you with soldiers. Much of my force is patrolling the north anyway. If the refugees are such a drain on the province, find a way to make use of them so they help themselves. Lord Adolind has found a way to manage, and he possesses fewer resources than D’Ivary Province.”
D’Ivary scowled, then forced a neutral expression on his face.
Zachary leaned forward. “Not so long ago you swore an oath of fealty to me when you took on the mantle of lord-governor. Will you give me your word on your honor that no harm will come to these refugees?”
D’Ivary puffed out his cheeks. “Of course, sire.” He bowed. “I shall abide by your wishes. On my honor.”
Laren fingered her winged horse brooch, reaching out to D’Ivary with her special ability to determine the honesty of his words. The answer came to her like a caress in her mind, and it surprised her.
After D’Ivary departed with his secretary in tow, the king turned his gaze upon her. No longer the stern king, he simply looked a very weary man.
“Well?” he said.
Laren smiled weakly. “He spoke truth. He will not harm those people.”
Zachary raised his eyebrows. “You are certain?”
“It was a clear reading.”
He removed the shiny silver fillet from his brow and passed his fingers through light, amber hair. “Of course. I shouldn’t even have to ask. You’ve never been wrong before. It’s just . . . It’s just that he’s difficult to trust.”
“That goes for the whole cartload of ’em,” Colin said. “The lord-governors.”
The grumpy disgust in his voice made Laren and Zachary—both tired by the long day themselves—laugh.
“Truly,” the king said, as the laughter died down, “as much as those border people disdain governance, they are within our borders. With no lord to speak for them, especially to the likes of Hedric D’Ivary, they’ve only me.”
“And not the sense to appreciate it,” Colin muttered.
Hear, hear, Laren thought. The border people had no notion of the champion they had in their king. They certainly wouldn’t thank him for it even if they knew. Non-interference was what they desired in their lives—until they needed help, of course. While she agreed with Zachary’s support of them, it would not endear him further to the lord-governors, or to the hardworking folk of the provinces who faithfully paid their taxes and obeyed king’s law.
Before they could speak further, there was a commotion at the throne room entrance. A boy in the livery of the Green Foot burst through the doorway and hustled down the throne room runner. Laren and Zachary exchanged glances, wondering what else could possibly happen this day.
The boy slid to his knees before the king, and Laren grimaced at the clumsy obeisance, but she observed the hint of an amused smile lingering on Zachary’s lips. Perhaps he remembered himself as a boy.
“Rise, lad,” he said.
The boy did so, cheeks pink from running. He was no more than eleven years old with a mop of sandy hair falling over his eyes.
“You’ve a message for King Zachary, Josh?” Laren asked.
The boy looked startled to hear his name issue
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