Prologue
Donovan
The king is dead— is what they would have said had Lord Arnold Pembly done his job properly.
The bells had already rung two in the afternoon. His Royal Magistrate, Lord Donovan Amshire, sat in the council chambers glaring at Lord Pembly with open discontent. Edward was not fit to rule the Kingdom of Girene. This was no revelation among his closest subjects. Many believed him a child trapped in the body of a man of twenty and seven, hidden away from the world with no true companions save a cat named Felicity.
Yet here sat the counselors surrounding the young King, who should very well have been dead already.
Donovan resisted the urge to pull the dagger from his side and drive it repeatedly into Arnold’s lazy eye. These fools were incompetent as always.
“Your Majesty,” Arnold said, clearing his throat, “the matter of succession still remains. With no heir and the plight spreading through the kingdom, we really must settle this matter.”
Edward cleared his throat and ran a calloused hand over his thinning hair. He had never truly wished to be King. It was God’s divine right that had placed him upon the throne, and thus he must serve the people whether he desired it or not.
The people of Girene were not like other folk. Magic had once ruled this kingdom, until Edward’s father, Frederick, banned it many years ago.
“I—” Edward stammered. “To keep—”
God, Donovan thought.We are well and truly fucked.
“Your Majesty,” Donovan said, rising slowly to his feet, a smile curling upon his thin lips. “If I may.”
Edward nodded and sank back into his chair.
“It is no secret that Girene is in desperate need of an heir, though I fear some among us may not have Your Majesty’s best interests at heart.” Donovan glanced toward Arnold. “Take Lord Pembly, for example.”
Arnold stood so abruptly his chair crashed against the stone floor.
“I beg your pardon, Lord Amshire?”
Donovan ignored the outrage entirely.
“His daughter, the Lady Eloise, is twenty-and-one and yet remains unmarried.”
Edward leaned back in his chair, brows furrowing. His gaze swept across the chamber. Lord Donovan and Lord Arnold had always been relentless social climbers. They were every bit the opportunists a royal advisor ought to be, though entirely different in temperament. Donovan was a plump man with thin lips and bright blue eyes that missed very little. Arnold, meanwhile, possessed the bewildered expression of a man perpetually surprised to find himself indoors.
“What exactly does Lady Eloise have to do with this?” Edward asked, tapping his fingers against the wooden armrest. “Are you suggesting I hand the kingdom over to her?”
All eyes turned toward Donovan, whose cheeks had begun to redden beneath the scrutiny.
He gave a bitter laugh.
“No, Your Majesty. Of course not.” He paused. “Not entirely, at least.”
A hiss of outrage escaped Arnold’s lips.
“Whomever holds the crown must be fit to rule, and I simply question whether she is.”
Donovan knew then he had struck the nerve clean through.
Only three days earlier they had agreed Charlotte would inherit Edward’s stead should the King fail to produce an heir. Yet here he sat before the council, unmarried, childless, and worst of all, alive.
“By this logic, Donovan, Lady Charlotte should be considered,” a voice called.
Donovan turned sharply to find the eagle-eyed Lord Moore watching him from across the chamber.
He bowed toward Edward. “Your Majesty, the order of succession will no doubt pass to a woman.” Silence settled heavily across the room. “It would be in our best interest if our future Queen were married before such a transition takes place.”
Several of the older lords murmured quietly amongst themselves.
Edward’s jaw tightened.
“Charlotte is hardly a broodmare to be traded between noble houses,” he said coolly.
“No, my lord,” Moore replied carefully. “But the realm is fragile. An unmarried Queen invites opportunists.”
There it was at last — the true conversation hidden beneath all the others.
Edward pressed his fingers against his lips, deep in thought.
“And do you have suitors in mind?” he asked at last.
“We do, Your Majesty,” Arnold said, stepping forward eagerly. “We believe it is in the realm’s best interest that our allies—”
“And foes,” Donovan interjected dryly.
Arnold shot him a venomous glare before continuing.
“—were the women to marry these men, the political advantages would be considerable.”
Edward’s expression darkened.
“You speak of them as though they are parcels of land to be exchanged between kingdoms.”
A heavy silence followed.
Donovan resisted the urge to laugh.
That, at least, was Frederick’s son speaking.
Edward’s expression hardened.
“And who, precisely, are these unfortunate women?”
The council exchanged glances.
Arnold was the first to speak. “My daughter, Lady Eloise Pembly.”
Edward gave a slow nod.
Lord Moore stepped forward next. “Lady Charlotte of House Valence, Your Majesty.”
Silence followed, then Donovan spoke. “And Lady Bronwen.”
The room seemed to still at the sound of her name. Edward’s eyes lifted slowly.
“Bronwen?” he repeated carefully.
Donovan inclined his head. “Your cousin, Your Majesty.”
Edward leaned back heavily in his chair, as though the very suggestion had exhausted him.
God help them all, Donovan thought. The wolves would smell blood by morning.
