Page 23 of To Save a Kingdom

Aliya raised an eyebrow at Elessan. Receiving no response, she turned to his mother. “Of course. Please.”

“My son tells me you didn't have a choice in joining the Cerel household.”

It wasn’t a question, but the uptick in the tone of her voice made it one. Aliya took a deep breath, uncertain how much of that open wound she dared bare for this woman she’d just met. But, Sorisana was Elessan’s mother, and Aliya trusted him. So she would trust his mother as well.

Bracing herself, she nodded. “He’s correct. My father arranged my marriage to Malkov, over my objection. It turns out, the king only wanted me so he could drain my magic for use in the war effort.”

“To make more Whisperers?” Sorisana asked.

Aliya swallowed. “It was never about me or what was best for the realm. Malkov only cared about vengeance.”

“And yet, you live.”

Aliya reached out and gave Elessan’s arm a short squeeze. “Only because of him.” She met Sorisana’s gaze. “He has more than paid back any life debt you may have owed my ancestor.”

The other woman dipped her chin once. “He has.”

Aliya blinked, startled at the finality of those two words. It would’ve been nice if Sorisana had at least pretended to demur.

Elessan intertwined his fingers with hers and squeezed. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat, life debt or not.”

She smiled, wanting nothing more than to lean her head against his shoulder and have him wrap her in his arms. But now was not the time, and she was so tired of people making assumptions and patronizing her.

Spearing Sorisana with an upraised eyebrow, she turned to face the other woman. “I just got out of what I am certain you inferred to be a challenging meeting with your king. Take pity on me and speak plainly. Please.”

A glimmer of something that may have been respect simmered in Sorisana’s eyes. “As you wish.” She came to a stop and faced Aliya. “What are your intentions with my son?”

Aliya froze, her mouth opening before she snapped it closed.

“Mother!” Elessan dropped his voice and, with a quick glance over his shoulder at the two guards trailing them, switched to Elven. “What are you doing? Quit meddling in my personal life.”

Sorisana glanced at Aliya, then leaned into him and hissed, “I deserve to know if he is destined to live his life on the sidelines or if he has a chance at true happiness. And if the queen wants me to get to the point, I will do so.”

“Mother, I am a grown man, capable of making my own choices. Stop it.”

“I love your son,” Aliya stepped in, also speaking in Elven. “I would never ask him to do something that would make him unhappy.”

Sorisana froze, blinking at Aliya, her face blank with surprise.

Aliya held back a smug grin. Elessan hadn’t told his mother she spoke his native language.

It was Sorisana’s turn to stutter. “I—I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I didn’t realize—”

A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over Aliya. She was so tired of being judged and found wanting by people who never bothered to give her a chance. Even though the sun was only about to set, it had been a long, trying day. She wanted nothing more than to lock the door to her chambers, get out of this horrible corset before she fainted, and ignore the world for a few blissful hours. Maybe when she woke up the next morning, everything wouldn’t be so messed up.

She rubbed her temples and switched back to Common. “It’s been an exhausting day. Please excuse me.” Without waiting for a response, she left Sorisana standing on the gravel path surrounded by the purple jacaranda trees that brought out the color in her and her son’s eyes.

Elessan made a move as if to follow her, but she waved him back. He and his mother clearly had things they needed to talk about, and she ached for some time to herself.

Her two guards followed and stationed themselves outside her room. With a grateful nod at both of them—they would make sure no one disturbed her—she pushed the heavy wooden door closed and threw the latch into place.

She wanted nothing more than to slide down the stone and curl into a ball on the floor. But she would regret doing so, either when she awoke sore the following morning, or when some emergency inevitably brought someone banging on the door.

Heaving herself away from the wall, she made her way to the bed chamber. The piece of parchment containing the names of her father’s ‘approved’ nobles had been moved from where she’d stashed it underneath the other piles of papers. It now sat on the edge of her desk where she’d be certain to see it, with another name added in the baron’s handwriting.

King Roland Enorathil.

Chapter 10