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"Still designing clothes," I reply. "Flaur agrees with her. There's even talk of a girl she went out with more than a couple of times."
Blythe was completely serious about her desire to fake her death rather than marry me. After starting our plan to purchase her a house and putting enough money aside for her to live on comfortably, I set out to choose my own bride. My father might attempt to arrange another marriage, but it's a lot easier to force your will onto a newborn than a twenty-five-year-old son with his own voice on the council. I immediately decided on a Frejr, despite the fact that almost every Anderkanian noble will protest.
Anderkan has gold and an army greater than that of any realm, and yet we're weak—weaker than Flaur, and they're better known for their flowers and pretty poetry. If the storm I've sensed for years comes, we'll be the first to fall. There's very little true power left in the land I'm supposed to inherit—if I live long enough. For all the Pillar preaches, a thousand men are nothing compared to one demi capable of summoning fire with a flick of a wrist. Ten thousand common soldiers could not overthrow Zale's father, in the old days. When the old king of Ravelyn was slain, it was by his equal: another demi.
I could have sought out a shadow assassin from Dorath, or an ice princess like Zale, but I've always wanted the best. That means a Frejr.
At my request,Valina Frejr invited me to the Darklands many years ago. I wasn't greeted at the door by anyone, not even a servant, so I walked in, wondering if the matriarch had forgotten I was supposed to turn up.
Their ridiculously large palace was designed by a madman; I lost myself so many times, seeking just about anyone who could show me the way until I reached an atrium bathed in light and saw Alis for the first time. She was dancing in the moonlight, and the rest was history. I would have sought her out if she'd been a servant. I would have claimed her if she'd been a rebel. But she was a Frejr, so I had my queen.
Except for the pesky nonsensical fact that the stupid clan doesn't arrange marriages, unlike every other important family on Xhera.
Like, what the fuck? Why can't they just streamline the matter and write up a contract?
I have to earn my bride, and I've chosen a prize who doesn't want to be caught. Thankfully, I have a trick or two up my sleeve.
"Sometimes I envy her." I glance over my shoulder to Rovan.
"Alis?" I'm confused.
The Flauran prince snorts. "Not everyone wants to blow your dick, Nath.Blythe. I envy her. She got out. No more political circus for her. No more attempts on her life based on who she is, what she could become. She's free."
I wrinkle my nose. I have a duty to my kingdom, but I've never resented it. I simply aim to be worthy of it. Millions of souls rely on my ability to make decisions for their wellbeing. Power is a heady drug, and a little too much of it can be a lethal dose.
I see why Rovan wouldn't think that way. He's second in line, unlike me. He gets all the pressure of a royal and none of the true power of a future king. But even if our situations were reversed, Rovan and I rarely see eye to eye on anything. I'd kill for him without hesitation, but I'll never understand him.
"Well, we aren't," Selia reminds us, "so we have to take care of this before it blows up in our faces." She waves to the map on the coffee table. We've stared at it most of the morning.
Hiring a Dorath spy to get some intel for us was inspired; we have the first concrete rebel plan in our hands. I just don't understand what it means. Every single capital was circled on that map and so was Magnapolis, though the central city was also crossed in red. There are no other markings.
The obvious answer is impossible. I can't imagine they mean to attack every major city on the continent. They would need millions, billions of soldiers in order to conquer the demi high borns.
"We need to make copies," I say. "And call for council sessions in our respective kingdoms, and here in Magna."
Whatever this map means, we need to be prepared.
I don't trust anyone the way I trust three of the four royals in this room with me, but it's time to get advice from generals and seasoned warriors. The five of us are smart, but we've never been at war.
And this map very much looks like a war plan.
"Get the spy to keep going," Zale tells Aeron.
I would have preferred if Dorath was still represented by his brother, Loken North. I don't truly believe my old friend could have conspired to murder his mother, and if he did? He must have had one hell of a reason. But Rovan voted that we invite Aeron when Loken disappeared after his banishment. Having a link to Dorath is smart for us. Their guilds shape the fate of the world almost as much as the Frejrs.
The young prince nods solemnly, and I will myself to stop looking at him with such disdain. He's useful. That'll have to do.
Zale smirks at me, reading me with more ease than anyone else ever has. We're in agreement about almost everything, he and I.
"I'll send Talon out. Call him if you have more."
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
THE WARNING
After one of the tamest weekends I've ever spent at home, I come back early on Raverday to find a letter neatly folded on my desk.
I'm not even surprised.
