Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

ORION

I watch my king’s rigid back as his people bow, almost prostrating themselves as they pass him. They may be unable to meet his eyes, but as soon as they believe he is out of earshot, the whispers begin. Here, in the palace, I have learned rumours are more dangerous than swords. Many people have been brought down with just a handful of words, their lives destroyed and families torn apart.

One would expect civility in the glittering throng of leaders, but if anything, they are more feral—poisoning, knives in the back, taxes, and word games that lead to death. It is all the norm, and it is much more dangerous here than in the Lowers.

My king knows that all too well.

His usual posse follows him, his two advisors dressed in their bland, grey, shapeless robes and square hats. Behind them are the king’s soldiers in purple armour and matching purple hats, the royal feather standing tall and straight from the tops marking them as one of the highest ranks. At the back of the procession are the king’s scholars in long, flowing white robes, and it is then I understand his need for space.

Ever since Joha was young, he was destined to inherit the throne, and despite his lineage, he was groomed for it. He had lessons every hour of the day until he couldn’t even think straight and could quote facts about the kingdom’s laws in his sleep. He cannot step one foot out of line. He must glide across the rough-hewn stone of the paths to the council chambers, his head tilted back at the perfect angle despite the heavy crown he bears. His purple robes swirl around him, tied at the front in a bow. Instead of the sword I know he wishes for, he clutches a book. Jewels drip from every inch of him down to his black, soft-soled, pointed shoes.

I walk behind him to the left, where I will always remain. My silver armour embezzled with the king’s symbol—a wolf—is shown proudly. My longsword is sheathed at my hip as I stomp after him. I will never forget the honour of this position, and despite the old king’s requests—may he rest in peace—Joha chose me to lead his protection. In spite of my young age and his father’s insistence on choosing a general, the former king bowed to his son’s wishes.

It was his last act of kindness for his son before he died.

I know Joha misses him greatly, despite the fact that they were never overly close. A bizarre, archaic rule imposed centuries ago insists that a cool distance is expected amongst the royal family, even from a father to his heir. He doesn’t speak of his father often, but he reminds me more and more of him every day.

He was a good king, but Joha will be a great king.

Despite the fa?ade he shows everyone else, his intelligence hidden in his shrewd gaze, his passion for his people comes through in every act, even when he can’t always show it.

The path through the palace to where the council meets daily is not a short walk, but it gives Joha time to prepare himself as we pass Deajul Hall, where his throne sits.

“Your Majesty.” The cool, soft voice makes us still, and Joha turns, spotting the Queen Mother and her ensemble coming from the direction of her palace, which is just past Windfall Hall and set amongst the greenery there. I feel my stomach sink, knowing it’s a feeling that will be echoed in Joha. In a small act of rebellion, he makes her cover the distance between them rather than meeting her halfway as is expected.

Even small interactions like that are governed by laws.

Her brown eyes narrow slightly, not missing his silent slight, but they quickly soften. She has an audience to play to after all. Her hands are clasped perfectly in front of her pink robes, making her look graceful as she floats around the palace as royal ladies must. A sunshade decorated with a hand-painted wolf is held above her by one of her many ladies-in-waiting. A whole line of them moves perfectly in sync behind her, ready to attend to her every need. Unlike when I first met the queen, lines now surround her eyes and mouth, betraying her age despite the many lotions she demands from far and wide.

She was barely older than Joha when the former king married her. She is from one of the oldest families in our nation, so it was a marriage of political advancement, a move that I’m sure Joha despises.

He never knew his mother, but the one who replaced her is anything but motherly. She is like the beasts that hide in burrows in the mountain. Get too close and they will strike. She was trained to be queen, her family counting on it and the prestige it would bring to their lands. The old king bowed to the council’s pressure to remarry, and the fool actually loved the woman heading towards Joha now. Right up until his death, he was completely oblivious to the anger and resentment growing between his wife and son.

She knew that without an heir, Joha would inherit the throne—the throne she so badly wants to sit on. Her own child could be controlled, but not Joha, or so she thought. So did I, yet here we are. He sits upon that gilded seat, but she is still very much in charge.

When she stops the perfect distance from us, Joha bows deeply, almost touching the floor as is expected. “Queen Mother,” he says formally as we all bow with him, not rising until he does. Despite him being king and leading this nation, the queen is above him and everyone knows it, which is why he keeps calling himself the puppet king. She pulls his strings, leading in the only way possible for her.

By law, a female cannot lead the nation, but this one seeks to.

Her eyes are sharp, and every inch of her is perfectly made up, as a lady should be. She drips in jewels, and a crown is perched on her perfect coils. Her ladies back away, still bowing, to give the illusion of privacy while remaining close if the Queen Mother needs anything. I ignore their giggles and looks when they glance at me. Either I disgust them since I am nothing like the clean-shaven nobles many lust after and are taken by or they are curious, wanting a walk on the wild side. Everyone within these walls, even ladies-in-waiting, wants something, so they think if they get close to me, they will get close to the king.

The king has no bride and no queen yet, and many are desperate for it to be them. He always says he will not fall into the same trap as his father, but he must marry. That is the law, but he is taking his time, and I respect that. I don’t wish to see my friend even more unhappy by being tied to one of the rich, stuck-up women he is presented with daily.

“Your Majesty, I hear the council is discussing plans to redevelop the Tundra Province today.”

“Are they?” He chuckles, his expression a little vacant, one I know he has practiced many times. “I am sure you know more than I do, Queen Mother.”

“Yes, indeed.” She frowns, her eyes skimming over his expression. She is waiting for more, but when she does not get it, I see her irritation flare. “Well, I will allow you to take your leave and attend the meeting. Just remember, Your Majesty, that my family hails from just south of there.”

“Like I could forget, Queen Mother.” He bows again, a sign of respect I know he detests. “I shall take my leave.”

She watches him turn and, as all royals do, walk slowly towards the chambers of Windfall Hall, where the council meets daily and awaits him now. They do not rush. They do not show emotion. They do not break protocol.

They are to be perfect in every way.

A perfect leader to inspire our lands.

If only Joha would believe he is capable of what I know he is. He has so much more power than he thinks. He just needs the belief that he can do it.

Following him closely, I keep my eyes on my king, wishing I could help him in this battle he faces.

One most know nothing about, fought for the soul of our lands and the heart of our king.