In the hall, his father’s voice was raised as he addressed the crowd of three hundred men. Those in attendance appeared to hang on his every word, their gazes fixed solely upon the king. Behind the king on the wall was one of the few pieces of artwork that the hall still held on its cold, flat walls—a large tapestry of the king himself perched upon his favorite black stallion, sword in hand, looking strong and stern and royal.
Magnus cast up his eyes. His father loved being the center of attention.
“A murder.” The king’s voice boomed through the hall. “Right in the middle of the Paelsian market a month and a half ago. It was a cool but beautiful day when Paelsians were out enjoying the sunshine, marketing their wares, trying to make a decent living for themselves and their families. But this was disrupted by a few wicked Auranian royals in their midst.”
Murmuring surrounded Magnus. News had already reached some about the murder of the wine seller’s son, but for others this was the first time they’d heard of it. Magnus was surprised that anyone actually cared.
He was surprised that his father seemed to care. When it had been mentioned to Magnus at Lucia’s birthday banquet, he hadn’t thought much of it. Later, when his father learned of it, the king had simply shrugged a shoulder.
Seemed as if he’d changed his mind. Perhaps it was due to the influence of the young, dark-haired man who stood next to the king. The one who had recently returned from a trip across the sea.
Magnus’s cheek began to twitch.
His name was Tobias Argynos. He’d been brought to the castle to become the king’s valet a year ago and soon thereafter was taken fully into his confidence. If the king needed something, Tobias would get it. The king considered him an asset and treated him as a favorite son.
If whispered rumors held any weight, then Tobias was a favorite son—the king’s bastard born twenty years ago to a beautiful courtesan in Auranos.
Magnus had never taken to believing in idle gossip. But he would never completely ignore it, either. Whispered stories could turn to shouted truths as quick as day became night. Even so, it wouldn’t jeopardize Magnus’s position in the kingdom. He was the rightful heir today, tomorrow, and always. Still, the way the king had warmed to Tobias when he’d only been cold to Magnus all his life troubled him more than he’d ever admit out loud. The rightful prince received a scar on his face while the bastard stood next to the king as he gave speeches to a rapt audience.
Then again, fairness or kindness had never been King Gaius’s goals. Strength, faith, and wisdom above all.
“Paelsians have suffered,” the king continued. “I’ve watched this and my heart has bled for our poor neighbors. Auranians, on the other hand, flaunt their riches for all to see. They are shamefully vain. They have even begun to deny religion and prayer and instead raise up their own images as idols as evidence of their hedonism and excess. It was a selfish young lord—Lord Aron Lagaris—who killed the impoverished wine seller’s son. The murdered boy was a fine and handsome young lad, one who could have grown up to help lead his people out of the squalor they have faced for generations. But he was cut down as a spoiled lord tried to show off in front of a princess—Princess Cleiona. Yes, named for the evil goddess herself, she who murdered our own beloved of beloveds, Valoria, goddess of earth and water. The two watched Tomas Agallon’s young life bleed from him in front of his own family. They didn’t feel sorry for the pain they caused that family and all Paelsians.”
More mumbled conversation as the crowd listened to the king’s tale.
“This isn’t just a murder. This is an insult. And I, for one, am deeply outraged on behalf of all Paelsians, our neighbors who share a border with us all the way east to the Forbidden Mountains. The time is coming for a reckoning—one a thousand years in the making.”
The mumbling grew louder and, Magnus could tell, it was in agreement with what the king was saying.
Tales spread about the opulence in Auranos. Streets paved in gold. Precious jewels woven into noblewomen’s hair, discarded at the end of the day. Riches wasted on lavish parties that lasted for weeks. And, most distasteful of all, the fading interest in hard work and devout religion—the building blocks of Limerian society.
“What are you doing, Father?” Magnus said under his breath, bemused.
A strong hand clutched Magnus’s shoulder and he turned with alarm to face a man whose name escaped him: a large, hulking member of the king’s council, whose gray beard covered most of his face. Small, beady eyes flashed with excitement.
“Your father is the finest king Limeros has ever known,” the man exclaimed. “You should be very proud to be his son.”
Magnus’s lips thinned. Proud was one word he’d never use to describe how he felt toward his father, today or any other day. A fake smile stretched his cheeks. “Of course. And never prouder than I am at this very moment.”