Talon the Black (Dragonwall Series # 1)

Chapter 13 - An Heir

Lord Rosk shrugged. "You know how they are, Your Grace." He did not miss the small waver in Richard's voice. "Having no heir makes them nervous. It makes all of us nervous." After saying this, Lord Rosk sat up a little straighter, squaring his shoulders.

"What say the rest of you?" He looked from one council member to the next. Seeing the invitation, they all began voicing their opinions, as they generally did. The only member to remain silent was Lady Saffra. Out of everyone, she had the most sense. Ironically, she was the youngest—a child in his eyes. He would always see her as the ten-year-old she was when she first arrived at the keep, despite the fact that she was now a woman grown.

He sighed, loudly. The table fell silent immediately. "You are all aware, I presume, that I am a Drengr?" He looked from person to person. "Good. And I am sure you are further aware of the customs that govern my race? The customs that govern the monarchy?" Still silence. "Also good. I am glad to see that you are not idiots. So then, surely you know that the only life partner a Drengr takes, or in my case, the only queen a king takes, is his mate? The king's mate is the making of his destiny, which the gods alone ordain. Has it not been this way for the last fifty thousand years?"

His words were met with low grumbles, many in agreement with what he said. He held back the most crucial bit of information, which the Council failed to see. Even if he took a bride, one who was not his fated mate, he would fail to produce an heir. That was how Drengr magic worked. Only his fated mate could bear his child.

"So I ask you this: have the people forgotten our customs?"

He waited several moments. Lord Rosk cleared his throat. "They have not forgotten, Your Grace. Your circumstances are special, as we can all agree." Lord Rosk looked around at his fellow council members, who each nodded in turn. "We are falling into desperate times. Surely you cannot argue that. Perhaps it is time to reign in a new era—new customs. Perhaps it is time to abandon the customs of old in favor of preserving your line. If you do not agree with that, then maybe we council members ought to demand a Tournament for the Crown."

He sighed. The entire matter was ridiculous, but deep down he knew there was relevance to their worry. He was the first king in the Drengr monarchy to fail at finding his mate. He had tried—for nearly a hundred years he tried. His mate simply did not exist anywhere in the world. And once he obtained his scars, the hope of finding anyone to love him evaporated. No one, mate or not, could stand to look at him.

"Tell me, when I gave my coronation speech, did I not make it clear that I would be the first of my line to rule without a queen? I promised the people that I would do as good a job, if not better, than any king before me. Have I not?"

"You have done excellently, Your Grace." Many nods of agreement circled the table. "The only problem is, the people to which you gave that promise died nearly two hundred years ago. It is their offspring you now answer to."

"Yes, yes." He knew that. Humans led such short lives. Perhaps he would play along for now. If hope would make the people happy, then why not? "Very well, my lords. I will consider this request. And who—which lady specifically—do the people believe I should take as a wife?"

"That, Your Majesty, is entirely up to you." Lord Stefan Rosen spoke up, leaning forward in his chair. "I believe that it would be wise to take a woman of noble birth. She should be young, as you will outlive her by many years. Might I be so bold as to suggest—"

"I know exactly who you might be so bold as to suggest, Lord Rosen. Your daughter, Lady Caterina, is the youngest and most eligible when it comes to those families belonging to our beloved council members, is she not?"