I have never fought so hard to remain upright in a chair. A constant flow of people have come to me to solve disputes and request extra provisions to care for their families and land. I've listened to old men fighting over property lines and single mothers beg for food to feed their children. Their worries tug at my emotions, pulling them from one extreme to another—frustration, heartbreak, anger. I wish I was numb to it all, that I could hear their concerns and make a judgment without it draining my mental state. Tossing my crown on the floor and taking a nap in my throne has major appeal most days.
I adopted the practice of making myself available to my people without an appointment once a month from Micah. He had always given the Lucent people the opportunity to approach him, no matter their status in the community. His openness made him a fair and beloved ruler. So much of what I'm trying to do is modeled after his reign. But our differences make it impossible. Micah put his entire heart into listening to his people's concerns. It didn't matter how trivial those worries were. I can't bring myself to genuinely care, turning my full attention to bigger troubles on the horizon. He was quick with his problem solving, and I take ages to consider the outcome. His parah sat at his side, and I miss the fuck out of Raelle.
The moment we returned home, her attention turned to her family. She was surrounded by adoring siblings, and an over-joyed mother, and a grateful father. I've known Abrum almost my entire life, and I've never seen him so emotional. Tears spilled from his eyes as he pulled Raelle in his arms and kissed the top of her head. She gripped his jacket, buried her face in his chest, and sweetly whispered reassurances to him. When he finally let her go, Abrum fell to one knee and bowed his head. Until the day I leave this world, I will remember that moment. Not because of the way he humbled himself before me, but the words he spoke. I can never thank you enough for loving my daughter so much that giving up wasn't an option. You have made my family whole again. A family I consider you a major part of. I'm proud to call you many things: friend, mentee, savior, king, and most importantly... son. I helped him to his feet, and he pulled me into a hug. It was at that moment that I understood the emotion overflowing from Abrum.
The Mansi family's joyous reunion had me putting my selfish wants aside. I was desperate to take Raelle to my room in the palace's tower and lock us away for weeks on end. It was when I saw the way Ansley stared up at her big sister with big brown eyes that I changed my mind. In her young world, Raelle had been away for what felt like forever. She needed time to reconnect, to make new happy memories. The entire family did. I had the palace staff pack their trunks and insisted that they return to their family home in Lucent.
As much as I wish Raelle was here, I have had little time to dwell on her absence for the past two weeks. From the moment I step foot out of my quarters, I'm challenged with one issue after another. Tensions have been running high since my return. Everyone from my counsel to the merchants selling vegetables on the street debate whether I broke the treaty with Allaji. When I found Raelle, she had escaped Zek's palace on her own, and she and Ulric were already under attack. I just assisted them in their getaway. And that is where the waters get murky. Would she have escaped if I wasn't there? Was the act of stepping on Allaji soil—my enemy's soil—an act of war? Do my intentions matter, especially when Raelle and the Cyffreds were taken against their will?
Technicalities aren't ideal for one's peace of mind where Statera bound treaties are concerned. The deity only speaks directly to one being, and the Divine Sybil has remained silent on the matter. Not that their lack of involvement is surprising.
With speculations running high, my people are bracing for the moment the Allaji cross our border. Every uneventful day fuels their imaginations and anxieties. We don't let our guard down, knowing it's not a matter of how, but when. Add to the stress of an impending war to the neglect I've given to the everyday issues of ruling a kingdom, and it's a recipe for disaster.
"Don't you agree, Your Majesty?"
I shake my head and blink several times. A middle-aged woman holding up a bundle of mulled flowers comes into focus. I drifted off the moment she started prattling on about her garden and how it was the envy of her village.
"I'm sorry. What was the question?" I ask.
Her jaw-length hair swings as she jabs the dead flowers toward an old man and young boy. "If Mr. Woods and his grandson can't control their dog, they should get rid of it. That thing is a menace. Don't you agree?"
The boy kneels next to the shaggy, multi-colored dog. He runs his brown hands over the top of its head and whispers into its ear. The dog's eyes dart around the room, searching the unfamiliar surroundings. By the look of the dirt caked on his muzzle, he just wants to get back to what comes naturally to him... digging up flowers. I can't blame the poor guy. I'd rather be digging in the mud too.
"Mr. Woods, are the allegations true?" I ask, fighting to hold back an eyeroll. Of course, they are true. The dog is wearing the evidence.
The old man steps forward, his back slightly hunched and legs quaking. "It is, Your Majesty. The dog is still a pup, and my grandson and I are working hard to train him when we have a free moment. It's just the two of us, and my grandson must come to the cornfields after school until I'm done working. By the time we walk home, it's well after dark. He plays with Max while I make dinner. Then it is schoolwork and off to bed for us. He is a ball of energy and has found his way out of the gated area we made for him a couple of times. But I promise we are trying our best to train the pup."
I lean forward, holding my chin up so my crown doesn't end up on the floor. "I understand your hardship, but the dog cannot destroy other people's property, no matter how trivial it is."
The woman places her hand over her chest and gasps. Statera forbid, I insult her roses and tulips.
"You're right, and I'll do whatever I can to make it up to Ms. Hollis. I beg you not to punish the pup for my shortcomings with him."
The boy grasps the dog tighter and buries his face in its fur. A small, muffled chorus of no, no, no fills the sanctuary.
Mr. Woods runs a hand over the boy's dark hair. "Forgive my grandson. He has lost a lot this past year. His father died in the battle in Lucent and shortly after his mother became ill. Since the day the pup followed him home, the two have been inseparable. I'll pay for the flowers and plant new ones. I just ask that you give me time to work a few extra days in the field to earn the coin to do so."
The line between justice and compassion is clear and unfair in this case. Ms. Hollis is due compensation for her destroyed garden. Mr. Woods wants to right the wrong, but at what cost? His spine is bowed, and his hands shake. How he withstands the daunting tasks of the cornfields is a miracle. It's not only Mr. Woods who will suffer. His grandson will spend more time in the field as well, losing out on the little quality time he has with his grandfather and dog. All of this for stupid flowers.
I look to my left, where Borin sits at the far end of the dais. He never intervenes in these matters, simply observes. Later tonight, we will convene in my office. He will give me his feedback on how I handled the more important issues. This situation isn't one I want a learning curve on.
Keeping his hands clasped in his lap, Borin dips his chin. The small gesture triggers his voice in my head. You are king. Right or wrong, the choice is yours to make. Declare your decision with authority and most will not question it.
"You will be responsible for restoring Ms. Hollis' garden," I say to Mr. Woods.
The woman bounces on her toes and trills with glee. "Thank you, Your Majesty!"
I ignore her and continue to give my attention to the man and his grandson. "The palace steward will take you to our gardens. You are to pick the flowers comparable to the ones the dog dug up. It will be your job to oversee the gardener I send next week. Do you understand, Mr. Woods?"
"Yes. Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you."
"And you, young man," I say to the boy. "Stop at the palace stables on your way home. Ask the lead stable hand if they can give you advice on how to keep your dog from digging up Ms. Hollis' garden."
The boy runs the back of his hands over his eyes. "Yes, Your Majesty."
The room fills with quiet chatter, and I lean back on the throne. I spare a glance at Borin, who gives another small nod of approval. The air leaves my lungs, and my fingertips work small circles into my temple. I'm exhausted, mentally and physically. I'll never comprehend how Micah did this. Mere months of being king and I swear I've aged decades.
The Sanctuary doors creek open, and I squeeze my eyes tighter as I rub my head harder. Another meaningless disagreement which could have easily been worked out between the two parties if they would just listen to each other.
"Raelle Mansi, accompanied by her parents Abrum and Cassa and her siblings, requests an audience with His Majesty."
The announcer's words throw my world into slow motion. I open my eyes to find Abrum wearing his guard uniform, with Cassa's slender arm looped in his. Her red hair is streaked with gray, and the curls bounce around her shoulders. Rowan walks behind them, his hands clenched at the back of his military jacket. Salone follows her brother while holding Ansley's hand. The wild, fiery mane and playful spring in the youngest Mansi's step is a sharp contrast to Salone's graceful strides and sleek ginger locks. At the end of their family parade is Raelle. She focuses straight ahead, avoiding the curious stares of onlookers. Her golden-brown hair is tied at her nape, and she wears a long, dark blue coat, belted at her waist. Even in the simple attire, she takes my breath away.
Abrum and Cassa reach the end of the dais and bow, with Rowan, Salone, and Ansley following suit. Raelle walks in front of them and lowers to her knees. Her ponytail slides over her shoulder, brushing her round cheek. My fingers tingle with the need to sweep her hair back and lift her chin until our eyes meet. Even when I was crowned my mother's heir, I always pictured our situation in reverse. I accepted my crown for her, and I had every intention of one day submitting to her rule.
Eager to get her off her knees, I say, "You may rise."
Abram helps his wife to her feet and places his hand over hers in the crook of his elbow. The Mansi children stand, all but one. Raelle remains kneeling, her head hung in submission. Her father glances at her, and I swear I see uncertainty flash across his face. My relationship with Abrum almost spans two decades. I've watched him march troops to battles where he knew we were outnumbered, and he never showed half the worry he exudes in that one look.
I study Raelle, searching for a clue as to what's going on. She's motionless, her palms on the ground and eyes staring down. "Why are you here?" I ask, dropping my formal façade.
"I wish to publicly announce my loyalty to you as my king," she says.
"That's not necessary."
She lifts her head, her brown eyes burning with certainty. "My father, mother, and siblings pledged their allegiance to you. All the people in this room have bent the knee to you. I'd like to do the same."
I don't like whatever she is doing. She is my equal, yet she is postured as if she is below me. As much as I want to pull her off the ground, I don't want to humiliate her.
"Your loyalty to me goes without saying, Raelle. But if this is what you want."
"It is, Your Majesty."
I try not to show my annoyance as I flick my wrist, gesturing for her to continue. I don't understand why she feels compelled to voice her commitment to me as king. Micah abolished the old tradition when he took the throne. He didn't want his people faithful to him, but to the kingdom. If he ever let those under his rule down, he didn't want them to turn their back on Lucent. The older generations found it difficult to let go of the practice. Most of them have kneeled before my throne and made a pledge. The younger people have been quick to embrace the change. My parah is clearly not in line with her peers.
Placing her hand over her heart, Raelle bows her head and says, "I declare before the Statera and those assembled here today that Kyron Niklaus LeFur is my sovereign. I freely choose to live under his rule and place my trust in him. From this day forward, I will honor him as my king."
"May the Statera bind your vow," the room says as one.
Until this moment, the vows of the Mansis, Borin, Greer, Terro, and most recently, Ulric were the most important to me. Having my friends declare their loyalty to me was strange. I didn't need them to say the words. Their friendship over the years was testament enough. Yet I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in knowing each of them stood with me. As much as I hate seeing her like this, her vow is the only one I need.
I don't care if it is against protocol or unbecoming of a king. My arms ache to hold her against me. I move to stand but stop short. Raelle pulls the belt holding her coat free. The navy-blue wool falls around her, leaving her in a plain white shift. She presses her forehead to the ground and every muscle in my body tenses. This can't be happening. Not the girl who fought for her father. Not the princess who went to battle without fear. Not the queen who scarified her crown for my life.
I sit in wide-eyed shock as her words join the mumblings coming from the crowd. "My family is whole because of you, but my rescue didn't come without substantial risk to every person in this kingdom. I hear their unrest and morn with those whose families suffer without their loved ones. I kneel before this court to let the people of Pliris know that they should not lose hope. The sacrifice you made to save my life wasn't for nothing. I'm dedicated to serving this kingdom and doing whatever it takes to bring every Cyffred home. It doesn't matter how my king calls me to serve. I place myself at your feet and dedicate my life to serving you and Pliris. I will go where you send me, obey what you require of me, and treat no task as if it is beneath me. From this day forward, I am your faithful servant."
Pure rage ignites within me. It burns through my skin, heating my face. I gnash my teeth and dig my fingernails into my palms. Raelle can ask anything of me, and I'd happily do it. I'd steal, lie, and kill for her, but not this.
I push out of the throne and stalk down the dais. As I pass Raelle, I hiss, "Get. Up." I don't wait to see if she follows my demand. My self-control is slipping and words I'll regret are threatening to spill from my mouth. I charge out of the sanctuary, and as soon as I'm out of everyone's view, I plant my fist into the stone wall. My parah just tried to dedicate the rest of her existence to me as my servant.