One hour.

Jaredeth hurried through the halls of the castle, past walls adorned with paintings and furnished alcoves, guards who bowed and saluted too much for his liking, and down rug-line halls. His long strides ate up the distance, and his hurried pace forced his cape to billow in his wake. Moments earlier, he’d returned to the castle after a carriage ride through the city to “greet his people.” Because, apparently, waving at them from the lookout wasn’t enough. He’d never shaken so many hands and held so many children in all his years. And it wouldn’t end there.

One hour was all he had for himself until he had to get ready for the banquet, and he would spend it with the one person who’d listen to his fears and attempt to allay them instead of giving him useless platitudes.

Jaredeth nodded at the two guards standing outside his mother’s room and barged in. The former queen’s chamber was a dream of earth tones--a welcomed break fro the angry red tones he'd een subjected to all day. Dark brown carpet covered the floor, accented by tan furnishings and a red brick hearth. A behemoth of a bed sat on an elevated dais, its bedding hidden by a sheer canopy. 

Genevieve sat at a small tea table by the colossal windows overlooking the north gardens. She’d forwent her heavy velvet dress for a silk shift and yet still looked twice as regal as he felt. Perhaps it was her rigid posture and the surety in her gaze. Or the poise with which she held herself in the right company.

Jaredeth had learned only recently that his parents had been staying in separate chambers for the better part of their marriage. He hadn’t and wouldn’t ask why, because he wasn’t sure if he was prepared for the answer. His parent’s marital squabbles were none of his business, especially now that he had his own to attend to.

“Jaredeth, come, sit,” she said without looking up from her tea.

He took the dainty chair opposite her, and it groaned under his weight. The chimes of silverware and china filled the silence between them as his mother prepared a second cup for him. He accepted it with a nod and scowled at his reflection in the murky gold liquid.

His mother gave a snort. “You can take it off, darling. I won’t judge.”

Jaredeth slipped the crown from his head without missing a beat. “I’m not sure if I’m ready for this, mother. This crown,” he set it on the table, “the responsibilities that come with it. I don’t believe I’m strong enough to carry its weight.”

Genevieve sighed and trained her eyes out the window for a moment. “I’ll admit, I’m not very happy with this arrangement either. Your father’s barley cold and the Council has already tossed you onto the throne. We had no time to mourn.”

“Why couldn’t you and dad have more children?” he didn’t realise he’d spoken his question aloud until his mother cut her eyes back to him and arched a brow.

“Bold of you to assume I liked your father enough to give him more children. I gave him the heir he wanted so he’d leave me be.” She took a sip of her tea. “Don’t get me wrong, son, I do love you, more than anything in this world. But enduring another nine months of agony so that you may shirk your birthright onto another poor soul is asking a bit much.”

Jaredeth groaned and rubbed his eyes. “What happens if I fail? What happens if disaster befalls Avaly? What do I do?”

“You could always do what your father did and let the Council steamroll you, like a spineless fool.” She reached beside her chair and produced a small wooden looking glass. “Or you could trust yourself and your judgment and seek the council of those you trust most. You’re not an island Jaredeth, and you’re certainly not alone. You have friends and family here and willing to help you.” She brought the glass up to her eye and trained it out the window.

Jaredeth took in her words in, thought on them a moment. How would he look running to his mother every time he couldn’t decide something on his own? Or to Torrian or Elaine or Edgar? But by the same token, he didn’t trust himself or his own judgment. Someone as young and naïve to the ways of this world shouldn’t have the weight of sovereignty heaped on their shoulders.

“Hmm,” his mother hummed, lowering the glass from her eye. “Take a look, son.” And she flicked her head towards the window.

He leaned forward and peered down into the garden where Elaine walked the pathway through the geraniums with High Priest Lazarus. Her hands flew about her face, as they always did when she spoke animatedly.

“Those two have been meeting a lot these last few weeks.” Genevieve said. “Lazarus is no doubt putting ideas in her head to feed to you.” It was no secret the former queen wasn’t fond of the High Priest, or Priests in general, or the institution they represented. His father told him he’d had to personally escort her from a Council meeting after she called Lazarus a “donkey-fucking puppet.”

Jaredeth couldn’t imagine such crude words ever escaping his mother’s lips, but apparently the High Priest invoked enough of her ire to turn her into a gutter mouth. A flash of brown passed through his vision, and a crack resounded through the room as the looking glass came down on his hand.

“Don’t press your face to the glass,” she said through gritted teeth. “I swear you inherited none of my subtlety.”

“You know it’s a crime to assault the king.” Jaredeth rubbed his sore hand. His mother rolled her eyes. “I know you have your misgivings about the High Priest, but I’m sure they’re discussing… agenda nonsense.”

Genevieve gave him a withering look. “You’re just as dumb as your father, I swear to the gods.” She stood and crossed to the hearth. “Come here, son.” When he joined her at the hearth, she presented him with a long black box tied with red ribbon. “Happy coronation day.”

“Mom, you didn’t have to get me anything.” He pulled the ribbon free and popped the latch. Nestled in the velvet interior was a gold bracer with inscriptions in a language he couldn’t understand.

“It was my father’s.” His mother took the bracer, turned it over in her hands. “Come now, try it on.”

He set the box aside and rolled his sleeve up. The bracer slipped over his hand and fit against his forearm like a dream. “It’s lovely, mom, thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me just yet, son.” She turned his arm over. “There a button along here. Press it and…” A blade shot from the top, so fast it could’ve taken a finger off if his hand was at the wrong angle.

Jaredeth opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His mother could be pedantic sometimes, but this was a little more than he was used to seeing. He was under the assumption that his mother hated violence, yet here she was gifting him a weapon.

Genevieve pressed the button again, and the blade slipped back in like a snake sliding into its hole. “Promise me you’ll never take it off.”

“Mother, I—”

“Jaredeth.” When he looked into his mother’s eyes, his breath caught. They were misty, filled with more fear and worry than he’d seen since he was a reckless little boy. He hadn’t seen such a look on her face since they got the news his father had succumbed to his illness.

Jaredeth nodded. “I promise.”