Bane

I leaned against the desk in my study, staring across the expanse of it at my Uncle Syr. “What was it again?” I’d been in a state all morning—an unusual thing for me. My mind, usually sharp as a sword, seemed slightly off today, my thoughts too clouded.

I blamed my lack of sleep, and a certain someone probably still lying in my bed.

As always, my uncle didn’t show even the tiniest bit of annoyance. “Okay, so once again. You had chosen Lady Isolde, but while spending time with her, you met her brother. You had an instant connection with him. His intelligence sparked something in you, and you felt he would be the perfect consort to help you lead the country.”

I had to scoff at that. “Intelligence? He could barely string two coherent words together.” All he’d done was sputter and mumble. It was obvious that he hadn’t given much thought to his plan to replace his sister as my consort, considering how ridiculously everything had unfolded. Even last night, he’d been unable to decide what he wanted.

Last night… I wasn’t going to think about that. Not at all.

At my uncle’s pointed stare, I nodded. “Yes, continue.” I needed to focus now.

“According to his records, Adrian Tillcot excelled at math and sciences in school and was an exceptional student when he went abroad to university. So it will not be difficult to convince everyone that your connection was a meeting of two great minds. Any questions?”

I sighed. “Yes, when can I send him away?”

My uncle frowned. “The royal consort and the prince should live in marital bliss for at least a year before either retires to another estate.”

Right, of course. I almost scoffed at “marital bliss,” but I’d known for a long time now that I could never marry for love. Love was…not in the cards for me, not in my position. But at least I could have some semblance of control.

It was no great tragedy. My parents had a political marriage as well, and my mother spent more time at the country estates than in the main palace. It worked for them, and it was what I’d been planning to do with Isolde. As far as I could see, there was no reason to change my plans now with her brother.

Even if I had perhaps spent a touch too much time dwelling on the kiss from last night.

It was no matter. I was only thinking about it now because I had practically been celibate for the weeks leading up the wedding. That was all. I just needed to get this out of my system, and there were plenty of men and women in the kingdom who would be happy to assist me with that.

Someone rapped on the door, and before either of us could say a word, it swung open and my younger brother, Morrow, sauntered in, grinning widely as he placed an ornate box on the desk. “Congratulations on your nuptials, brother.”

I glowered at him. I’d expected this, eventually, but I certainly wasn’t in the mood for it now. Morrow, perpetually carefree. Well, he could afford to be since he had never had to worry about the weight of the crown. His easygoing manner grated on me even at the best of times, though our father had never passed up an opportunity to pit the two of us against one another in any competition he could find. I was always reminded that if I failed to live up to my expectations, I could and would be replaced by Morrow.

Needless to say, it had created a rift between me and my brother. Despite his easy smiles, I could never stop myself from wondering if Morrow would one day rise up and try to stab me in the back—figuratively or literally.

Though Morrow always acted—likely pretended—that he had not a care in the world. Was it real? Or was it a ruse? As adept as I was at reading others, I had never been able to get a handle on my brother. He knew how to keep his cards to himself, and thus I could never let my guard down around him.

Seemingly always in tune with the tension between the two of us, our uncle quickly intervened, clasping Morrow on the shoulder in greeting. “You’re late. You were supposed to arrive yesterday for the wedding.”

Morrow shrugged carelessly and flopped into a chair. “My ship got in late, sorry.” He glanced around the room. “Where’s your new consort? I hear he’s very handsome. Good job, brother.”

As much as I couldn’t deny that he was indeed handsome—with a finely structured face, hair a shade somewhere between gold and pale brown that I had confirmed for myself was just as soft as it looked, and lips that were equally soft—I wasn’t about to admit that aloud. Though as soon as I had learned he was Isolde’s brother, I could see the resemblance right away. He might as well have been the male version of his sister. Too handsome for his own good.

Not that I cared. No, I didn’t care a bit about any of that.

Rolling my eyes, I pushed the box Morrow brought away. “I have no idea where he is. Go find him yourself.” I seriously doubted Morrow would be willing to climb ten flights of stairs even if he thought it would somehow get under my skin.

Morrow shrugged. “Will do. Oh, Uncle, how are the preparations for the first ball of the season?”

I scowled at that. “I thought we decided to forgo hosting that since we had the wedding to prepare for.”

“Yes,” my uncle said. “But since we never had the wedding banquet, the lords are…antsy. I promised we would host the first ball of the season to appease them. It will be a good chance for you to formally introduce your consort to the kingdom.”

My scowl deepened, and I felt anger beginning to boil under my skin. Why was I just now hearing this? And why had my brother been informed first?

As if sensing my change in mood, Morrow rose and headed for the door. “Well, if you need any help, you know I love a good party.”

He opened the door, nearly running right into the prime minister, who apparently had been standing just outside, one hand poised to knock.

I very nearly groaned. Would the annoyances never end?

Though Morrow nodded in greeting to the prime minister, I noticed his smile had fallen away. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed an expression like that on my brother’s face around the other man, but did he really hate the prime minister? Or was this another show? If Morrow ever wanted to stage a coup, Rakzah Chonre would be the perfect ally, since he was the man I most frequently butted heads with during my short tenure as ruler after my parents passed two years ago.

After my brother had slipped out, Lord Chonre entered and bowed, though I didn’t miss the disdain in his eyes. “Your Highness, I am here to discuss some matters of state.”

Of course. Just when that was the last thing I felt like doing.

“Can it wait? I am in a private conference with my uncle.”

The lord’s pale eyes slid to my uncle, who seemed utterly unbothered by the prime minister—or at least, he appeared that way. “Yes,” Lord Chonre said, that same disdain in his voice, though only those who knew him well would have heard it. “As you often are.”

What was that supposed to mean? Much as I wanted to confront him about it, I wasn’t in a good frame of mind for arguing, so I let it slide—for the moment, anyway. Lord Chonre was the de facto most powerful lord in the land. He had the ear of the majority of parliament as well as the military. If he decided to go against me right now…he would likely succeed.

So as much as I didn’t like or trust the man, I had no choice but to keep him on my side. At least until I could build more power and alliances.

And that was precisely why I had no time or energy to focus on something as pesky as a switched consort. I definitely couldn’t dwell on how my body had reacted to Adrian’s last night.

His flushed face flashed in my mind, and I shifted uncomfortably in the chair. I forced myself to focus on the prime minister, aware that the man was always watching, always looking for weakness.

“I just wanted to tell you that parliament has had an informal session,” he said, and I was immediately on guard when his expression shifted from polite disdain to a certain sort of twisted glee.

“We think it best to delay your coronation.”