I never wanted to be king.

Jaredeth drew in a breath and watched the curtains in the antechamber flutter at the mercy of the breeze. Beyond the sheets of shear were the shadowy figures of several people standing on the balcony—some he loved, some he didn’t care for. Murmuring conversation filtered in from outside, but did nothing to distract him from his harried thoughts.

He rose from the armchair and flicked his heavy cape behind him. The red fabric dragged over the rug as he weaved around the room’s furnishings to a table where refreshments of tiny cookies, cakes and drinks sat.

From above the table, a portrait of some long-dead Queen glared down at him, judged him. Jaredeth was supposed to know her name—it lurked somewhere behind the frantic thoughts filling his head. She was the one who’d lopped her husband’s head off, his father had told him. Perhaps if fate favoured him, she’d leap from the painting and lop his head off too.

He picked up a silver pitcher of water and caught a caricature of his face in its polished surface. The Avalian crown winked at him from atop his brown curls, and his stomach turned.

Just a few weeks prior, the crown had been on his father’s head—a head that now lay six feet underground. Jaredeth set the pitcher down. I’m King now. The thought made his legs weak and his head spin. He gripped the edge of the table to stop himself from buckling into a pathetic heap. How could one prepare their entire life, go through years of training, teaching and grooming and still not be ready?

Perhaps when one’s entire life only amounted to be mere twenty-four years.

A horn blared from the outside, loud enough to make Jaredeth’s heart jump into his throat. What followed it was the voice of High Priest Lazarus, who’d officiated his coronation.

“Presenting his majesty, King Jaredeth Archenhaud Valentius III.”

Jaredeth had half a mind to stay inside, but the other, rational half of his mind forced his feet forward until he breached the curtain separating him from his people. The midday sun forced his eyes into a squint and a salty breeze ruffled his cape. A long red carpet stretched from one end of the Lookout to the other.

The guards stood at attention, looking crisp in their red and white ceremonial garb. Jaredeth spotted Torrian amongst their ranks and gave him the slightest nod of his head as he strode by. His friend’s returning smile was almost imperceptible. If he got a moment for himself today, they’d be having a drink together.

His family stood near the stone banister, along with the High Priest and Havers, his majordomo. Elaine, his wife, had her attention on the crowd while his mother, Genevieve, turned to give him a nod of encouragement.

As soon as Jaredeth reached the banister, a thunderous cheer rose from the crowd below. Their bodies clogged every inch of the southern courtyard and stretched into the park beyond the gate. From there, the terrain sloped down to the residential areas, then the markets and finally the docks where scores of boats sat at the edge of the gulf, bearing the flags of scores of kingdoms. Almost every rooftop flew a flag with Avaly’s crest, and red banners lined the streets.

To his left, his wife waved enthusiastically at the crowd, reminding him he should do the same. He raised his hand and smiled, and the cheers grew even louder. In the back of his mind, he wondered if a fall from this height would be enough to kill him.

To his right, his mother fanned away the muggy heat from all the bodies packed on the lookout. Her enthusiasm was more reserved than his wife’s. She stood tall, with her head up and eyes on the crowd, small tiara adorning her greying brown hair. Standing next to her, Jaredeth felt small and utterly unfit to rule. He’d been blessed with his mother’s all of his mother’s soft, expressive features but none of her grit and gumption. If he could have his way, she’d be sitting on the throne and not him.

His wife wound her arm around his and beamed up at him, and he hoped the smile he gave her in return was convincing. She’d pulled her black hair into a bun at her nape and left a few loose tendrils to curl around her face. The blue gown she wore brought out the cool tones in her skin and hid the small swell of her belly left behind after their daughter’s birth.

She was radiant in her mirth, but that radiance did nothing to chase the dark cloud hanging over Jaredeth’s head. As he looked out at all the souls he’d be responsible for, the kingdom he had to rule, a heavy sense of dread bore down on his shoulders, so much so, he had to brace his hand against the bannister for support.

He imagined it all burning to the ground in a week because of his carelessness, his timidity, his weakness. This world was one familiar with disaster and uncertainty, and if such was to darken Avaly’s doorstep… Everyone would turn to him, expect him to know what to do.

This was a mistake. He wasn’t ready.

“Jaredeth?” His wife’s voice cut into his thoughts. She frowned up at him, her lips pouty and brows drawn tight. “Are you alright? You look a little pale.”

Jaredeth pat her hand and leaned in so his lips would be to her ear. “I’m fine. I’ve just been on my feet a little too long.” He topped off his explanation with a kiss on her cheek, and the crowd went manic. If only he was half as obsessed with the novelty of royal life as they were.

Perhaps then, he’d feel fit to be king.