I was grateful to kneel once again on the other side and hide my shaking legs.
The Queen handed the sword to my mother and came to stand before me, to perform her role in the ceremony. She faced the crowd. “Do you swear to uphold the honor of the singleborn of the Trousillion line?”
I looked into her deep brown eyes, feeling the enormous magnitude of the vow radiating from the depths of her soul. “I do.”
The weight of the net, surprisingly heavy for all its delicacy, settled over my shoulders like a ballast, and my heart sank. I admonished myself silently—I’d spent my whole life preparing for this, and it would be years yet before I took the throne. The weight of the responsibility need not feel so wildly overwhelming yet.
“Will you guide the people of the empire with your conscience, serving them with justice and grace, putting their needs before your own?”
“I will.” I accepted the wheel, and the Queen gave me the barest hint of a smile.
“Will you wear this cuff as a daily reminder of your duty to your crown and your country, and swear in the name of your chosen god that you will serve the people of the Alskad Empire for the rest of your days?”
I held out my left wrist. “I swear on my honor and in Gadrian the Firebound’s name that I will serve the people of the Alskad Empire for the rest of my days.”
The Queen snapped the hammered gold bracelet onto my wrist and locked it in place. The crown-shaped bracelet was fitted to my wrist, loose enough to move up and down my forearm, but too tight to slip over my hand. There was no way for me to take it off without the key unless I was willing to break my hand. As the weight of the bracelet settled on my arm, I wondered if any of the other singleborn had ever tried to remove the cuff.
The Queen held out her hand to me, her own bracelet gleaming in the low light. “Stand, Ambrose, son of Myrella and Oswin. Stand in the knowledge that you are my chosen successor to the throne of the Alskad Empire.”
I took the Queen’s hand and stood, heart pounding in my chest, raising the wheel over my head. The room erupted in cheers and whoops, and the musicians struck up a fast, reeling war song. Queen Runa squeezed my hand reassuringly as we descended the dais together.
* * *
There were several comfortably furnished chambers adjacent to the great room, where guests could rest or talk quietly during the epic gatherings that were the social centerpieces of the empire’s nobility. I followed the Queen and my mother into one of these rooms, and they waited in silence as two anchorites lifted the golden net off my shoulders and relieved me of the wheel.
When the anchorites had gone, closing the door behind them, the Queen settled into a wide chair, plucked the crown off her head and set it on a side table. The regal monarch disappeared, and in her place was my great aunt, all sharp wit and convivial smiles.
“Myrella, be a dear and pour me a glass of something strong, will you?”
Mother went to the sideboard and filled a glass with clear ouzel from a crystal decanter. She took a sip from the glass, to show it wasn’t poisoned, before handing it to Runa. The Queen accepted it and downed it in a gulp, holding the glass out to be refilled.
“Sit, sit, both of you,” she said.
Mother poured a cup of kaffe, doctored it with cream and sugar and took a sip before handing it to me. I sank gratefully onto a divan, and Mother took her place in the room’s other chair, an ouzel glass of her own in hand.
“Now, tell me. Whom will he marry?”
“His cousin Penelope, though we haven’t made the formal arrangements yet.”
I choked on my kaffe. This was news to me. My heart fluttered. What would Claes say? Did he know? There was no way Penelope would agree to the match, not when I’d spent the last year kissing her twin. Even the Queen had seen me kissing Claes. Never mind the fact that I had no desire to marry her. No desire to marry a woman at all. And why should I? Even as King, the heir to the throne would not necessarily be my heir, but the singleborn I deemed most suited to the role. Runa herself had never married, never had a child. She ruled the empire alone, and while I didn’t entirely understand why she’d chosen me out of all the singleborn, I didn’t think it was purely due to our close line of descent.
When my coughing fit subsided, I looked up to find Mother glaring at me.
“When was this decided?” I asked. I tried to keep my voice level.
Queen Runa laughed, ignoring me. “It’s a good match. She’s smart and will continue your good work with the estate with no great trouble. Poor Oswin would have been destitute without you. Poor man didn’t have a practical bone in his body.” She bit her lip, eyes softening. “My apologies, Myrella. I miss him so, as I’m sure you do.”
Mother nodded. “It has been exceedingly difficult, but we’ve made do.”
“The Suzerain think we should see Ambrose married within the next two years, and for once, I don’t disagree. It will lend him more weight with the nobility if they know he has a strong partner.”
I sputtered, “Excuse me?”
They ignored me.
“And the other matter?” Mother asked.
A muscle in the Queen’s jaw twitched. “Still safely in the hands of the temple. Magritte’s wisdom keep her.”
“Magritte keep who?” I blurted, knowing as soon as the question left my lips that I should’ve kept quiet.
There was no point in asking questions that wouldn’t be answered. It seemed like they were intentionally speaking in riddles, throwing out one incomprehensible statement after another in order to infuriate me. It wasn’t as though they didn’t know better. It wasn’t as though they weren’t the ones who’d taught me my manners, and here they were. Acting like I wasn’t even here.
The Queen waved her hand dismissively and shot Mother a look cold enough to freeze mulled wine. “No one you need ever worry about. Now, before you leave, I’ll have a chat with the tutors about the topics they’ll need to cover in Ambrose’s and Penelope’s curriculum. We’ll correspond soon about announcing the engagement and planning the wedding. Meanwhile, he should spend more time at court, and Penelope will be able to assist you in running the estate.”
The music died away in the great room. My mind raced, trying to process the last few minutes of conversation.
Queen Runa lumbered to her feet and replaced the crown on her head. “Time for toasts. Come along.” When she got to the door, she turned sharply. “You do have someone tasting for him, don’t you, Myrella?”
I looked at my mother, one eyebrow raised. My valet, Gunnar, was ostensibly my taster, but I rarely bothered with the pretense at home. It didn’t seem necessary.
“Of course,” Mother said.
At the same time, I replied, “Sort of.”
The Queen closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. “Not a drop, not a crumb passes his lips before a taster has sampled it. Not. A. Crumb. I will not lose my heir to something so easily preventable. Not after everything I’ve done to
