Page 14 of Ocean of Silver

I knew I was next, that probably every male in this room wanted me dead, except my father, who was so fucking oblivious to it all and just wanted to make sure the family name remained in power.

I willed my thoughts back. I just had to stay alive long enough. Once I was crowned, I would figure out what to do next. Starting with bringing Scotlind and Peter back. I didn’t care if she really belonged to Lux.I was going to get her back.

Synder peered up at me through a thick stack of papers. “You will be wed again, Sie. That’s an order. We will not stray from our tradition. The future King must have a Queen. You will marry one of our own.”

“And who is that, may I ask?” There was no chance of me talking my way out of it if they already had someone in mind.

“Reagan Baker. Her father is on the Council, and you have known Reagan since you were little. She is the obvious choice.”

“Forgive me, but I only just had my previous marriage annulled a month ago. I do not see why I need to marry again for a mistake that the Council had thrown at me. I willingly gave up my right to choose a wife that all Tennebrisians get. I gave that to you, to the High Council, and you selected Scotlind Rumor. It’s not my fault that you have chosen unwisely, so I don’t think you should be able to force me to—”

I was cut off by Synder raising his hand. “It is not our fault that you were unable to satisfy her in bed and that she sought pleasure elsewhere.”

I bristled.

My father, now the Commander, spoke up for the first time during this horrible meeting, “How about a compromise? You will marry Reagan, son. Your betrothal will be announced immediately. However, given the nature of the shortened timeline, you do not have to marry her prior to your coronation. As long as you two swear before the Goddess that you will be wed, I do not see why you can’t have a longer engagement if that pleases you.”

“Here-here,” someone else chimed in.

“A vote then,” Synder said tautly. This clearly wasn’t part of his plan. “All in favor of our Prince marrying Reagan prior to his coronation as our tradition demands, raise your hand.”

I watched as hands flew in the air. I counted thirteen.

“Now, all in favor of Prince Noren marrying Reagan after his coronation with the agreement to become engaged immediately.” The rest of the hands shot up. I sagged in my seat, happy that I didn’t have to marry Reagan right now. I couldn’t go through another wedding. The thought made me sick, not when Scotlind’s and mine still haunted me.

Whatever speck of relief I felt about not having to get married immediately was washed away. I was furious that they were still forcing me to remarry at all. Some sick, twisted part of me clung to the idea of getting Scotlind back. But this… marrying Reagan, made that dream seem like it was already dead.

My sweaty hands clamped in fists under the table. When I didn’t have the poison working through my veins, when my head was clear, and I could think straight, I’d figure out a plan to get out of it. I’d worry about it later. Just one thing at a time, and right now, I needed to stay alive.

“It’s settled then,” Synder said. “Sie Noren and Reagan Baker are to be engaged and will be wed at his coronation. I’ll arrange for an engagement banquet right away to announce the good news.” Synders words didn’t pass by me. He said our wedding would be the day of my coronation—when he still held power and had a say. And my coronation was fast approaching. Fuck me.

“Now, for the other matter at hand. Where is your claimed second?”

I tensed. “I gave him time off since he doesn’t officially become my second until I am crowned.”

“Be that as it may, but if he is still missing at the time of your coronation, I will name your second for you.”

“He will be there,” I replied, and I fucking hoped it was true.

SEVEN

SCOTLIND

I wokeup to high pitch screaming. My body shot upright as I covered my ears from the bleeding screech. My voice grew raw and hoarse, taking me a moment to realize it was coming from my own throat.

As I adjusted to the morning light, I noticed Patricia staring at me, eyes flaring with concern.

“Sorry,” I scratched out once I recovered and remembered where I was. A bed. I was in a bed, in a room. I was not shoved and pressed into a tub, unable to breathe. I didn’t wake up with my neck bent and my legs stiff. I wasn’t permanently forced into a fetal position in a cage. I was out.

I stretched longingly.

“No apologies needed, dear,” and I swore Patricia’s voice became hoarse before she cleared her throat and then continued, “Tezya had breakfast brought up to your chambers. You are to eat here and then I am to bring you to the training center. You don’t have much time, so hurry up.”

I slowly peeled myself out of the soft bed and shuffled toward the small table and chairs that Patricia had set up. Everything hurt, and I had to remind myself that the pain was temporary. That the worst was hopefully behind me, even if it didn’t feel that way.

I looked down at the meal, and my stomach curled and flipped inside itself. I was starving. I still had nothing in my stomach after I threw up the dinner I ate with Tezya last night. I spent the night bent over a bucket once I was escorted back to my chambers.

But despite my hunger, the thought of eating now made me nauseous. I wasn’t used to eating so early in the morning, so soon after my nightmare. I wasn’t used to eating at all anymore. I looked at the spread of meats, oatmeal, eggs, croissants, and bread. My gaze flickered over a massive amount of pastries—the same ones I moaned over yesterday.

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