Page 6 of The Heir's Bargain

Which left me as the only viable option.

While many thought I was too immature to rule, the gift granted to me by the blood that ran in my veins was at least advantageous for a ruler rather than a hindrance.

That was the reason I was chosen to become heir.

Not because I was older.

Or because I was preferred by the people.

Or because I had proven myself more knowledgeable about the politics and the history of Vaneria’s seven kingdoms.

Not even because I could wield a sword better (I could, but that was beside the point).

At the end of the day, the reasoning for who was named heir was because of the gift I bore.

Perhaps my mother thought I was self-sabotaging; however, I couldn't care less about being named heir or if the people thought me fit to rule. I would much rather be doing something worthwhile to help my kingdom. Sitting on a throne would do nothing to protect my people from another attack.

My mother shook her hand, mouth hanging open before quickly shutting it. "Funny, Fynneares. You know your brother has issues sleeping. His gift is?—"

"Sensitive," I finished for her, rolling my eyes. I pressed my hand against my head where the pressure was building—and not from the hangover. I sighed. "I am well aware of the strain of Terin's gift, but it doesn't mean I do not speak the truth. Last night, he drank just as much as me. If you do not believe me, go find out for yourself." I held out my hand and squeezed my eyes shut as I anticipated the world to fall away and spin around me as she searched my memories.

Her cold touch, however, never came.

Instead, my mother scoffed and picked up her tea. "Do not try to distract me. This is not about Terin." She took a sip of tea, her searing gaze accusatory. "Now, about tonight."

Rolling my eyes at my mother's blatant disregard for the existence of a single flaw in Terin, I licked the bacon grease off the tips of my fingers. "What about tonight?"

My mother pursed her lips with an absurd amount of discontent.

Huffing a laugh, I pushed myself upright on the couch, ignoring the spinning room. "Stop worrying. I know what tonight is, Mother. My suit is already pressed and hanging up in my chambers. My shoes are already shined. I'm prepared to stand as pretty as the statues of the gods in the Whispering Springs in front of the entire kingdom while you place that golden crown on my head." I flicked a dismissive hand in the air. "Afterwards, I will eat my weight in little cakes and dance the night away like the good little prince you've raised me to be."

My mother's jaw flexed. But it wasn't until her face softened that a chill crept up my neck. "And you will find a wife."

Hot tea spurted from my mouth as my throat seized up. "Excuse me?" I asked, wiping the dribble from my mouth. "What did you say?"

Unwavering, my mother raised a single brow. "You can dance and eat all you want, but tonight, you are to find a wife."

Through clenched teeth, I said, "Mother, we talked about this."

"We did."

"We agreed," I said, my hands curling around the edge of the cushion.

Peering over the cup, she said, "No, we did not."

"But you said?—"

She held up a hand, silencing me. "Do not test my memory, Fynn. You know better than to do that. I said it was time you found a wife; you said you would think about it. Thinking time is over."

"Mother, you are still young. There is no need to rush?—"

She lifted her chin. "Today, you will be named heir to the Pontian throne. How will the kingdom know you are serious about your title if you do not take your own life seriously? How are they supposed to respect you if you do not even respect yourself?"

I shifted in my seat and glanced around the room.

Jorian stood near the window near my mother's handmaiden, Elyza. Their faces were blank, but their minds were wide open. I latched onto the threads coming from their minds instinctively, following them as if they were a third hand, an extension of myself. I passed their flimsy mental walls with no more than a brush of a hand, and the floodgates to their minds opened.

He is a little. . .immature at times, Jorian thought.

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