Page 442 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

"A boon," she said finally. "If you would grant me the right to ask for anything at all, at any point in the future, and you must give it to me…then I shall give you your heir."

A smile flashed across Father's face for a moment, before it disappeared, as though it had never been. Certainly too fast for the king to see it, for he was fixated on her.

"You shall have it, Lady Rossa. And I shall commission a crown made just for you. Any jewel you wish, wrought in whatever shape you desire. Tonight, we shall have a feast to celebrate – "

"The announcement of your heir, Prince Boris," Rossa interrupted. "Say he is your son, or your nephew, for no one will believe that he is your many-times-great-uncle. You shall say he has only just returned from his successful quest to return the crown jewels that were stolen so long ago. A man proven in battle, trained to rule…of your own blood, as royal as you yourself…who was denied the throne because of your ancestor's treachery. For him to return when you are without an heir is fortuitous for you both – perhaps some might say it is fate, or even divine intervention. Invoke Saint Boris, if you wish. I give you the only rightful heir to your throne."

Father began to clap. "Well played, daughter. What say you, Bela?"

The king did not look pleased. "I had hoped…" He sighed. "Very well. I defer to the wisdom of Lady Rossa. Who would make a brilliant queen, though it is not to be." He rose. "What say you, Prince Boris? Though you are a saint, and my many-times-great uncle, though my ancestor betrayed you…would you agree to assume the throne, upon my death?"

Boris stared at the king for what seemed like forever. Finally, he said, "I came here, with my friends, to kill the man who sat on my father's throne. Now you're offering it to me upon your death. Perhaps this is why my father died, far sooner than any of us wished. Do you desire death, King Bela?"

Bela gave a wry smile. "No, I do not. I'd like to think I have at least a few years left to live. Maybe many more."

Boris dropped to one knee. "Then we are in agreement. I will agree to be your heir, as long as you mean to live many years yet."

Bela's gaze grew wistful. "I wish I had been blessed with a son like you. I'm sure your father would have been proud of the man you have become."

Boris inclined his head. "In everything, I strove to make my father proud, and I honour his memory now when I ask you, in proclaiming me as you heir, you also declare me to be your only son. A clear succession is the easiest way to avoid civil war. The kingdom I remember was a strong one, and I mean to help you keep it so."

"Then we should send word to the kitchens, that tonight there shall be a grand celebration feast for the whole court, and in the meantime, allow me to bring you up to date on the history you might have missed…"

Bela led Boris off to his private chambers, leaving only Rossa and her father in the room.

Rossa swallowed. Her quest was at an end – she'd helped free Igor, and win Boris back his father's throne. She should feel victorious, happy, triumphant…but all she felt was emptiness inside.

"Shall we go home, Father?" she asked.

Father shook his head. "No, we'll be expected to sit at the high table for the feast. Bela likes to pretend I am his pet assassin, to frighten any enemies he might have, and I lost a wager today, so I must pay him what is owed. You…should enjoy the feast. There will be food and wine and dancing, and more courtiers than you can count, at least after you've had a few cups of wine. Perhaps one of them might catch your eye, or it may be that you develop a taste for court life, and that you'd like a place here. Tonight will be your victory feast, and you should celebrate." He guided her out of the chamber, then waved for a servant. "Can you show us where we shall sleep tonight?" he asked.

The flustered maid dropped a deep curtsy as she stammered out, "I…do not know, my lord. I shall find out directly." She hurried away.

"Oh, and your fairy godmother will return at midnight, after she's dealt with the shoes girl, or whatever it was. In case you need help with anything," Father said.

---