Page 22 of Of Song and Scepter
“The prince must get to know her, make sure she’s the type of queen this kingdom needs. That’s what the courtship is for,” says Lady Myrrh. “If her character is less than worthy, time will tell.”
“And what time do we have to tell?” Lord Varik clenches his fist on the table.
“We’ve waited this long for a suitable match. What’s one more moon cycle? Our prince needs a proper courtship.”
By all means, my lady,tell me again what it is I need.I lean back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest. If Lady Myrrh is intent on speaking on my behalf, I’m no longer needed here. I should skip right to dinner.
While the council is distracted, I slip my finger under the hem of my shirt, leaning forward on the table to cover my movement. I graze my bare skin, fingering each scale along my abdomen, until—there. At the lower edge of my ribs, the sting flares from beneath a hardened scale. I lift the edge of the scale and press into the stinging flesh, right on the mark. The relief is instant and all-consuming. My eyelids briefly flutter closed.
“I’m inclined to agree with Lord Varik,” Lord Ruven says. “A courtship would be pageantry. Apologies for the bluntness, Your Majesty, but it must be stated—your son has no other choice. We have one heir, one chance, and no way of producing another.”
“Watch your tongue,” I spit, “lest you upset your precious heir.” My father is dead; I know I have no choice but to marry and inherit my ancestral throne. I do not need this reminder ofmy duty. My position has been made abundantly clear since my gills first fluttered. But that does not mean the council can walk all over my wishes. I have been clear in my expectations of my match; I will accept nothing less than perfection, by my own definition.
As the council murmurs apologies and honorariums for my dead father, I grit my teeth, gnawing on my response before it spits out in a near-growl. “I will not marry a female I do not know thoroughly. I’ve met her only once.”
This excites Lady Myrrh much more than I hoped. “So you have met her! Delightful. Tell me, did she have fangs? A barbed tail? Tentacles?”
“We’re putting a dark-dweller on our throne, letting her into our keep, and you’re worried about what shelookslike?” Lord Varik sneers.
“Certainly. Abyssals can be terrifying creatures indeed. Imagine, the next princess running around with claws!”
Lord Ruven scowls. “Won’t marry a female he doesn’t know. Bah! The prince can get to know her after his wedding. He has denied his fair share of suitable matches. This one’s a royal magic-wielder, at least. I say, skip the courtship and send them down the aisle before he can back out of another match.”
I keep my gaze firmly on Lady Myrrh, ignoring Lord Ruven’s remark. “No tentacles that I could see, Lady Myrrh.”Just a wicked handmaid in the wings.
“The future of this kingdom depends on a reasonable partnership between our prince and his bride,” the queen cautions. “These things cannot be rushed. A standard courtship will be adequate.”
“Is she beautiful, Your Highness?” asks Lady Myrrh.
Lord Ruven sighs loudly, for once echoing my thoughts. “This is a waste of time.”
My mother speaks before I can unclench my jaw. “She’s as we hoped—the picture of grace and poise. Quiet and polite. She’s beautiful.”
“Lord Ruven is right,” says the queen. “We don’t have many options. This Abyssal Princess is the best choice we have. From the captain’s early reports, the princess is showing good character, and that is what should matter to this council.”
Lord Varik leans forward, his scowl deepening by the minute. “Did we not gather this information before the princess arrived? What of the informants?”
Lord Ruven narrows his eyes. “They were… lost to the Drink, I’m afraid.”
“And how many troops might Captain Nara spare to fetch them?” asks Lord Varik.
“For certain death by dredgebeast, my lord? She will not risk it again.”
Lady Myrrh chimes in, “Might be worth the risk, if they have crucial information. They should be able to handle a little fish in the dark. Perhaps they forgot which way was up. I hear it’s hard to tell down there.”
“Big fish. With teeth twice around the size of you, my lady. Or are you forgetting our history?” Lord Ruven’s eyes sparkle with mischief.
A cacophony of complaints rise like a tidal wave. Their voices crash over the room, loud and churning, growing in restlessness and spite. Until finally, Lord Almar rises from his chair. “There is another way.”
The entire meeting, the old priest has slouched in his chair as he followed the conversation. He twirls the gray curl of his mustache between two fingers. The scales on the back of my neck lift, an eerie feeling settling over my shoulders. He scans the room, meeting each frozen gaze before continuing.
“To ensure her character. An old way, one used many times by our ancestors before us,” he says. “We have the pendant.”
In the bowels of this palace, locked behind a door guarded with magic, Queen Amura’s pendant rests, untouched for centuries.
King Eero forged the pendant for his queen and laced it with dark magic at the dawn of the kingdom to ensure her safety. One only needs to speak in the pendant’s presence, and anyone less than benevolent toward its wearer succumbs to a gruesome penalty.
When hysteria swam rampant under the rule of my great-great grandfather, the pendant’s magic was abused, and the entire kingdom faced its judgment. Many merfolk who opposed the Mad King fell to the effects of its magic, until the population dwindled to all but nothing. It took my family three generations to rebuild what we lost, but we were never quite the same again.
