“No, Vana hasn’t returned.” Imrik’s glare is for Marek alone, but the air crackles around them all. “Your brother has fled Draskora, abandoning both house and country.”
Sei reels in place.
What does that mean? Vana is supposed to claim Sei in marriage. That’s the plan. That’s Sei’s purpose. If Vana is gone, what happens to Sei in this frightening foreign land?
“Fled?” Marek sounds just as shaken. “That isn’t like Vana. What about the treaty?”
“The treaty remains,” Imrik says. “The scalestone has been loaded onto the Fellrian ship. As for the grail, that’s simple enough. You’re still unmarried, so you’ll claim Sei Mallory in your brother’s place.”
Sei is so stunned, he would topple over if not for Osric pressed against his hip. He sinks one hand into Osric’s plush shoulders for balance. He must have misheard—
Except for Marek’s explosive, “What the fuck?”
?
CHAPTER FOUR
Marek
Marek must have misheard. Or perhaps Imrik is making a joke—improbable. Or a mistake—even more improbable. The notion of marrying Sei is so absurd, Marek can’t even muster counterarguments beyondobviously not.
An arranged marriage is one thing. Marek always half-expected Imrik to marry him off. That would be fine. But to a grail? Marek was born in the remote foothills of Helra, where warrior-mages never use grails. Relying on another’s power is a mark of weakness, as if one isn’t sufficient in oneself.
Marek could resign himself to that. Twelve years with a dragonbond have accustomed him to teamwork. But that’s hardly the worst problem with this proposed marriage.
Imrik stands impassive, more like a mountain than a storm. He’s a king now, not just a father. He’s Marek’s commander, and he expects obedience.
Time to disappoint Marek’s father and commander in one. “I can’t marry him.”
The gathered crowd falls dead silent. The handful of drasgard wear helms concealing their expressions, and the servants have already retreated with Sei’s belongings. Queen Aliza is unusually interested in the proceedings. At her side, Kazia is as stone-faced as his father—except he’s made of sharp quartz instead of Imrik’s impassive granite.
How was Vana so calm when Imrik announced this marriage to him? That day at lunch, Vana showed only the slightest hint of surprise before his face closed off. Now Marek knows exactly how great an achievement that was—hardly a flicker of emotion at the abrupt change in his life.
Just like Vana, Imrik’s expression doesn’t change. “If you’re already secretly wed or some other nonsense, that can be easily handled.”
By annulling the marriage, or killing Marek’s secret spouse? Hopefully Imrik means the former—no, it doesn’t matter. Marek doesn’t have a secret spouse. That isn’t the point.
“You don’t need me to keep the treaty,” Marek says. “Go dig up a cousin to marry him instead. I’m a dragonrider, and the wraiths are getting bad up north. I can’t stay home and take care of a household.”
“I’m well aware of your position, Wing-Marshal,” Imrik says. “Which perhaps makes you a better choice than Vana would have been. Surely the grail’s power will prove useful to you.”
The air crackles at the edge of Marek’s awareness. His own anger or Imrik’s. This isn’t a conversation they should have in public, but Marek already lost control with his first outburst. He needs to finish this before it’s too late.
“Your Majesty, there’s a reason the dragon corps doesn’t use grails.”
Imrik waves his hand. “Because most dragonriders are soldiers first and mages second. You have the control and strength to use him.”
Control? Strength?
“That’s why I don’t need a fucking grail to do my job,” Marek snaps—far too loudly.
Everything falls silent in the echoes of his voice. Sei takes half a step back, unable to hide his dismay behind a cheerful mask. His hand tightens in the fur of Osric’s supportive shoulder. The exhausted young man isafraidof Marek. As well he should be. Marek is the worst possible claimant for him.
But Marek can’t worry about Sei now, because he’s faced with a furious king. Imrik’s expression says Marek has gone too far. Marek steps back and bows low. “Your Majesty, I apologize for my outburst.”
Imrik is silent for a long moment, the air volatile between them. “I will excuse your impertinence this once,” Imrik says at last. “The treaty is signed, Prince Marek, and my word is final.”
“I understand, Your Majesty,” Marek says, straightening.
