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It was a well-known fact, even before Rymedur had come to Andrea, that the king had ninety-nine sons in total. Out of those, only a handful had been borne by his queen and mate. His harem produced his other sons. And yet, there was not a single daughter besides Areanel. How odd.

Rymedur could not understand why the queen had allowed the harem to remain on castle grounds, nor how she allowed the tradition to continue! He abhorred the idea. How could someone put their mate through that?

Rymedur did understand how the princes felt, though. The bastard-born princes were welcomed by their father and king—but only to an extent. It was very clear to Rymedur that the king treated them differently.

Areanel had told Rymedur how her half-brothers were mostly raised by their mothers. When they were old enough, they were given a choice: do as they pleased, so long as their actions did not tarnish the king’s reputation—for they were still seen as princes, after all, bastards or not—or join the army.

Many of Areanel’s half-brothers decided to join the Army of Andrea. Some travelled across lands, but a handful gave themselves to securing alliances and were married into prominent families across Cal Cathlar and Selcirith, strengthening bonds between the king’s lands. Rymedur had the opportunity to meet a few of them when he lived with his mother in Selcirith—they had attended the celebration for Rymedur’s engagement to Areanel that his uncle, the current king of Selcirith, had arranged.

Rymedur had passed the Ladies of the Harem a few times over the years, where they raised their sons and prepared them for their futures. It was common knowledge that, though many of the ladies had chosen to enter the harem, some of their families had fallen on hard times and sold their daughters to the harem in exchange for a monthly payment.

To stop every elf from selling their daughters, the council were forced to pass a law decreeing only one daughter per family may serve in the Royal Harem, and families must present their most recent ledgers.

Rymedur hated that most in Andrea saw this as acceptable. How could a parent do that to their child? He couldn’t imagine Jessika, Lilith or Aurora ever being forced into such a fate. He would sooner die than allow it.

Besides, Rymedur had witnessed how the king treated his concubines. King Aerileas had no affection for those who served him. They were a means to an end—producing heirs.

Rymedur had spent most of his time in the kitchens when he first arrived in Andrea. He enjoyed baking, and the kitchen staff didn’t treat him like the dirt beneath their shoes, unlike the lords of the court. He felt like he could be himself around them, and with Areanel always away on missions, he’d often felt lonely.

One day, the kitchen staff had told him that the former queen had hated the ladies. That she’d despised her husband’s willingness to continue the tradition. She raged that her reign and title would be snatched by one. So, to dissuade any of the ladies from thinking their sons could be pronounced legitimate heirs, King Aerileas pronounced that the next heir must be the biological child of both King Aerileas and Queen Vada. The one to take the throne would be the child who held the most power—an unusual condition. Rymedur had never heard of an heir being chosen based on what power they possessed.

The staff told Rymedur that the law had placated the former queen’s anger, but had the king not put forth the law, his mate may well have burnt the harem down, with all the ladies and sons trapped within.

The laws still stood even after the queen’s demise.

Rymedur looked to the now-empty seats lining the walls. What did the bastard sons of Aerileas think? Did they hate their father? Were they relieved to not be burdened with responsibilities, unlike the king’s legitimate children? Unlike Areanel?

In the Council Hall, silence was ordered. Two loud, echoing thuds resounded through the hall as Areanel’s eldest living brother, Prince Elmrynn, beat his fist against the wooden table.

Standing from his chair at the long oak table, Prince Sevain took the lead, speaking confidently before the council. ‘This meeting has been called by you today, Council of Andrea, to discuss the fire that erupted in the Village of Vennedove.’

His formal, eloquent speech already stabbed boredom through Rymedur. Sevain was one of Areanel’s more charismatic siblings, but Rymedur only ever saw him as excessively generous. He was far too nice for his own good, and one day, he’d learn the hard way that the world was a cruel and dreadful place.

‘That village is not part of our dominion. We need not worry ourselves with those creatures,’ one of the older council members interjected.

Rymedur grimaced as the male tapped his long, pointed fingernails against the table. They were yellowed, crooked and chipped, curving inward. He tapped rhythmically against the wood, as though to throw the young prince off.

Rymedur glanced around the table and saw a mixture of bored expressions which mimicked his own. Only one—a council member seated far closer to the royal family than the others—seemed to have an ambitious glint in his eyes.

Rymedur’s gaze jumped to Areanel, and cobalt met emerald—a clash of ocean waves against lush greenery. A knowing look passed between them, a thousand words expressed in a single glance. How many people could say they understood their partner with little to no words? Her eyes softened for a moment, but the expression was gone in an instant as she turned back to the discussion. A hardened mask adorned her features when her eyes flitted across the councilmen’s faces.

‘And yet it is not far from the edge of our border, lord. The people of that village are terribly wounded, in need of our help,’ Prince Sevain said calmly, before turning to the rest of the council. ‘What would it say about our kingdom if we refuse to help those in need?’

‘It would pronounce our superiority—as it should. Villages akin to Vennedove do not deserve help! They allow all manner of species into their village, rebels and humans alike!’ Yet another council member stated, causing a chorus of fists to beat against the table in agreement.

The comment made Rymedur scowl. He loathed the indoctrinated hate spewed about other races. He was half human himself; he knew the effect this animosity had. He’d witnessed it with his own family, when his cousins spent their time ridiculing him for something beyond his control. It wasn’t Rymedur’s fault that his father was human.

But it was more than that. Even now, Rymedur could feel the judging eyes and whispered words of aversion when he passed. The lords were repulsed by him, and they made sure he knew it.

It had gotten better over the years—not because they were growing used to him or had come to accept him. No. It was because Rymedur had learnt how to ignore them.

Well… that—and the fact Rymedur openly challenged any man who showed him animosity. He won every fight, of course. It was why the court had grown more subtle with its snide comments and insulting jabs.

‘Council of Andrea!’ Sevain called. ‘I request you: do not have such loathing in your hearts. It is such spurn that gives those very rebels cause.’

Rymedur’s fist clenched at the mention of the rebels. He despised any reference to the people responsible for his youngest son’s death.

Anger bubbled like a boiling pot as Sevain continued. ‘To say such things only grants others to believe what nonsense these rebels spew: that Andrea is an oppressive monarchy that believes the elven kind superior to all.’ Sevain hastily turned to the councilmen.