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“I married Percival. I watched Nicholas beat him, manipulate the court, and slaughter those who dared to oppose him. I facedexecution.” She turned back to the king, her blood boiling. “I risked my life to restore the rightful king to his throne. Have I not earned my own future? My freedom? Am I nothing more to my kingdom than a prize to be sold to the highest bidder?”
“Mind your tongue,” her father commanded. “Remember to whom you speak.”
King Domhnall’s gaze never strayed from her. “Let her speak her mind, Lachlan. Better she does it now than when the suitors are here.” All the warmth vanished from her uncle’s eyes, leaving them as cold and hard as eudorite. “The blood of kings flows through your veins, Riona. That blood comes with a cost.”
“The cost of my dowry, apparently.”
Heavy silence settled over the room, each person waiting with bated breath to see how the king would respond. Riona had never spoken to her uncle so brazenly before, and the fact that she had spoken to him in that manner in front of the council added another level of insult to the breach of etiquette. She didn’t care. She wouldn’t allow her anger to get the better of her, but neither would she blindly submit to another marriage with a stranger.
The king glanced at the advisors. “Leave us.”
With no sound but the scrape of chair legs and the scuff of shoes against stone, the council members filed out of the room. Her father squeezed her shoulder in a silent warning before following them. When the doors swung shut, only Riona, King Domhnall, and Queen Blair remained.
Her uncle sank into his chair, his expression softening. “I understand what you must be thinking, my dear niece, and believe me when I say that if I could, I would not be asking this of you.”
“Why can’t I serve my kingdom as a member of your council? I’ve spent half my life at court. I know it better than Lord Farquar.”
“You would limit yourself to the role of an advisor, when you could be a queen?” he asked, his brows furrowing in genuine puzzlement. “Why?”
Why?“This is my home. I nearly lost it once, and I will not do it again.”
“Do go into this with an open mind, my love,” her aunt said with an encouraging smile. “I know how terrifying it is to marry a stranger. Your mother and I both did it, and look how well it turned out for us. Wherever you go, you will thrive. I am certain of it.”
“I am affording you what little allowance I can,” the king added. His voice was kind, but there was no mistaking the command underscoring his words. She had disobeyed his orders in having the marriage annulled, and her behavior in front of the council hadn’t won her any sympathy. “I could have sent delegates to each suitor to discuss the terms of a potential marriage alliance, but instead, I invited them here so you may get to know them during the negotiations. Do not squander this opportunity.”
“But—”
“This is not a debate. The suitors will arrive by the week’s end, and you will smile, charm them, and mind your tongue. Once they are settled, your father and I will meet with them to negotiate the terms of an alliance. Creator willing, we will have a marriage arranged by the new year.”
The floor seemed to drop out from under her. “The new year? That’s less than two months away!”
Riona looked to her aunt for support, but Blair offered her nothing more than a sympathetic look. She shouldn’t have expected anything more. Blair was a queen in name only, content to spend her days wandering the royal gardens with her court ladies and doting on the four heirs she’d given the king.
Riona could see that future stretching out before her, closing around her throat like a noose. A husband she did not love, a country she did not know, a title that was no more than a formality. No purpose beyond warming her husband’s bed and bearing him sons.
Desperation began to bleed through her anger. “There must be some other way. There is nothing a political marriage could solve that cannot be resolved with gold, gifts, and goodwill.”
The king fixed her with a look that cut straight through her heart. “And what makes you think you’re worth that price?”
“Domhnall,” Blair snapped, aghast. “You don’t mean that.”
He leaned forward, ignoring his wife’s objection. “We have been warring with the Erdurian Empire for control of the Tranquil Sea for the last three decades, and contrary to what you may believe, our coffers are not bottomless. You were supposed to be wed to Percival Comyn, but you had your marriage annulled and returned here. Now I am left to clean up the mess you’ve made. You will marry one of the suitors, and you will be grateful that I have given you a chance to meet them at all.” Domhnall stood and turned his back on her, clasping his hands behind him. “You may leave.”
Rage rolled over her in a black wave, but Riona forced herself to stand and curtsy. Arguing would get her nowhere. “Farewell, Your Majesties.”
Her aunt nodded in response, a wordless apology in her soft smile, while the king said nothing. Riona straightened and walked out of the room, ignoring the intrigued looks from the council members waiting in the hallway just outside. Her father opened his mouth to speak to her, but she strode right past him without a word.
* * *
“Riona, have you lost all sense of propriety?” her father demanded, catching her arm and pulling her around to face him. She had managed to make it out of the castle’s main building before he caught up to her on the cobblestone path, halfway to the gate. This high above the city, the wind whipped around them, tugging at the skirt of Riona’s gown.
“Propriety?” she hissed, conscious of the servants walking along the path, bustling from chore to chore—preparing the castle for the suitors’ arrival, she now knew. “Before I even returned, you were planning to send me off to marry yet another stranger. And you speak tomeof propriety?”
“The king is doing you a kindness by inviting the suitors here. Have you stopped to consider how much this endeavor will cost? Banquets, feasts, entertainment… Think of what it will mean for the future of Rivosa if you marry into one of the most powerful royal families in the northern continent.”
Riona went still.
“The northern continent?” she echoed, her anger faltering. She shouldn’t have been surprised; Beltharos didn’t have an heir to marry, and neither did Feyndara—at least, not one close enough to the throne for her uncle’s liking. Still, marrying a lord from Beltharos was very different from marrying a northern royal. “Who have you invited here?”
