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Memories flit through my mind quicker than lightning. My first visit to Corentin as a child with my parents, back when Jean was heir and I was just another prince. He taught me to play cards, and I taught him to play chess.
Then later, I was a grieving young king, and Jean followed me only a decade later.
The last time I saw him was nearly twenty years ago, when I met his first child. The boy who is now dead.
If I had been successful in finding Ulla, he would still be alive. Instead, I spent seventeen years trying to undo the damage she caused in Jokith while she ran off to wreak havoc in this part of the world.
For a moment, I can see the boy’s mess of golden-brown curls as I roughly ran my hand over his head.
“I am sorry about Louis,” I offer quietly, and Jean’s shoulders sink a little further.
“And I am sorry about your young wife,” he says somberly. “Especially after all you have suffered.”
There’s a gleam in his eye I can’t quite read. I wrote Jean with the same story about the plague that swept through Castle Alfhild, but a part of me always wondered how much of that he believed.
“What I wouldn’t give to close the walls of Etienne and be done with the rest of the world.”
“You don’t mean that.” I chuckle, but he nods adamantly.
“I do. You will find that I have become bitter in my old age, Einar. Being king has cost me everything. My health. My sanity. My son—” His voice cracks slightly on the last word before he downs the rest of his whiskey. “Besides, Katriane seems to have everything in order. The Lady Delmara has been a great help to her.”
He says her name with an air of respect, and my heartbeat thunders in my ears.
His son is dead because of her, and I can’t so much as do him the decency of letting him know. He would go after her, and she would either kill him or flee.
Or both.
If he even believed me.
Still, if I were in his position now and ever found out the truth, I would hate me for keeping it from me.
I stew on that and my own guilt while Jean directs his attention to the board, gently spinning it so that the white pawns are in front of me. His fingers trace the pointed edge of the ebony king for a long moment before he speaks again.
“I am giving the throne to my son.”
I glance up sharply. In Jokith, it’s not uncommon for monarchs to retire early, but Corentine kings rule until death. He said he was old and tired, but I can’t help but sense Ulla’s hand in this.
“Does Katriane agree?” I ask carefully, trying to gauge whether Ulla might be swaying her.
“By the stars, no. It’s like she thinks the throne will make Francis more of a target.” Jean sighs. “She hardly lets the children outside of the castle since Louis.”
I’m ready to admit I was hasty in assuming this was Ulla’s work when he speaks again.
“But Lady Delmara is helping me persuade her. She’s the one who finally convinced Katriane to host the masquerade for my boy.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw, and I’m grateful that Jean is too busy signaling for another whiskey to notice.
Ulla would never go to the trouble to orchestrate the heir’s marriage and subsequent rise to the throne unless she had a candidate in mind.
Zaina is going to be furious.
