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Serai Yahri—the only other person in the room—was seated on the edge of one of the chairs across from Desfan. The old woman looked weary, though her jaw was tight. She was the head of the council, and her steel gray hair perfectly matched her attitude. She and Desfan had not always seen eye-to-eye, but he had come to respect her. He thought she may have come to respect him as well. She’d remained uncharacteristically silent during this meeting, though.
Karim seemed to have no trouble filling the quiet. “The damage to the treasury will take weeks to fully catalogue, but nearly a thirdof the prison was emptied last night. While we caught many before they could flee, too many are unaccounted for. They could be hiding anywhere in the palace. Not to mention the men Amil brought in; they could be in the palace still, hoping to attack during the coronation. So, please—for once in your life—listen to me and donotgo through with the coronation today.”
Desfan sighed. “Karim, don’t exaggerate; I’ve listened to you before.”
His friend’s eyes narrowed. “When?”
He flicked a dismissive hand through the air. “We’ll have a veritable army guarding the throne room. The coronation will be protected. But it must happen. To delay would show weakness. Fear. And a disregard for tradition. That is not the Mortisian way.” He leaned forward, cutting off Karim before he could argue again. “I know you want to search the entire palace again, and that’s fine. But I won’t postpone the coronation.”
Karim growled in his throat.
Finally, Yahri stirred, shifting her hold on the cane planted in front of her. “Desfan is right.”
Desfan’s eyebrows shot up. “You think I’m right?”
She gave him a look, but didn’t bother responding to that. “We cannot cancel the coronation. The people have been shaken to the core. If we do not follow tradition and crown Desfan this afternoon, there will be unrest.”
Karim’s dark brows pulled together. He faced Desfan. “Your new crown won’t do anyone any good if you aren’t alive to wear it.”
That was a fair point. But even if he did die, he wouldn’t be the last Cassian to sit on the throne. Desfan had once believed he was the last of his family, but Meerah still lived.
The truth of that still stunned him. His little sister, who he’d thought dead for nearly a decade, wasalive. She was a prisoner in Ryden. And he’d sent Grayson Kaelin, of all people, to bring her home.
He still wasn’t entirely sure he’d done the right thing in trusting the Rydenic prince. Especially since Grayson had already betrayed him once.
Not many people knew Meerah was alive. He, Karim, and Yahri knew, as did Liam Kaelin—who was in a prison cell below them. Imara—who didn’t seem to care that Grayson had betrayed her, too—knew as well, along with Serene and her decoy, Clare. And the princess’s bodyguards.
Fates, that was actually a lot of people. Desfan had no intention of letting anyone else find out, though. The truth was too precious, and potentially dangerous. Until Meerah was safe in his arms, Desfan wasn’t going to trust anyone else with the knowledge that she still lived. They had too many enemies, and he refused to increase the risks to his sister.
He just prayed he hadn’t sent an enemy to rescue her.
Yahri’s lips pursed. “Karim does bring up an important point. The line of succession will need to be addressed.”
“Meerah is my heir,” Desfan said at once.
“If she returns and is able to wear the crown, yes,” Yahri said. He didn’t have a chance to question what she meant by that, because she continued. “But since you can’t tell anyone about her yet, we need to think of the people. Until you’re actually married to Serene, there is no promise of an heir. You should publicly announce your chosen successor, until such a time as you have a child. In the event of your untimely death, the successor you name could also serve as regent until your child is of an age to sit on the throne.”
He glanced toward Karim, who immediately cursed. “No. Absolutely not.” His friend actually looked a little pale, which made his words sound less fierce. “I will give my life to protect yours, and anyone who bears the Cassian name, but I willnotcarry your fates-blasted crown.”
Yahri’s mouth twitched. “Karim is an admirable man, but he’s not a possible choice. You need to select someone with noble blood. A distant cousin, perhaps.”
Desfan frowned. “Do Ihavea distant cousin?” His parents had each been the sole child in their families, and Desfan didn’t know much about his grandparents or their families. It had probably been discussed in his lessons as a boy—which he’d been atrociously terrible at paying attention to.
“Of course you have cousins,” Yahri said. “They’re just quite distant. I’ll consult with the genealogical charts in the royal library, and we’ll locate the most ideal candidates. You can make a selection from there.” Her expression turned contemplative. “I know the Sifas have old ties to the Cassian line, and I believe our newest council member does as well.”
Karim’s brow wrinkled. “Razan?”
Yahri tipped her head. “Serai Krayt has a very old name, and the oldest families in Mortise have a tendency to have overlapped somewhere with the Cassian line.”
Desfan cracked a smile. “Karim, you may have a chance at the throne after all.”
Karim scowled, but Desfan swore there was a touch of pink in his cheeks.
Yahri released a slow breath. “All of this, of course, can be addressed another day. I think for now, the best thing we can do is make sure everything is set for the coronation. And Desfan, you really ought to sleep a little before the ceremony. It’s quite long, and you’ll be standing for most of it; it wouldn’t do for you to fall over.” She rocked and pushed up from the chair, her grip on the cane tightening. “I’ll see to the final preparations.” With that, she started for the door.
Karim crossed in front of her and opened the door, his chin jerking in a silent order to one of the guards in the hall to accompany the councilwoman.
When Karim closed the door, Desfan spoke first. “How’s your leg?”
