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“I suppose if once the king does fall ill, there is always the option of handing you off to Sebastian. We could spin a tale of how he helped you grieve your husband’s death, and in that comfort, you found solace, companionship, love.” He nodded, rubbing his chin. The smile grew wider, his brown eyes alit with satisfaction. “Yes, that indeed would work. Much less messy than killing Sebastian off as well—which you would no doubt have to do in order to protect your claim to the title. Unless that is, you were to get pregnantbeforethe young king’s passing.”
Kallie’s body grew cold, and a gasp escaped her lips. She had to have misheard him. Neither remarrying nor bearing a child had ever been a part of their plan.
“I’m sorry?” she asked.
But her father did not hear the faint words on her lips. He did not notice the way her skin had gone pale, nor did he detect that she had stopped walking.
Domitius marched forward, his plan taking shape on his tongue. “Yes. You will bear Rian a child,thenyou will get rid of him. If the people still question your claim after, the brother will be a solid backup plan. Don’t you agree, Kalisandre?” He looked down at his side at last, and his brows quivered.
He looked around him, searching for her until they finally landed on where Kallie stood a few feet behind him, paralyzed.
Killing the king was one thing. Kallie had been prepared to do that. It would not have been easy, but she could have made it quick, painless even. But bearing Rian’schild? The throne was supposed to behers,not passed off to a child once they were of age.
Kallie didn’t even know if she wanted children. Many people were more than grateful to have the opportunity to bear a child, to give someone life. But Kallie? Kallie did not know the first thing about raising a child. She was raised without a mother in her life. She knew nothing about being one. She had been trained to fight, to seduce, to manipulate. She had not been trained to raise a child, to care for another being. For years, she had been taking a tonic with her teas in order to prevent pregnancies.
Her teeth ground together, the pressure stinging.
“Kalisandre, keep up now, will you? We must discuss what I need you to do next.” Domitius demanded, turning back around. He didn’t wait for her to move but rather expected her to follow along—like she always had.
Kallie knotted her hands together behind her back, her feet immobile, rooted to the ground.
When she still hadn’t moved after a moment, a gentle hand wrapped around hers, and the soothing scent of lavender filled the air.
“Kals,” Myra whispered, squeezing Kallie’s hands.
Despite everything inside of Kallie screaming at her to tell her father no, that she had not agreed to marry Sebastian or bear anyone’s children, Kallie’s mouth stayed sealed.
She shook the familiar voice that began to creep into the back of her mind. A whispered lie.
Her father was only making alternative plans, Kallie reasoned. They were simply options. He could not force Kallie to bear a child. He could not force her to marry Sebastian after Rian died.
With Myra’s gentle hand guiding her forward, Kallie followed after him.
Together. They would deal with this together.
Chapter43
KALLIE
“The hunt has beena long-standing tradition in Frenzia,” Jacquin, the king’s treasurer and eldest advisor, said to the large crowd standing before him.
An intoxicating energy buzzed in the open field as everyone awaited the start of the hunt. On the raised platform, a step behind Rian and her father, Kallie watched with a flat expression as a crowd of women and men wearing various shades of black listened with bated breath.
Early that morning, Myra asked Kallie if anyone had taken the time to explain what the hunt entailed. At the time, Kallie had brushed her off, saying, “It’s a hunt. What is there to tell?”
Now, Kallie had wished she had entertained Myra’s question more. If this were an ordinary hunt, the crowd would not have been nearly as excited as they were. Nor would the women have been wearing belts and straps around their garments. When Kallie was getting dressed, she had questioned the choice in apparel. But that, too, Kallie had dismissed with a shrug.
On the stage, Kallie stood clad in a black bodice. Light, sturdy plating had been sewn between the layers of leather. Atop the bodice was a unique piece of armor that Kallie had admired when she put it on. The Frenzian seamstress had collaborated with the most renowned blacksmith in Frenzia to create a custom piece for Kallie that showed off Frenzia’s wealth and military stature. Having grown up in a castle, armor was not a foreign sight to Kallie—but armor crafted for a woman’s body? Now, that was a sight to behold. The piece Marsinia and the blacksmith created wasn’t as clunky as the Ardentolian soldiers’ armor but instead moved with Kallie’s body. It was a true piece of art.
Even in her training sessions with her father, Kallie never had the opportunity to wear any armor. Her father had dozens of weapons made for her—weapons that she hid beneath her skirts, in pockets that had been sewn into the inside of her jackets, nestled into intricate hairstyles. Armor specifically crafted for her, though? Definitely not. According to her father, women didn’t wear armor, so there was no point in Kallie getting used to wearing it. While it was important for Kallie to be skilled in wielding a weapon, in King Domitius’ mind, her true strength was her gift. The close-combat training had only been necessary to help Kallie get close enough to manipulate her opponents if required.
“A proper queen does not wear armor,” he had said.
Which made Kallie wonder what her father thought of her now as he stood beside her.
They hadn’t spoken since the other afternoon when Domitius arrived, but his plans laid heavily on her shoulders.
The two brothers stood before her, the two men who held the answers she sought.
