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Chapter 16
The North King
Algar’s modest dinner hall was filled with high-ranking knights and noble families. All of them were loyal to him, some more than others.
Each and every single one of them enjoyed the rare occasion of a feast with meat and real beer. It was the day that Algar would announce the wedding date of his son, Yutrik, to the daughter of Louis the Great. The wedding itself was still several months away, yet this feast was important for the king. It would give those loyal to him something to believe in, a reason to stay with the king. Rumors had it that more and more knights and noble families were questioning his war, always one breath away from joining the rebellion against him.
Tapping his fingers on the long wooden table, Algar threw the empty chair next to him another weary look. Not only was he still processing the catastrophic news that the Rhine Princess had escaped his soldiers and was on the run in the forest, but his own son, Yutrik, was incapable of following even the smallest commands. Why could he not be even a tenth of the man his bastard Rune was? When Algar had invited him to this feast, he’d declined, stating his men would need him more as their food supply continued to deplete.
“I won’t feast while my men are starving,” he had said. The words were a slap in the king’s face, but they filled him with pride, nevertheless.
Algar sighed and was about to call for Gibing, to go and drag Yutrik here by his ears when the door to the hall opened, and his son entered, laughing, with a woman on either side of him. Both were dressed like prostitutes, which they were, no doubt. But the sight of another new golden tunic on his sonwhen there wasn’t enough coin to feed their servants angered Algar far more.
“Father, forgive me for being late,” Yutrik announced in a jolly tone, “but my studies kept me too long.” He strode over to take his seat by Algar’s side. The smell of wine, sweat, and cheap perfume invaded Algar’s nostrils. Yutrik waved a servant to place two more chairs next to him for his whores. One of them leaned over and whispered something into Yutrik’s ear, which he answered with a childish giggle.
Clenching his hand around his metal cup, Algar’s blue eyes darkened.
“Your studies,” he said.
“Yes, Father. Battlefield strategies. Soon I will be able to aid Rune on the battlefront.” Yutrik exchanged glances with his whores as if he had managed to fool the king.
“I see you have a new tunic,” Algar said.
“The finest silk in the North,” the smaller of his two whores answered for Yutrik.
“To honor this festive occasion,” Yutrik added, raising his cup and draining the contents in one long drink.
“To honor this occasion, huh?” Algar repeated.
Yutrik nodded.
“I see. And to honor this beautiful day, the symbol of your upcoming wedding to Louis the Great’s daughter, you bring cheap whores to the table for the whole world to see?”
Yutrik froze, his cup slipping from his grip.
“And then you lie to me in front of our guests.”
“Father, I—”
Algar’s hand struck Yutrik’s face, knocking his son sideways off his chair. His whores jumped up, screaming. Then fled the hall altogether.
Yutrik was whimpering on the floor, too afraid to get up.
“Is this all a game to you? Is whoring and drinking more important than your throne?”
“No, Father,” Yutrik whimpered, slowly pulling himself back up into the chair.
“Are you truly as worthless as you make everyone believe you are?” Algar shouted, the hall as silent as a graveyard.
“No, Father.”
Sighing loudly, Algar leaned backward in his chair. How could the gods have punished him so? Even a daughter would have been better than this useless dog.
“My King,” Gibing announced, limping into the hall for everyone to see. He stopped in front of the king, bowing. “May the gods forgive me for bringing terrible news on such a beautiful day.”
“Speak,” Algar commanded.
“Our soldiers near the border reported a most unfortunate incident. A young noblewoman traveling under disguise was attacked by a group of thieves on the road north.”
