Court felt like a battlefield each and every day. The young men, both near and distant relatives of his grandson, grew more brave each day. They flouted the king’s authority and the hierarchy of the court, testing the boundaries of his patience. Lord Dhravan wished he had the opportunity to mourn his daughter, but he had to protect the king. Mourning could be done in times of peace. The emperor had sent his condolences from Daivia, and Dhravan believed they were not behind Raval’s death, but he could not rule out anyone.

  Whoever had killed his daughter had left behind no clues and no witnesses. There had not even been a struggle, from what he saw of the aftermath. The oldest of Eshal’s cousins came into the throne room, wearing an elaborate hat that almost resembled Eshal’s crown. Chavik had somehow become the frontrunner among those seeking to overthrow Eshal. Dhravan did not know what the other cousins saw in the boy, but Chavik was their leader. Each following day, he became more confident in his right to become king.

  “The king, it appears, is still not in court,” Chavik drawled. It was true that his grandson had not been in court since Raval had left for Daivia. At first, he had sulked as children did when their mothers were absent. The sulking had transformed into inconsolable sorrow when Dhravan told him of Raval’s death. At the moment, Eshal was in the company of his nursemaids, being coddled like the child that he was.

  “The king has sent me as his proxy,” Lord Dhravan said. “The king does not owe his subjects an explanation for his absence.”

  “I think he does,” Chavik said, his voice quavering. “A kingdom is only as good as the king who rules it, and I believe Noumin is capable of so much more. Our ports are being overtaken by foreigners, our coasts are open to men from strange lands. In the name of trade and diplomacy, we have given up our sovereign right to our seas!”

  “We would have given up everything if we did not negotiate,” Lord Dhravan said. “Do you think we could have won a war against Daivia?”

  “I think we could have,” Chavik said. “If we were not ruled then, by a suckling child and his mother.”

  “That child is of royal blood!”

  “Is he?” Chavik asked. He cocked his head and looked over at the other young men in the room, his lackeys. King Ghaman and most in his family possessed the same thick dark hair, the strong and straight features. Eshal had inherited his features from Raval’s side of the family. His skin reddened at the slightest insult, his features were soft and almost fairy-like.

  “Is he really?” Chavik asked again, this time a mocking smile on his face.

  It was a cheap thing to do, to question the parentage of a child whose parents both had departed from the world. If he were a few decades younger, Dhravan would have challenged the man to a duel. However, honor was a rare thing in court. In his days, men lived and died for honor. With time, people had realized that honor did not fill their stomachs or line their pockets. Now, they lived and died for power. They lied and stole for power.

  If he harmed the idiotic, avaricious young man, he would be asking for retribution from half of court. His defenders would say the punishment was too severe for a few throwaway words.

  “Any more from you will considered as treason,” Dhravan said.

  “It is only treasonous if it is a lie,” Chavik said. “But our suspicions are not unfounded. Everyone knew how fond the late queen was of that gardener you had on your estate. So fond that you found it necessary to remove him from your estate and send him away.”

  Dhravan’s jaw tightened. The gardener boy was one of Raval’s foolish mistakes while she was young. It was years before she had met the king, while she was barely a girl. There had been gossip, but it had died down over the years. Now Chavik had resurrected the rumor, and given it new life.

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  People would forget the fuzzy details, in search of salaciousness. The queen had been involved with a gardener, the young king did not resemble his father very much. Those two details were enough to write an entirely new story, and Chavik knew it. Any action against the young man now would only seem like Dhravan was trying to silence the truth.

  “Refrain from spreading untruths, Lord Chavik. King Eshal is his father’s son,” Dhravan said.

  “Perhaps,” Chavik conceded. “Yet he is still not the rightful heir. The rightful heir is now the crown princess of a nation we were at war with only months ago. She was first forced out of her birthright, and then out of her home country. When the future ruler of the nation can change so easily, it seems possible that it could change again. We live in such uncertain times.”

  The moron who’d only started growing a beard two years ago did not know how uncertain time was, shooting off his mouth without thought to who he was talking to. It would be difficult to deal with his family if Dhravan went after him for treason, but it would not be impossible. Everything would be easier if Eshal was in court, but he was younger than his years and had taken to residing in his quarters. He was too heartbroken to do anything after Raval’s death, and Dhravan did not know who could bring him out of his sorrow. Raval was the only one who could have, and she was gone.

  “You are banished from court for the next month,” Lord Dhravan announced. It was a double-edged sword, he knew. Chavik could use the punishment as an opportunity to form a court of his own in his estate. He had enough followers, he was the old king’s nephew, and people preferred to see an adult on the throne over an eleven year old. “Take this time to reflect upon your actions. Lord Serya will take over your responsibilities until you return.”

  Lord Serya looked up. He was one Chavik’s lackeys, but far more cautious than the group’s leaders. He was a second son, still young, and unsure of himself. Most important of all, Serya resembled the old king the most among the king’s nephews and nieces. The others in the group turned their attention away from Chavik and towards Serya. They now had a choice between followed a banished boy, and someone among them who Lord Dhravan appeared to prefer. If they fell in line behind Serya, they could stay at court, stay closer to the true seat of power.

  Dhravan smiled at the young lord, who was looking back at him in confusion.

  “I’m sure you will be a valuable adviser to our king, Lord Serya,” he said.

  “Yes, my lord,” the young lord stuttered out. He was finally grasping that he had been given an opportunity. If he was an opportunist, he would do the same thing as Chavik. If he was intelligent, he would choose to gain a safer and more permanent kind of power, one where he could be a fixture at court and a decision maker.

  “Court is adjourned for today,” Dhravan said. He was feeling his age, more and more. He had outlived his daughter, and that itself had aged him ten years. In the mornings, he felt the aches in his knees. His hands were covered in spidery lines, his eyes bordered by crows’ feet. Sometimes he blamed himself for the sacrifices they’d had to make with Daivia. If he was younger, they might have had better chances.

  He made his out of the throne room and started to walk towards his bed chambers. His chambers overlooked the training yard and the soldiers’ barracks. It wasn’t the most peaceful part of the castle, but it gave him an advantage. He woke early in the mornings to the sounds of the soldiers training. From his window, he could see who was a promising talent. If he ever felt his age, he could spar with the young soldiers to keep himself sharp.

  When he entered his sitting room, there was a woman sitting on his sofa. She was dressed like a commoner, in their simple blouses and layered dark skirts. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and damp. If he saw her in the corridors, he would assume that he was one of the many maids that came in and out of the castle. However, she sat imperiously. She gave him a crooked smile, and it reminded him of Raval.

  “Lord Dhravan,” the woman said. “It is so nice to finally meet in person.”

  “Can I help you?”

  Over the years he had grown used to women showing up in strange places. He was a widower with immeasurable wealth and no children to inherit. Raval had forfeited her right to his estate by marrying into the royal family. Over the years, as his hair went white, families had shoved numerous young women in front of him. He had never been interested. The nephew who was set to inherit his wealth was a nice boy who would do well in maintaining their family name and their wealth. Some of the women shown to him were Raval’s playmates, friends. It did not matter that society would accept such a union. He certainly couldn’t.

  “I wanted to enlighten you,” the woman said. Dhravan waited for some awkward seduction, some shedding of clothing. The woman instead dusted off some lint from her old, worn skirt. “I was sent here to relay your daughters’ last words, or what my sister could make out of them.”