Broen lifted one auburn eyebrow, green eyes a bit watery. “I bet you would. You hid magic from me. Knowing now what I do about your brother, your and Saris’s ruse possibly saved the kingdom. He, or rather, the sorceress possessing him, would have taken your magic long ago.
“Now to find out you bonded with Nyanda’s son, my half-brother, and hid that knowledge also.”
“I only just fou—”
“Silence!” Broen shouted. “The people of Dhugach are using what happened to condemn you and your sister and demand the dissolution of my bonding, or at least for me to put Saris aside. They’ve grown so bold as to suggest new candidates for a queen consort.” He rose, paced to the window, and stared out at the mountains. “I understand that, quite by accident, you’ve become one of the most powerful sorcerers ever to live. Untrained but powerful. You’ve become dangerous.”
Uh-oh. Maybe Broen hadn’t ruled out execution after all. “But I’ve harmed no one with my power.”
Broen snorted, back turned. “Which matters little to the people. They see you as a threat. So now, I have the problem of dealing with not one but two sorcerers, powerful sorcerers. Bonded sorcerers. What’s to stop you from taking over Tirra Neu?”
“How about the fact we don’t want to, and Piers nearly gave his own life to save yours?” Running a kingdom? Too much responsibility. No, thank you. Wycke wanted to ask about Piers and the others but somehow felt through his connection with Piers that they were nervous but unharmed. So far.
“That is what you say today, but what about tomorrow?”
Wycke let out a snort. “You’ve known me for how long? Do you honestly believe I’d ever want the obligation? Dealing with constant demands on my time? Which is why I put up with Radre’s insufferable ass. He stood between me and the Myrgren throne, and I was damned happy to have him there.”
“Which brings me to my next point. Those with no magic manage perfectly fine without, but those born with the spark won’t survive long once the spark is snuffed out.” Broen’s voice grew somber. “Your brother has died. You’re rightful king of Myrgren.”
“Even though I took his life.”
“Aberfrer has told me everything. Your brother’s life ended long before his body breathed its last.”
Wycke found an opening. As much as he hated his brother dying, he’d fight to live now. “Then let me stay here with your most trusted advisors. I’ll never bother you again.” If Broen sentenced Wycke to die, what would become of Saris and Piers?
“It’s not so simple.”
“It is. Believe me, it is.” Or so Wycke hoped. Would wish magic work on the king? Or would using magic in such a way make Wycke no better than Nyanda? “Would you rather I come back to Dhugach and start seducing guards and ladies-in-waiting again?”
A knock came at the door. King Broen bellowed, “I told you we were not to be disturbed!”
One of his guards opened the door, worry creases on his brow and hair sticking up at odd angles. “Sire, we have a… situation. You are needed immediately in the great hall.”
Broen strode toward the door. “Fetch Prince Wycke’s guard. He’s not to leave this room.” He swaggered out, slamming the door behind him.
Wycke strode to the window and looked out on the world he soon might not belong to.
What could be so crucial as to pull the king away?
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
“Where is Wycke?” No matter who Piers asked, no one answered. Instead, uniformed guards armed with swords herded him down a hallway. A familiar uniform. The kind he’d once found in his uncle’s closet, but in different colors.
He kind of expected suits of armor along the walls but found the corridors mostly bare. Well-dressed people gawked at him: ogres, elves, some races he didn’t know the proper names for. Fairies flitted by, much smaller than the generous tipper he’d met at the club. They must be able to change their size.
Every footstep spelled Piers’ doom. Cuffs on his wrists inhibited his magic. At last, the crowd parted, and he stepped through the doorway into a vast room. Flames flickered in multiple fireplaces, and more wheel-light thingies hung overhead, candles currently unlit. More people crowded inside, hissing and whispering behind their hands, except for the ogres, who didn’t seem to possess inside voices. He searched for George to no avail.
His guard wasn’t rough, merely firm, keeping a grip on Piers’ arm and steering him towards the front of the room. A pity. He’d always been partial to sitting in the back, the better to be overlooked by teachers and bullies.
A woman in a pale blue gown looked familiar, but he didn’t know anyone here. Wait! “Jess!”
Jess gave him a gentle smile and touched her finger to her lips, the most politely she’d ever told him to shut the fuck up. Wow! No facial piercings, and not a single tattoo in sight, likely more by the fashion of the gown than planning. Wait! Not a gown. Definitely wide-legged pants and a flowing top. The outfit suited her.
Her hair blended with the pink, blues, lavenders, and jades of other ladies he spotted.
Once Piers arrived at the front of the room, his guard pressed a hand to his shoulder, urging him to sit on a chair placed directly in front of what he assumed to be a throne.
With his long, auburn hair and green eyes, the man seated on the throne would’ve had his pick of partners at the gay clubs back home. High King Broen? This was the husband Saris rejected? Was he cruel? A drunkard? Piers couldn’t imagine her tolerating a bad husband. Mate. Whatever.