Knowing Adley, plans for the latter are already in the works.
For the good of my realm and its people, I remind myself for the hundredth time since agreeing to this marriage proposal. Thankfully, I’ve succeeded at limiting my time around Saoirse thus far to avoid regretting it. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes, I’d like your permission to cut the tongue from that seamstress who is making my wedding dress.”
My eyebrows arch. “Surely, you jest.”
“She is a marvel, yes, but her incessant nattering is too much.” Saoirse stops a few feet away, drawing her index finger over the edge of the map. “She does not need her tongue to sew.”
“This is Cirilea, where we pride ourselves on not arbitrarily maiming our household.” If what I’ve heard of Kettling is true, the same cannot be said over there.
“I was only kidding.” She sniffs, her disappointment palpable.
“Of course. I never doubted it.” The more time I spend with Saoirse, the more I see why Zander would choose our parents’ murderer over her. Zander’s heart has always bled for Islor’s mortals, and it’s clear Saoirse only tolerates them as much as she needs them to survive and dress well. My heart doesn’t bleed in the same way as my brother’s, but I’m not vicious. “Anything else?”
“The assembly is gathering.”
“I’m aware.” The dull hum of voices carries as Islor’s lords and ladies gather in the throne room. “Was there anything else you wished to discuss?” Or can we end this unpleasant exchange immediately?
“Given all that Islor has faced since last Hudem and the horrors we are facing still due to Ybaris’s treachery, I think it wise to demonstrate a united front between Cirilea and Kettling.”
“Isn’t that the purpose of our marriage?” I drawl, feigning humor where I feel none. Kettling may be a city, but it steers the entire eastern side of Islor, where Adley has been allowed to forge his own alliances for too long. Another mistake of my father’s making.
“Time is of the essence, though.” Her black eyes dissect my face, attempting to read me. “Your brother did not wait for tradition to seat her on the throne.”
So that’s what this is about. Saoirse wishes to use Zander’s mistake as a precedent. She doesn’t want to play queen in weeks or days. She wants to be queen now. The day after we announced our betrothal, she attempted to move her things into the queen’s quarters, which I refused, not wanting her so close to where I sleep. Now this. I should have seen it coming.
“Returning to Islor’s traditions would be beneficial for all,” I say slowly.
“You don’t think the spirits of Islor’s lords and ladies would benefit from seeing us together, Atticus?” She edges in until she’s inches away, tipping her head back to flash me a flirtatious smile. It’s the first time she’s ever addressed me by my name, and she does it with a sultry tone meant to sway me.
My cock doesn’t so much as twitch.
I chuckle, a mask for the urge to grind my teeth. “Islor’s lords’ and ladies’ spirits show no signs of suffering.” At least not those lined up to see how they can benefit from this spontaneous change of ruler. I step away, putting distance between us as I return my focus to the map. “You will have plenty of time to listen to grievances after Hudem. Until then, I would think you should be more concerned with keeping up to date with the goings-on in your city. There is a poison ripping through Islor, after all.” And if there was a city of mortals who wished their keepers dead, surely it would be Kettling.
“It is you who insisted Father and I stay within Cirilea!”
Because enemies should be kept close. “Yes, but I would have expected you to be consumed by frantically writing letters to the city wards during this horrific time to ensure the city is well managed.”
“Father receives messages daily—” She falters, as if she’s revealed too much, but it’s nothing I don’t know. My trusted captains have been tailing every eastern lord since I took power and reporting back to me. “Kettling’s steward is handling it.”
I arch a brow. “By locking servants in cellars, from what I’ve heard.”
“To keep them from making poor choices that would force their keepers to punish them. I would think a cellar with food and water and a pallet is far more humane than a noose. Wouldn’t you agree?” she counters, her chin lifted in challenge. “Besides, Kettling may be my home, but all of Islor are my people. My place is by your side now.”