A War Of Traitors( ARTK, Book 2)

Chaptee 103

AUTHOR'S NOTE: YOU ACCIDENTALLY WROTE THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER BEFORE THIS ONE, SWITCH THE ORDER IN EDITING YOU SLEEP DEPRIVED STUPID HEAD

Anug 16th, 3329 A.G

  Renard had spent over an hour staring at his plate, nausea slowly rising. He hadn't been able to eat since finding out, and he couldn't see himself doing so anytime soon. His personal gaurd and the kitchen servants had only just started to become concerned, and so the guards told them what his favorite foods were- but it made no difference.

  The lemon cakes and meat pies remained untouched, the aroma gone with their heat.

  A different man may have taken his dagger out and slit both their throats then and there in that sick house, but the thought hadn't crossed Renard's mind. He hated himself for it now, but it were a solution. His son would no longer suffer with whatever it was that ailed him, and Jean wouldn't be able to sing.....

  Renard pushed the plate further away as he rose, running to grab the empty chamber pot under his bed. He lifted the top- secure enough to let no smells out, and let what remained of yesterday's food come out.

  He sat there dry heaving for what felt like an eternity, waiting on something else- but there was nothing. Nerves had taken care of most of it.

Even later, he managed to get the top back on. Then, he sat there against the bed frame- staring at a wall.

  They'd only made eye contact for a moment, and yet it was like the boy- his son, knew who he was. As if on some level, he could feel the blood running through his veins( and perhaps he could. Renard hadn't been told much of his illness). Renard dug his nails into his left leg, the pain distracting him only for a moment.

The shock was so strong that he hadn't even held his hand. His dying son- and he couldn't push his feelings aside for a few moments. Jean'd asked, but he said nothing.

All it did was confirm the thing he'd avoided for months: He was far from a good person. He could care for his people if he wished, smile and give out coin to those who needed it- but it was all an illusion. A trick to keep control and save he and Nara's reputation.

Nara......

Even she would not go so far as to kill a babe, and certainly not his. She would never allow him to legitimize Frey, but if he lived she may have let him send coin every year. His son could have lived in comfortable life, established a keep somewhere and been a lord in all but name..... and now there was no point in even imagining it. He'd die forgotten- not a single page in a single history book, like so many other king's bastards. Renard stood slowly, different titles running through his head.

  Frey Vraemore the second. Frey of House Ashhand, heir to Ebon, Bracari, Libera and Vremore island. The king of three continents. The bastard king. The sickly king. The old one.

  Renard threw up again and barely made it that time. Then again, and again and again- until his throat burned and head pounded so hard he had to grab a bedpost when standing. He heard nothing when Tuyon- who'd been talking to the guard on duty, came rushing in. He felt nothing when the older man put a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort whatever was happening.

Eventually, Renard became aware of his surroundings again. Many boots looked the same,  but he followed the hand up until it merged with another shoulder- and that to a familiar face.

  Renard was ashamed, but he hadn't cried yet. He didn't then either- but he came close.

  "Why did she choose to Marry me of all lords?" He questioned. "I'm nothing special. She could have chosen a lord from Libera or or Ebon; even Dedor before Milon got sent away and taken an entire territory with one vow-"

  "You underestimate the power of being queen and king on the only inhabitated island in the world." Tuyon said. "You always have. And... another lord may have given her a territory or even two with the right blood- but she would never be the true queen in those places. With you as a consort, she does not have to worry about her husband usurping or killing her. Where is this coming from?"

Renard wasn't sure he could say the words. He said nothing for so long that Tuyon felt uncomfortable, shifting on one leg- before he gulped.

  "Did you ever have a bastard?" Renard asked.

Tuyon tried and failed to hide his surprise. "I don't believe so, my king.... but like any other man with no preferences I've.... had my... time with men and women. I suppose it's possible; with how many whores I've layed with over the past decades, but I feel no guilt for it. I've never been meant for fatherhood. Any children are better off without me. Uwen is....all I need. And I haven't been with anyone else since the first time he and I.... let's just say me making another bastard hasn't been possible in a while. Why... do you ask?"

Renard tensed. It was probably something he'd regret later, but he needed to tell someone. And so he did.

From the moment he began laying with Jean- to when he left Vraemore island and that ended, he left nothing out. He told him everything Jean'd said, along with how undeniable his son's parentage was.

  By the time it was over, Tuyon sat to. This was bad. He couldn't deny it, but he also wouldn't sit there and scold his king for something that'd happened before he were one.

"What am I supposed to do, Tuyon?" Renard's voice broke. "According to.... his mother and Sarey. there isn't much to do. He can be made comfortable for when his time comes......."

  Tuyon put a hand over Renard's. "You don't think of Nara. Worry about her later. For now- with whatever time you have left..... be a father to your son."