BOOK 3 of The Ostler's Boy Series
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Love. Duty. Valor.
Court & Class.
A pseudo-medieval romance through the eyes of a reckless princess.
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After Svana and her Knight, there was a Princess and her love of adventure.
Eliza Rose, the wildes...
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Will pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.
"I'm sorry," I told him. "I didn't mean–"
"It's fine," he nodded. "It's time I own up to it."
"Then it's true?" my mother asked. "You have no wish to be King?"
"Just because I do not wish to be King does not mean I am not prepared to be it," he told her. "I know how important the role is; I know how much Oreia needs its line. I'm not trying to buck the responsibility. I am regretting confiding certain things in my sister, but it's not her fault for divulging something that is true. I knew better."
I tensed. "I'm so sorry."
Mom shook her head. She stood in front of us both, stilling her parental stalk from one side of the chamber to the other. Then she kneeled in front of Willem, and she took his hands as he sat upon the settee.
"You don't have to be King," she told him.
"What?" He knit his face. "Are you punishing me?"
"No," she sang. "No, the opposite. If you don't wish to be King, you can go... be a carpenter for all I care."
"You want me to be a carpenter? Why?" he asked. "I said I was sorry!"
"No! Will!" She sighed. "You're misunderstanding me. You don't have to be King. You can be whatever you want to be. That's all I've ever wanted for you. For both of you. I want you to have a choice in what your future looks like. Whether that's marrying a painter or–"
"M-Marrying– Ha! Marrying a painter?" he cracked.
"Oh, please," Mother rolled her eyes. "Do give it a rest, dear. Even Mr. Henrik knows you're in love with him. Why don't you just propose already?"
"But I–" He stopped. "I don't understand."
"What is there to understand, sweetheart? You're my firstborn, my sweet, sweet Willem. I've known you the longest, and I know you all better than you know yourselves. You think, what? That if you want a certain life for yourself, I could ever resent you for it? If you don't wish to be King, don't. It's simple."
"It's not that I don't wish to be King," he said. "It's that... I odn't think I'm right for it. For Oreia."
"In what way?" she asked.
"As King, I am expected to produce an heir, and if I marry Mr. Henri– Gah, first of all, there are two people in this what-if, and I have no idea if Mr. Henrik even... wants to– Look, I... Whatever. Say I have a preference for the person I wish to marry? Say I–"
"Wish to marry a man?" she asked.
"Yes. ...How would I produce an heir, Mama?"
She glanced at me. "I've been a bad mother," she said.
