The King's Gauntlet

Leaving for Castle Ambry

"Foul play," Jarren muttered, pacing back and forth. He would wear out the rug at this rate—a traditional Aland design crafted by a master and gifted to the former king. Their father. "It must have been." He sighed, grimacing as he scratched beneath the crown he now wore.

I nodded. The House of the Fallen had been evacuated after the fallen chandelier had killed Witsel and a couple others who'd had the misfortune of being next to him. There was no point in pretending it was anything other than a targeted killing. Emperor Rastarei was after us now, and he'd left subtlety behind.

"If this wasn't all bad enough, I'll need to appoint another prime minister," Jarren grumbled.

"What about Ministress Valenta?" I asked, seizing upon one piece of politics that I really did know. The Lynx might have shown me to be ignorant in foreign affairs, but I'd followed the latest developments in Aland high society closely enough. She'd taken a forceful reign of the Ministry, funding projects to widen the canals that serviced Aland, as well as expanding harbor access to allow for increased trade. It had made enemies of certain trade associations, of course, but it had benefited the people as a whole.

Jarren fixed his uncertain gaze upon his sister, as if just realizing she was there. He had increasingly been like that since gaining the throne. I couldn't help but feel some sympathy for my older brother. It must be a weighty burden to have to care for an entire nation, especially following the death of their parents. Perhaps the Prime Minister's death was making him relive that dark memory.

"What? Valenta the Penny Counter? No. The burghers simply wouldn't have it."

"But she's been running the Finance Ministry very ably. She took us from indebtedness to where we may even run a profit this year. And since the Prime Minister began his push for power, she's been overseeing the Strength Through Trade faction in his stead as well."

And before, she almost added. What her brother—and her father before him—had seen in Witsel was beyond her. The man had been pleasant enough but was no leader. Though I kept those thoughts to myself. It was best not to speak ill of the dead, and he had been a decent man, with not even the whiff of corruption about him. That had been tragically uncommon.

Jarren snorted, his eyes fading away into the distant look as he resumed his pacing.

"We're making a profit at the expense of the rich burghers, and don't they know it. I hear enough of their griping already. They would never assent to it. Besides, she's," he looked at me now, a slightly guilty look in his eyes. "A woman. We've never had a female prime minister. No, we need someone like another Witsel."

I ground my teeth. Aland had a not entirely deserved reputation as a constitutional monarchy on the edge of advancement, fueled by science and reason. Yet successful women like Baroness von Opfen and Ministress Valenta were woefully rare.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Jarren asked, pausing as he paced and regarding me with an odd look.

I sniffed. "You invited me here."

"Oh. Did I?"

I grimaced and looked away. Despite myself, I felt a bit hurt at my brother's confusion, though I was determined not to show it. It wasn't so very long ago that we had been good playmates, roughhousing through the mansion and sending the servants off clucking and chuckling. We had been close, once, and for a time I had even thought that our parents' deaths would have brought us closer.

Though I wasn't too surprised.

Jarren had taken the throne and accepted all the responsibilities that had entailed. Overnight he had become serious and distant. A king. No longer the fun-loving big brother who had a genuine affection for his tomboy little sister. Perhaps that was the price paid to lead a kingdom. Well, I can be stern and distant too.