Aligning the Forgotten ✓

Chapter 20: Roux

The throne room has grown stuffy in recent days, I've spent too many hours sitting on a throne, next to the king, without involving myself in any action. The cushion has molded to my bottom, I've found a comfortable position to rest my arms, but that doesn't soothe the tense unsettlement inside my bones. I want to do something, not sit here like a prized pony.

One of the king's duties is to listen to complaints brought in by citizens. He must partake in them once a week for a few hours and hardly in any instance is the line out the open archway to the throne room. This time, as summer heat makes farming difficult, the line snakes around the corner and down the hall.

We've already gotten through nearly half of the complaints and not one of them was interesting enough for me to listen in on. I've zoned out, wondering when my next training round will be and with whom-I've gone through so many guards and it's difficult to get anyone to train with me. They're in the right mindset, they know they'll lose.

I'm not introduced to the citizens, they're aware of who I am and what power I hold. My intimidating stare is enough to make them cower and their complaints come out much weaker than they intended. After gathering the strength to approach the king in the first place, they wash away their attempts at bravery at the sight of my attention. Or distracted stare, for that matter.

The king doesn't enjoy doing this as much as I don't. He slumps in his throne with the crown sitting uncomfortably on his head and when a citizen complains; he grunts his disagreement or in rare occasions, agreement. He promises to make changes but in reality, will only bring out witches of water to the farms so crops don't dry out and the kingdom has a well-grown supply of foods for the winter months.

I don't blame him for half-assing his attempts. The citizens ask for one thing after the other and the king can only do so much to prepare a war and take care of the rest of the kingdom at the same time. If they want freedom or generous conditions, they'll have to choose between one or the other. I can't imagine being the level of leader he is, offering these few hours to citizens.

I can't be a leader. I can't sit in this throne for longer than an hour. The cushion doesn't fit me; it was specifically crafted for someone else and the rough ridges of engravings on the back rub against my tunic and hurt my spine. How the queen ever sat in this throne is a mystery.

It takes hours, but the line starts to dwindle until there's only one man left. His camisia shirt is covered in a layer of filth and grime, his trousers have multiple patches, and his boots are near falling apart on his feet. Either he's traveled or is a very poor farmer in need of a loan from a king. Only on rare occasions does he go that far to support his citizens. The king only provides that luxury to those in true need.

The king looks him up and down, from the thin layer of dirt blond hair to the wrinkles around his mouth. He's middle-aged, and judging by the fidgeting of his hands, is nervous to stand in front of his leader.

"Speak," the king requests. He's gone through enough formalities that when he reaches the end, he doesn't have the patience for them.

"My-my name is Kyre Brolet. I am from the kingdom to the south," the man reveals. I grip onto the armrests, ready to stand, but the king holds out a hand to stop me. No one from Saebia may walk freely into this kingdom, they're as much of a disgrace to the king's power as a witch of minor abilities.

His eyes dart back and forth between us and a question flashes underneath the tensing of his lips. Kyre is wondering whether he should bolt now before things get out of hand. To approach a highly powered witch is the most dangerous thing he could have done and yet, here he is, without a second thought. He's standing his ground-whether a mortal witch or human-I can't tell.