Hidden Spirit

Chapter Seventeen: Child of a King

Andrew sat at the right hand of the King, arms draped on the chair and heavier cloaks set across his shoulders.

The hall in which they sat was wide and long, fully lit by firelight, with velvet-covered windows high up on the walls. The floors were hidden by rugs, tables laced with tassels and fabrics. Everything beautiful about a castle was laid out right there in front of him.

There was a certain thrill in being back in the place he belonged. The people were familiar, their talk easy. It conglomerated as a buzz of activity and warmth across the entire castle Andrew had lost himself in their excitement.

His uncle, King Maverick the Second, had been in rule for ten years. He was older in age and ready to move on, though, and reassume his position as an advisor.

Andrew's father was a strictly absolute ruler. He had advisors, but only a few, and only those of highest military rank, which never had to be called upon. After his defeat, Maverick took his place and was addressed as the King, but he never did anything without his advising body present. He claimed that he was much too old and much too responsible for the fate of a million to be making a new decision with each breath of air. Thus, more power and number was given to the King's court. Maverick was fairly ready to step down.

Then there was Jed.

He looked almost as if he would be more than willing to jump into Maverick's throne instead. In fact, Jed seemed to be inching closer at each possible opportunity.

Immediately after arriving the month before, Andrew got through the welcomings and the dinners and the fake smiles. He was partially thankful for Jed, then, who gladly soaked up the attention and easily dominated conversation. Never once, however, had Andrew heard the word "Constentine". It was a bit puzzling; wasn't this man's entire purpose to act as emissary for that country? Even though the man was not Voerr as the girl was.

Andrew finally got his chance to sneak away.

He hadn't been there in a decade, after all. The place where he grew up. Where he was supposed to live.

He thought he would be excited to be back. Honestly excited. As he was often reminded, it was by the grace of God he'd made it back at all. As great as it seemed to be in a place he could call home, the people suddenly seemed... fake. This reproduction of king and court was not at all the model he'd grown up knowing. And this stranger who acted as a self-appointed escort, who had inserted himself quite smoothly into spaces he didn't otherwise belong, was simply... bizarre.

Andrew was supposed to assume his responsibilities and relieve his uncle of his throne, but if he could have accomplished this in any other circumstance, he would have.

The entire position he and his family had forced the Constentinian girl into sat hollowly in his belly. It was entirely and without question his fault, for if he had argued it, or had he not even mentioned marriage as a solution, he would be king and she would be free as ever. No royal Firican blood had ever mixed with that of Constentine. He could bet she blamed him for it; this arrangement. And she had every right to. He'd called for a pact when the only people who had the power to do so were less than interested; Amelia knew this before he did. He had essentially trapped her.

Andrew did not speak of her openly. Surely if his mother were here, she would be praising his new wife just to lighten the image of her son. Even Jed seemed to be more interested in the tax rates of the provinces than talking about his niece, heiress to the largest country on the continent. When he did speak of her, it was only in the brightest terms – assuring all fellow courtiers of her pristine suitability to be the queen to a very human, Firican king.