It would be the event of a lifetime—a wedding to remember and designed to overshadow the last kings one with ease.

And Kyro couldn’t believe it was his own.

Nor could he believe whom he would potentially marry.

Lady Ameryth, on paper, appeared to be the perfect future queen. Charismatic. Beautiful. Fluid in five languages, (seven if you included the two languages which had died in the past century.) And most importantly, the beloved daughter of King Rhysand.

The dowry she'd come with was appealing. According to Lord Jenkins what garnered his council’s attention though were her connections, and her country’s ability to help with future wars.

Yet, as he stared at the pile of unfurled scrolls on his desk, he couldn’t help but frown.

One year ago, they'd all been sent out by hand or by hawk. With time they'd dwindled in and now all but one had returned.

48 rejections.

1 acceptance.

1 outstanding.

Logically, he knew he should give up on that last reply. It was certainly a rejection. Perhaps the silence was the rejection.

Piore was their nearest neighbour. Located just within the borders of the Many Kingdoms, it was to their east and found across the sea.

Time hadn't been kind to the relationship between them.

Near misses with magical weaponry, entering each other’s lands without permission and miscommunication had raised tensions.

War seemed on the cusp of arriving.

 

Sunbeams filtering through his window glazed the brown room in shades of yellow and white and outside, he heard the capital holler. His fingers drummed against the top of his dark oak desk. Voices merged into each other and formed weird sentences once twisted together. Yet, one voice was louder than them all. It'd grown tiresome within the first ten minutes. Now, hours later, he'd grown to hate the man trying to make a living.

"Grab your fresh melons here! Watery delights that aren't very dear!"

Kyro rolled his eyes.

Over the years certain words and sounds had gained the power to create nightmares. Tonight, those two sentences may do the same.

Rolling the quill between his finger and thumb, his eyes scanned outside. Roofs changed colours and grew fainter until they came to an abrupt halt caused by a looming wall.

His brows knitted together.

Knights patrolled the top with one arm raised to carry the spears locked by their sides, and they walked at a steady pace with iron-straight backs and heads held high. At most they were in groups of four. Most of the time, they worked in pairs with the same distance separating every group. Looking at them reminded him of Prince Lucas and the hours he'd spent bashing the men over the head with whatever he could find to drill in the procedure.

Knocking snapped his attention back within the room.

He twisted around, and his quill returned to hovering over the latest report now splotched with inky dots.

“Enter.”

The doors swung open and the shrieks the outside cries had managed to mute grew louder. Lord Caen, his personal knight, walked in and bowed, his blue braided hair falling over his shoulder.

"Your highness." He flicked it back as he straightened and tugged at the hem of his jacket. "Princess Ameryth is beginning to stir trouble."

“Couldn’t tell,” Kyro muttered, flinching as the screams rose in volume and sliced through him.

He rubbed both sides of his forehead and took in a deep breath as the shrieks grew louder. A minute passed. The volume increased again. When it increased for the third time, seeming to near his room, he yelled, "close the door!" Guards scrambled into view from either side and yanked them close with a bang. Near silence fell. The knight’s shoulders slumped, he slid into the seat with a groan and placed his head in his hands.

"Do you suppose she'll calm and become manageable in marriage?" Kyro asked. Caen shook his head. "I thought not."

Sighing, he unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk, pulled out a bottle of whisky and the two glasses by its side and tilted the bottle. Caen nodded and Kyro poured them both a glass. He nudged it forwards and the knight stopped fidgeting with the brass clasp at the end of his hair to grab it.

"She's asking to spend time with you."

"It's Friday... I don't have the time."

"According to her," he said, sipping his drink as he slouched in the seat, "you promised to spend time together when you're next free."

“Which isn’t today.”

Caen sighed. “She’s grown tired of waiting.”

“I cannot fix my busy schedule to appease her. She’ll have to be patient.”

Laughter glinted in Caen's eyes as he peered over the rim of his glass. "Indeed. You're very busy your highness." A small smile formed. "You're so busy in fact, that the two days you fought to have off months ago you quickly gave up to have two audience days in their place. Open to anyone in the kingdom if I recall? Obviously it had nothing to do with the Princesses request to spend the day together. No. I'm certain it didn't. It made the citizens happy, granted. One may argue helping Orion and Hamley solve their sheep issues was more important." A snicker from him interrupted his own words. "Or that you couldn't ignore the sweet shop war any longer."

“Indeed.” Kyro’s lips twisted into a small smirk. “We can’t risk that war causing a sweet shortage. Imagine how the children would feel.” He turned away and adjusted the collar of his shirt. “Like I said, I’m a busy man.”

He walked over to the arched window and peered down at the capital. Bologia, the Crystal City as some came to know it, was a place of grandeur—in appearance and reputation.

People roaming the upper-shopping ring seemed tiny next to the tall buildings with purple roofs. The shops stretched far out of his range of sight and stood connected to each other to the left and right. Snickets offered shortcuts to the other rings, and one main road at each compass point offered the carts an easier way to them. Beyond the purple roofs, blue ones appeared marking the homes of the largest ring—the upper-ring. It lived up to the cities nickname. Houses white, when light collided with the rough marble walls, they seemed to shimmer and glimmer. They stood three stories tall (still far below his office) and had luscious gardens. Life thrived within those house’s gardens. Birds hopped along the ground. Frogs rested by small garden ponds sides and the wind danced through the leaves. Further out, and the last ring he could see from his office, grey roofs met his sight. The middle-class houses were also white and like the shopping ring, stood at two stories. They stood connected at either side and if they had gardens, they were too small to be memorable to him. What made that ring stand out most were the different walls. Made from chalk bricks, the change in materials between the two rings was jarring up close. Yet it tied in the first three rings to the palace by matching some of the colossal building’s materials. Beyond the shimmer came the wall. It blocked the rest of the city from his view even from his fourth story window.

Once more his eyes fell on the top lined with men.

In his youth he'd spent many hours on the grey wall that glimmered all the time. The time spent up there lead to him mirroring their actions. Marching around. Holding up sticks to pretend they're spears. Saluting at anyone and everyone with the gesture returned. Once he'd grown bored of that game, attempting to steal items from them had become the new one. More than a few times he'd ran along the wall, a helmet under arm as Lucas and Ethan ran by his side—the guards chasing them down. For hours they'd distracted themselves by annoying the men.

He could still hear their laughter despite it being a ghost of the past.

A lump coiled in his chest.

Beyond the wall was the second half of the city. Once it had creme and brown brick walls and red roofs. Those were what he still saw to this date despite the stories he'd heard.

"The buildings are brown if not black and the smell is awful."

The same claim had come from everyone he'd asked over the years, Caen included.

Located beyond the wall were the rings for the poorer folks.

The first ring was for housing. Every house had been built lopsided and at ground level. They had no gardens and washing hung from house to house and sewage and trash littered the floor. Next came the poor-shopping-ring and beyond that, the cities edges belonged to the slums. Yet it all still sparkled despite its flare being stolen by poverty.

Once he'd ran through those rings.

Darting into narrow pathways, skirting around drunkards and ducking beneath low hanging washing. The entire time joined by Ethan and Lucas, both leading the way to the market square where the kids liked to play.

If asked once he'd downed too many glasses of whisky, he may confess that he missed those days. He missed the sun beating down on them as they ran through the townsfolk playing tag and hide and seek with the other children. He missed how they'd burst out laughing and end up sprawled on the floor, falling in the path of others. He missed the hot buns they'd buy from the bakery in that ring; splitting it into three as they walked to the palace. Years had passed since then. He could still smell the sweet honey syrup that covered the item and stuck his fingers together and glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

Time hadn't been kind to them.

It changed it all.

Now he never entered those rings despite two of the three exits to the city cutting through all of them. Avoiding them wasn't a need. It was a must.

Now, thirteen years later, he was accustomed to taking the long path out of the city that followed the river. The river path blocked out most of its surroundings with tall hedges on either side. Small snickets divided them every so often and offered various entrance points to the place filled with life. Herons often rested by the waters side. Lily Pads and Cattails waved on top of the water and fish swam beneath the surface.

Shoulders sagging, he turned away from the city and sipped his drink.

"Tell her... I'm busy today," he said at last. "We'll spend tomorrow together."

"She may not believe you."

Hearing Caen walk behind him, he looked up and gulped down the rest of his drink with a grimace. Alcohol burned the back of his throat. "Why wouldn't she?"

"How many days have you cancelled on her so far?" Kyro's lips parted. A single finger shot up and he clamped them close. "Let's not forget the extremes you've gone to too. Last Monday’s actions caused many issues."

"It's not my fault cattle from a local farm stampeded through the upper-shopping-ring."

"I suppose not." Suspicion laced the statement. "I suppose your Valet being near the farm they'd escaped from was a coincidence?"

He shrugged in response, walked over to his desk, sat, and poured them both a second drink.

“One may say the hundred Jewel he had in his pocket was suspicious too.” Kyro passed the glass back to Caen and he took a sip. “Others… may claim it was a mere coincidence.” The knight slumped in his seat with a sigh.

“Either way you owe her a day and a bunch of shop keepers’ money to replace the stalls that were destroyed."

"It was only one," he muttered.

"Two. Actually."

"Fine. Two then..." he shrugged and added, "but nobody is missing the flower stalls. Nobody bought from them anyway."

"Many people did!" Caen shot to a stand and shook his head. Taking a deep breath, he sank back into his seat and gulped down the drink. "Organise a day for her. Please?" His voice cracked. "Before her shrieks end up being heard in the slums."

"Like I've said, when I'm free the day is hers." His scowl landed on his father's portrait beside the door—half hidden behind a bookcase. Even in oils, his father seemed to be laughing. This time, down at him.

"You'll make another excuse on the day," Caen frowned.

He shook his head, "Of course not."

"You need to take this seriously Kyro."

“I am.”

Caen's frown didn't lesson. "If she returns home without having a fair chance, it'll cause diplomatic issues." The knight didn't flinch as Kyro's eyes narrowed. "Your sisters have fulfilled their roles. Through them you've gained two new allies, Austinburge and Killsend."

"I'm aware." He said and turned away, gulping the whisky down in a single mouthful. "And... you may have a point... about all you've said. I will see her tomorrow in the afternoon. Nothing else is scheduled for then I presume?"

"You won't pull a last-minute stunt?"

"I don't know what you mean." Grabbing his quill off the table, he tapped the feather against the parchment, ignoring the doubt lingering in Caen's eyes to read the report he'd been dealing with for the past hour.

Words swam across his vision.

Sentences refused to connect and he kept reading the same line.

"Do you think she'll make a good queen?" Kyro asked the question weighing on his mind.

Silence spoke volumes. Hesitation spoke more.

"I believe... she'll mange the role well enough."

“Nothing notable though?”

“She’s… safe,” Caen replied at last. “We need safe.”

With a nod, he glanced at the family portrait on his desk and slammed the picture down.

"Indeed," he said and pushed himself away from the desk. "We need safe." Hands curling, he nodded to himself and repeated it under his breath.

"If I may speak candidly?" The muttering stopped. Kyro opened his eyes and frowned at the bottle on his desk and nodded. With half left, he itched to unscrew the cork and gulp the contents.

"As your knight, I must say playing it safe with Lady Ameryth is best. She offers many advantages. Some may claim, too many to risk losing her." Once again Kyro nodded.  "And whilst she's not popular with the lower-class citizens, she's charmed her way into the upper-classes hearts. We can't forget how they seem to adore her." Kyro hummed his agreement. "Despite all that, it's clear you're not fond of her."

Smoothing his furrowed brow, he grabbed the bottle and poured himself another glass. His head pounded; a faint headache beginning to form.

"She may... have advantages," he said, "but she's tiresome at best. All I learn each time we interact are the same three things." He placed both items down and held up a finger with each point he made. "She loves gossip. Things must be perfect. And she may be the devil in human form." Before he could grab the bottle again it was yanked from the table. Caen placed it beside his chair on the floor. "Those things," Kyro said with a narrowing of his eyes, "and the fact that she adores the colour green. Emerald specifically. It can't be fern or moss or pine." He reached for his glass as it was too taken away.

"I have noticed she's quite... specific. Especially over minor stuff like what temperature bread should be eaten at. But comparing her to the devil is a bit... much?"

"Would you prefer I call her a Banshee? She certainly makes everyone run from her direction when she screams like one."

"But continuing with my earlier point... I may say she's safe and the best choice as your knight. But as your cousin we both know if you were to wed her you'd be miserable."

Kyro sighed and placed his cheek in hand. "An emerald loving, screeching, break picky woman... won't she be a wonderful queen."

"Well," fingers tapped the wooden chair arm, "there's the option of not marrying her. Would that make you happier?"

Silence bloomed.

"To be king I must have a wife. That is the law. For that I must wed." His teeth grated together, jaw clenching as he repeated Lord Jenkin's words. "Happiness isn't something I can consider for that reason." Caen didn't reply and Kyro glanced towards the Jui-Onyx hanging from a string tied to the handle of the drawers. It had yet to change colour. A few specs of orange begun to filter through the black and he rolled up the report. "I am to be king," he repeated, "the moment life decided this was my path, my life no longer remained my own. Everything I do now is for my country. I was born for it. For it I'll die." Still, the knight didn't reply. Instead his face scrunched into a grimace and he twisted a hanging tassel from one of his hairs accessories around a finger. "My purpose is, and always has been, for Camolis. Without fulfilling my duty, I am nothing. Doing something for myself means I am nothing." The Jui-Onyx began to pulse. Orange consumed the black and he stood, unhooking the jewel, and tugging it over his head. "That's the summoning for this afternoon’s meeting. You'll have to excuse me." Hands running down his front, he smoothed out the creases and pushed his hair out from his face. "Lock my office when you leave."

"Wait." Kyro stopped—hand hovering over the handle. "Your purpose in life may be to rule. It is to be king. But the one area where you need to consider yourself is in marriage. It may offer you the happiness you're currently missing."

Without responding he opened the door and stepped out, hesitating upon hearing Caen's next words. "You need to find someone to love you. You deserve happiness too."

"No. What I need is to be a good king."

"And happiness?"

He shrugged and sighed. "I guess I'll find it in my next life." The door clicked shut.

​

***

​

He sat in the council's meeting room, listening to fools argue about matters that had yet to become relevant. If they were relevant, they seemed meaningless to talk about. The current topic held no evidence to back up the accusations and made his brows twitch and his fingers drum against his arms. According to Lady Gemma, an increasing number of poor folks had entered the upper rings lately. In her report, she claimed there was a higher risk of the rich being robbed. It had led to the council tossing around ideas to prevent the matter. The accusations were unfounded. According to his Valet, the wells in the poor ring had become blocked, and they were entering the middle-class-ring to gain access to clean water. Yet, every time he tried to point it out, the members snorted and turned away.

Why take the word for a Valet and go and check for themselves when they could accuse the poor after all?

His foot tapped the other beneath the long table as he frowned.

More ideas bounced between the members. Words travelled in a flurry of indecision. Counter arguments halted and restarted any progress they made each time. With no evidence to work from, this could continue for hours.

His eyes scanned the sheet in his hand. His fingers flicked a coiling corner as he reread his own suggestions for some matters they'd yet to get to. He wanted to add another well in all the rings. Try to direct the sewage in the slums into a hole of some kind so it no longer lingered in the streets. Even find a free transport method for those who couldn't afford a cart or horse. Those were just the start.

He never added to the current debate. Rarely did he bother to when the matters were without proof.

Thousands of other matters needed their attention. Most in the poor district. Any one of those matters could be filling the currently wasted minutes. Yet, once more, they were being ignored in favour of the upper ring.

He glanced over at the second box on the table. Stained with mysterious substances, the box seemed ready to break and to release its contents if frowned at too much.

They hadn't addressed any of those topics in months. If not since the prior autumn.

Each meeting the upper ring was addressed first.

Why should he care that the price of coffee had increased when the poor folk didn’t have easy access to water again? Why did he care that Lord Duncan, the drunkard from Taver Street, started a fight with Lord Yuis that had led to spiralling gossip? The poor ring had lost a row of houses to a fire recently. Shouldn't that have been prioritised?

Apparently not.

Some may say they're right. That they should handle the easiest problems first. He couldn't bring himself to agree.

Kyro reached across the scattered parchments and pulled forwards an unfurling scroll. Inky lines and charcoal scribbles revealed his solutions for the few issues he knew.

He twirled the charcoal stick around his fingers and frowned, looking over the bullet point list of issues he'd made in a corner of the sheet. They all came from workers within the palace; Maids who dared to approach him, Cooks, Stable Boys and even his own Valets.

The sheet included the ideas for abandoned buildings to be transformed into shelters for the homeless. Even what to use the castles wasted foods on and the off-season clothes the upper-class didn't wish to keep. None had yet to be heard.

"Perhaps..." all eyes fell on him. "Perhaps we can discuss a matter from the overflowing box? Instead," he glanced at the sheet Lord Jenkin's held, "of a situation with no foundation or evidence?"

"A king must predict future problems. Not the current ones alone," Lady Gemma replied from behind her gaudy feather fan. "The poor people always have issues to fix. Keeping the working area going is our priority." She pointed to the second box on the table with a slender finger. Unlike with the first one, this seemed to be brand new with silk lining the insides. Inside the box a last envelope sat, awaiting their attention. "Besides, we may as well finish what we've almost emptied."

"Agreed." Mutters echoed around the long rectangular room with an ugly amount of creme shades. "We will focus on them once the upper-class have been handled your highness," Lord Jenkins added. He was a tall, frail looking man with very little hair. He wore an oversized robe, walked with a hunch, and had a stick for aid and stood at the end of the table, leading the meeting.

Once, his father had claimed he was the best adviser in all the Many Kingdoms.

He couldn't see it.

Lord Jenkins frowned as Kyro sighed, placing his cheek in his hand. He lowered the current envelope. "Let's switch to the last topic," he announced, and his wrinkling eyes flickered to one of the many windows lining the room.

Rays arched through glass, painting the room in a soft array of orange, yellow and red. "Actually, it appears our time has run out. We'll return next Friday. Monitor your gems to know when you're summoned." With a deepening frown, Kyro scooped up the scrolls he'd brought to the meeting and made his way across the room.

Next week more envelopes about trivial matters would be in the upper-rings box. They council members would drag out the meaningless issues again. Once more they'd never begin to consider solving the issues the poor needed help with. Without the title of king, he couldn't bypass them either.

His mouth snapped close. Slow breaths whistled through his nose and his teeth clamped together.

Half the issues that needed fixing could have been done with a little money and time. They weren't complicated. Lingering effects from the Long War mostly. It wasn't enough to convince his council. Their area's had already moved on from it. They had moved on from it.

For them, being blind to those who were still recovering seemed best.

Part of him wished he could do the same.

Yet he knew he never could.

He'd never escape that battlefield.

Smoothing his expression, he mumbled farewells to the counsellors and walked over to the door.

This was one more reason why marrying was a priority. So he could start making the changes the lower-class needed. So he could change the council too. The first person to go would be Lady Gemma.

Horns echoed into the room from beyond the large arching doors. They slowly opened, groaning in protest as he scrambled out of their range.

In the entrance, Caen stood; his expression unreadable and with a crow perched on his shoulder. Claws stabbed at his skin through his thick jacket, and blood soiled the material around the bird's feet. The creature's head twitched, its beak snapping open and close with hisses tearing out. Tied around one foot a scroll hung, swinging with the bird’s movements which too shook the emblem hanging from its neck. Glinting in the castle’s lights revealed the gold emblem had been engraved with a crow. Piore.

Kyro shuddered. He strode forwards, resisting the urge to shudder again as the creature met his gaze. Instead his stomach lurched.

Life always seemed to be thrashing within these creatures’ gazes. That, and a tide of emotions. Sadness. Pain. It all seemed endless in the creatures beady red eyes. It looked too real, too human, and he turned away.

Coming to a stop in front of the knight, he untied the parchment attached to the bird and tugged at the string holding it close.

"Is it a declaration of war?" Lady Gemma asked as the crow fell still, head cocked to the side, seeming to be listening in.

He unraveled the sheet and heard everyone shuffle closer.

His eyes skimmed over the words.

He almost frowned at what he read. Almost, but not quite. Aware that the crow would relay it to Piore if he did.

Instead he reread the page—much slower this time.

"It appears... Piore will be sending a marriage candidate in two weeks time."

Voices rose throughout the room. Each fighting for dominance above the next. Yet, as they yelled and bickered, and as some rejoiced whilst others grumbled about the news, Caen's words seemed the loudest.

"Is it a real candidate or a ploy?"

The crow leapt off his shoulder and flew out of the window as Kyro nodded.

He couldn't help but wonder that too.