"Ilien has always been our closest ally and their princess is a famed beauty in her lands."
"How wonderful, Lord Grimmauld," Sir Dobson said with a loud, mocking clap of his hands. "Our closest ally is no more than an island, which is precisely why we need new allies."
"That island has ships! Big ships! Fast ships!"
"How hard is it to build a few ships? Might I suggest Lady Melis, daughter of the Grand Duke of Qeaya, Your Majes—"
"Qeaya!" Grimmauld scoffed. "The country of rocks and sand?"
"And rich with minerals, you old fool."
An offended Grimmauld slammed an angry fist on the table of ebony wood, causing half a dozen goblets to rattle in perfect accompaniment to his admonishing snarl. "Who are you calling an old fool!"
"Calm down, both of you," Duke Daroch interjected, his voice firm and placating as always. "Princess Lydia of Meltec is said to embody all virtues of beauty, intelligence and patience."
"And probably as dull as your grandmother's left shoe, coming from a country with more priests and librarians than sheep!"
"Never knew you were so well-acquainted with my grandmother."
Somewhere from the other end of the council table, someone yawned. Another sneezed. They continued.
Dane rested his cheek against a hand as he sat at the head of the table, staring blankly at an invisible spot on the far wall. Given the rocky start to his reign three months ago, he worked to cultivate an atmosphere of ease within his council. If his advisers were relaxed, they were more likely to speak free and true than if they were terrified of him. His brother Warren would've teased him for being soft, yet he valued the honesty and knowledge he could gain from this approach. The trade-off was that idle chattering had become the norm around the table, and sometimes, it was highly unproductive.
After the baffling, frustrating start to the day, he was in no mood for putting up with this drivel and yip-yapping from his councilmen. "I asked for an update on the most pressing matters about the kingdom, gentlemen," he reminded coolly.
"But Your Majesty, have you not heard the latest..." Dobson paused and lowered his voice as if for dramatic effect, "rumours?"
Dane lifted a brow. "Hmm?"
"About the most eligible bachelor in the kingdom?"
Bachelors and princesses? That was what his council decided was the most pressing matter? "And why exactly should I care?"
"But it's you, Your Majesty."
"Me?"
"Forget about the kingdom," Daroch said. "As the only unmarried king, Your Majesty is now the most eligible bachelor on the continent."
"And I intend to keep it that way." He'd only just rid himself of a long, loveless marriage. He was in no rush to bind himself to another.
"A royal wedding would be a great way to secure a political alliance."
He surveyed the men around the table. Respected courtiers hand-picked for their skill and experience in military, financial and diplomatic matters. And together, the best they could come up with was a wedding.
"You, my esteemed council, are paid to negotiate political alliances, not to whore your king out for one."
"You also need an heir, Your Majesty."
Dane narrowed his eyes on Daroch, though all other six councilmen nodded in agreement. Normally, he'd let it slip. But today was not normal. Today, he decided he'd given them too much free rein to be meddlesome old men. "What is the difference between having an heir now, and having one in two, or three, or even ten years?" he gritted. "Unless you mean to suggest that death shall grace me in such time?"
YOU ARE READING
Bride to the Cursed: a Snow White retelling
Fantasy[COMPLETED] When a king makes an order, he expects it to be followed. When King Dane divorced his wife, he expected her to get out of his sight and stay out of his sight. Not reappear three months later in his bed, spouting nonsense about being a 'l...
