The Crowned Captive

Their walk to the council chambers was slow, and Rowan cursed his damned cane and how weak it made him look. With his princess walking high-chinned beside him, he no longer looked like the protector but rather the follower. Before they arrived, he was back to his foul mood, barely even glancing at the king as they bowed when they entered. He teetered as he stood back up, and was somewhat grateful for Morana quickly grasping his arm to hide the movement.

Eyes bored into them both as they took their seats adjacent to the king. Rowan knew there would be many more questions and many more accusations of Morana, and wondered what his part in all this would play. For the second time, they were attacked after he had left her naked. That would surely not be missed.

Much to his surprise, the court started with more mundane things. The Master of Horse, a lithe kelpie woman with seaweed green hair, discussed sourcing and training more fae horses. Rowan ignored the idle prattle, cataloguing the room instead. Nearly all of the nobles sat present today, including the Masters of Arms and the Master of Coin and various other officials. He noted the House of the Wolf and the House of the Viper were absent, but every other family had at least one representative. Across from him, even his father was present.

A bitter taste filled his mouth at the sight of the man. They shared too many similarities in looks and far from enough in every other aspect. Apart from the white-blonde hair and plain brown eyes his father held, they could have been brothers. Those eyes turned to him now, Malchus Greenfeld staring down his nose at his estranged son. Rowan returned the look before turning away. It was obvious that his opinion had not changed, and was unlikely to in the future.

“Are we going to ignore the recent attack? Why would we all be called in if not to discuss that!” Lorcan cried from across the room, and Rowan rolled his eyes. The young elf was an insolent creature and would be all the better with his pride knocked down to size.

“Believe it or not, we have been discussing how to manage the recent attack. This is an active war now. Do you think that bickering over what insignificant thing was enough for the Rebellion to rear their ugly head is a worthwhile use of time?”

Rowan turned his head, eyebrows rising at Morana next to him. She leant forward, her chin resting on the palm of her hand as she stared him down. Her brows were pulled tight over her eyes, and the wisps of shortened hairs that had been pinned back now covered her face. She looked the perfect picture of boredom as she looked blankly at the man.

“Your princess is right, Lord Raumond, and she should not have to remind you. But seeing you are as impatient as a child, let us answer your questions.” King Victor’s face was one of faint amusement, the kind of look that threatened to turn to bitter cruelty if pushed further.

Lorcan’s face turned a deep shade of crimson, and Rowan hid his glee at the sight. As one of the youngest members of the court, he was frequently thought a fool for his outbursts. Today may have taken the cake, however. Rowan knew that he was being used as the scapegoat to build Morana’s reputation, but it was amusing nonetheless.

“She said this is active war now. Well, who is going to oversee everything if you are busy? A king has many duties and those only increase under such circumstances. You have already ordered more horses trained, more barracks built, and more wards set. How are you going to ensure all of this occurs?” Lorcan began, trying to save some face. Rowan immediately saw the trap he had walked into.

Fury burned in his princess’s face as she spoke. “Do you forget this kingdom has an heir to the throne?”

“We do not forget, your Highness, but we do question how much influence others have over you,” a new voice called over the whispers. Malchus stood as he spoke, his eyes landing on Rowan with a heavy glare. There was no mistaking exactly whom he spoke about with his apparent concerns. Rowan expected the king to butt in, to shut his more-righteous-than-thou father down, but no such help came. He held his father’s glare as Morana spoke once more.

“I am not ignorant to the fact that I am young and untested, Lord, nor to the fact that without thorough training I am more likely to fall prey to the influence of those without our kingdom’s interests at heart. I am not, however, stupid, nor is His Majesty. There will be daily correspondences between us, and a trusted advisor will be present at all times so that neither they nor I fall for any unjust ploys. If that does not satisfy you, then I doubt anything but your appointment to the seat will.”

There was a pregnant pause, laden with tension before Malchus Greenfeld finally nodded his head in acquiescence and sat back in his seat. Rowan let out a breath that he was not aware he was holding as Morana returned the nod to his father. A faint satisfied smile crossed her face as she sat back in her chair, finally fixing the section of shortened hair that had worked free of its pins.

From there, they launched into war planning. Rowan smiled as he quickly realised that the king had been waiting for that exact moment to allow Morana to gain her control over the court. A simple trick, but one that at least put the lesser folk in their place. He knew that many would not be erred by it, his father included, but at least some would be less likely to attempt to push her. With him at her side, they would command the respect they both deserved. Together, they would make the perfect pair.