Page 391 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

Chapter 5

Dusk smudged the sky when Boris trudged up the steps to the throne room in Prislav, not pausing to take off the white fur cloak. The usual crowd of courtiers and petitioners was gone, so the king had finished hearings for the day. But the route to the royal apartments lay through the throne room, so he crossed the empty hall and kept going.

As Sviatopolk was a bastard, he'd had much more modest chambers in the palace than those given to Boris and his legitimate brothers, so it didn't surprise Boris at all to find his brother had already moved to the king's apartments.

What did surprise him was that his brother sat alone, his head and shoulders bowed with the weight of the kingdom he now carried.

"Is the crown so heavy, brother?" Boris asked.

Sviatopolk lifted his head. "Boris? Oh, you do not know how good it is to see you, brother!"

The two men embraced, and as Sviatopolk leaned against him for just that moment, Boris wondered if it was the weight of kingship he felt, a burden that was far more than one man could bear.

"How fared you in the campaign against the Bisseni?" Sviatopolk asked eagerly. "Father talked of little else in his final days. He made me swear I would not hinder you in your work, preserving our borders against those cowardly raiders. His greatest regret was not leaving a peaceful kingdom for his people."

Boris forced a smile. "The campaign ended in victory, or I should still be out there fighting them. What few Bisseni that were left fled into the mountains. They will not trouble us again for a while. And surely that cannot be all our father spoke of in his final moments. He named his heir, did he not?"

Sviatopolk shook his head.

What? A flash of triumph sparked in Boris's breast. He knew Father had not chosen Sviatopolk as his successor.

"I fear Father was too ill to know what he said at the end, for I scarcely believe it myself. In between his constant talk of you and your campaign, he made me swear to take the throne so you could stay in the field and fight. When the kingdom needs a king to make war on one front and another to sit on the throne and keep the peace with our neighbours, he had to choose, he said. So he said I should take the throne, so that you could command our armies. His final act was to declare the legitimacy of my birth, so that I might be crowned upon his death. I protested that you would make a better king, but he ordered me to be silent unless I wanted to go to war in your place. Heaven knows I am no warrior." Sviatopolk laughed.

As a bastard born of the king and a serving girl, Sviatopolk's blood had not been considered noble enough to cross swords with the other princes and young noblemen in the practice yard. Yet now he was the highest man in the land, with no sword skills to speak of. No, Sviatopolk would not have survived even his first battle against the Bisseni.

"So it is true? Father named you as his heir?" Boris pressed.

"For my sins, yes. I wish he had chosen someone better suited, but how can any son deny his father one last dying request?" Sviatopolk's eyes appeared haunted for a just a moment, before he managed a smile. "But you are here, and victorious, too, so we must have a feast to celebrate. I'll send word to the kitchens, and you shall sit at my right hand at the high table, so that we may drink to our father's memory, and the peace he did not live to see."

"I would be honoured, Your Majesty. And on the morrow, I will swear fealty to you, before the whole court," Boris said. His brother would not lie about such things. His father had chosen him to be king, with Boris as his general. Indeed, how could any dutiful son deny his father's last request?

Family did not betray family, after all.

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