Page 123 of King's Warrior

Niam sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin. He tuned out all around him, reaching down deep into his heart. After the battle and its aftermath, no one could consider him weak or defenseless. Perhaps he should strengthen the military. “Would you tell me the names of those visitors?”

“Gladly, Your Majesty, but they’ve all been arrested.”

Once more, Niam sought out Rufe.

Rufe. The perfect man to advise Niam about his forces and justice. “You’ve shortchanged yourself,” Niam said, returning his attention to Willem.

“What do you mean, Your Majesty?”

“You spared four lives, not two. I will be forever grateful for your efforts to save my family. If we’re trading a life for a life, I owe you two more.” Please let Niam not make a mistake. However, while the people needed to see his firm hand in action when the situation warranted, they also needed to witness his mercy.

Willem’s expression turned hopeful. “Could you please spare my mother? Although she knew of the plot, my father was a hard man. She’d never go against him. Like me, she was content with what we had. She also feared Whreyn.”

Niam took the time to mull over the words. “Your mother and brothers will not threaten me or this kingdom?”

A note of hopefulness crept into Willem’s tone. “No, Your Majesty. One of my brothers wants to be a scholar. The other plans to serve in the military when he’s old enough.”

Niam met Rufe’s gaze. Rufe gave a barely perceptible nod. “Then allowing them to pursue their dreams is in the kingdom's best interest. That’s still three lives, Willem.”

Willem’s hope evaporated. “I betrayed you. The punishment is death.”

“You bargained for my life.” Though Niam didn’t believe for a single moment that Whreyn wouldn’t have killed Niam, his mother, and his sons, Willem thought he was doing the right thing.

Willem remained quiet, staring at his hands in his lap. So small. So lost. Scarcely older than a boy himself.

Niam raised Willem’s head with two fingers under the chin. “Willem. I am offering you your life. You must vow to me you’ll never attempt to betray me again. You will be watched, but you and your family can remain in your home as long as you abide by Delletinian laws.”

“But I don’t deserve—”

“You don’t deserve to die. Besides, anyone Whreyn sent after us never succeeded. The plot helped me achieve the goal of including our kingdom in the empire. We still haven’t located Zanial.” He’d have a lot to answer for when Niam did.

Willem stared at a point over Niam’s shoulder. “You won’t. He outlived his usefulness. Whreyn used his example to further convince me to do his bidding.” His eyes filled with tears. “I’msorry, Your Majesty. So, so sorry. I promise to forever be your loyal subject.”

This from a man who once called Niam by name. Never again, inspiring a surprising sense of loss. No need to dwell on the past. One day, they’d have to have a longer conversation. Not here, not now. “Have you been taking notes for this meeting?”

“Yes… yes… Your Majesty. Until you… you know.”

“Then I suggest you get back to work. We’ll discuss the matter more later.” Niam studied his new advisors; some leaned forward, showing keen interest; others appeared bored, but none showed guilt. Time would tell. “Do you, my new advisors, have any other matters to present?”

“Just one, Your Majesty,” a countess from a remote area of the kingdom said, her hair gone white with age. “Though now might not be the time.”

“What is it?”

“You’ve taken a consort, but not with a formal ceremony in the great hall, as your father, his father, and his father before him did. After all this sorrow, we could use a joyous occasion. A royal wedding, or at least some formal acknowledgment of your bond, would go a long way toward healing the wounds of our people.”

Maybe so. Niam also knew the right person for the job. He loved planning events but couldn’t spare time in the near future. “Make an appointment to discuss the matter with my mother. Late spring should give her plenty of opportunity to over think and over plan every minor detail.”

Niam watched the advisors leave. “Lord Bradford?” Niam called.

A squat man twice Niam’s age turned. “Yes, your majesty?”

“Please escort Willem to his quarters. You’re to remain there, Willem, until someone comes to see you home.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Bradford and Willem both answered.

Niam collapsed back into his chair, head leaned back, eyes closed. “I think that went well,” he said in Cormiran.

Draylon took the seat he’d vacated to watch over Willem. “I didn’t understand all of it, but I got the general idea. You’re letting Willem live.”

---