Page 88 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea
The king leveled a steely look in his direction. “It was necessary.”
Silence stretched.
Arick let out a slow breath, a quiet satisfaction rising in his chest. No more would MacIsaac be lurking in the shadows, twisting words and bullying Thomas.
“Now to our next order of business,” King Craig moved on. “A number of prisoners were released from the dungeons without authorization.”
Arick’s stomach churned. He had known doing so could lead to trouble. If there were consequences, he would face them. He squared his shoulders, waiting for his chance to speak.
“Prisoners, Father?” Ailsa interjected smoothly, her tone crisp and composed. Despite her petite frame, she radiated command. “The merfolk were being held in the lower levels — a section the steward’s report previously deemed unfit for long-term confinement. So it’s possible whoever released them was merely rescuing them from unsafe conditions.” She paused, flipping through a few neatly stacked papers. “Either that, or we may need to investigate why the crown was holding prisoners in such inhumane conditions.”
The king blinked.
Then he barked a laugh, loud and genuine. “Very well, then. Does anyone wish to challenge the princess’s interpretation?”
Silence.
“Good.” He dipped his quill and made a note on the parchment before him.
Arick let out a slow breath. Across the table, Ailsa remained composed, but a tiny triumphant smile curved the corners of her mouth.
He shook his head in quiet admiration.
“Now, if that is all, I believe we’re all eager to return to the business of cleaning up after the storm,” King Craig said, his gaze sweeping the table.
Queen Freya slid a parchment toward him.
“Ah, yes,” he said, peering at it. “How forgetful of me. The official presentation of the next crown prince of Toravik will be moved back a few days to allow for storm recovery. However, now seems as good a time as any to confirm one small detail.” His voice sharpened. “The identity of the person who will be presented.”
He looked around the room, gaze lingering on each face. Lord Beattie shifted uncomfortably, refusing to meet anyone’s eye. Arick met the king’s stare evenly. He’d already told Thomas his answer and had nothing left to apologize for.
Thomas rose to his feet. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his ears flushed red, but his voice rang clear.
“It’s me. I am the crown prince. It’s my birthright, and I will work hard to prove myself worthy of it.”
Arick nodded at him in pride. Thomas had never been a coward, but now he was ready to take charge.
The king turned back to the table. “Any objections?” His tone dared anyone to speak.
Beattie twitched as if tempted, but the silence that followed was heavy with warning. No one else moved.
“Excellent. No changes to that, then.” King Craig signed the parchment with a flourish and passed it back to Queen Freya.
“Well,” he said, standing. “Meeting adjourned. Let’s get back to work. If necessary, we’ll convene again to address the flooding and what our people need most.”
Arick stood, ready to join Thomas on an inspection of the damaged tower, when the king’s voice stopped him. “Arick, a quick word before you go.”
He stepped aside as the other council members filtered out. The queen and his cousins remained, lingering nearby.
King Craig moved to the window, hands clasped behind his back, staring out over the city and the harbor stretching beyond.
“Thomas knows this, but I think it’s worth stating plainly,” the king began. “My son will always have my support should he choose to be king.”
He paused, then turned to face Arick, his gaze steady.
“But I’m not blind to his difficulties. Or to the fact that there will always be men like Beattie and MacIsaac, waiting to exploit any weakness.” He stepped forward. “So I ask you plainly: Will you support him? Will you take your brother’s place on the council?”
Arick drew in a sharp breath. He’d already offered Thomas his loyalty, but this — this was a formal promise. A lifelong one.
