Serpent's Claim (Serpent's Touch 2)

“And as a human,” another one chimed in, “you really don’t have that much time to choose one, Your Majesty. Your life is short. The sooner you get married, the better.”

“What are you talking about?” I slapped both hands on the table. “My husband just passed away yesterday. His body has not even been absorbed by the land yet, and you’re trying to marry me off to someone else, already?”

Councilor Delahon nervously tugged at one of his bright pink senties while chewing his lip. “A swift marriage would be to the benefit of the kingdom, Your Majesty.”

“You’re the queen. King Zeldren made you one, and the queen you shall remain,” Councilor Azorin said in a pacifying voice.

“But for the sake of Lorsan!” Oharen roared. “Marry a High Lord and give the kingdom a king.”

“A gorgonian man. A true ruler,” someone said so softly, I couldn’t tell who that was. I shot a glance along the table, but they all avoided my eyes.

Anger boiled in my chest, speeding up my heart rate and heating my face. And maybe it burned so strong because deep inside, I knew they were right. Lord Adriyel had said it all before. And I was sure every other person in the kingdom felt that way.

For them, I was a weak human girl who had somehow tricked their dying king into giving her the crown. In their eyes, I was a huge risk to the kingdom’s stability.

I might feel capable, but they wouldn’t even give me a chance to prove myself.

Clasping his hands together, Councilor Delahon leaned over the table to me. “It really would be easier, Your Majesty, if you let a High Lord take over as the ruler of Lorsan.”

My back stiff, I fisted my hands under the table, bracing against their words.

Oharen slammed his fist on the table. “People of Lorsan are expecting the tournament. The High Lords and their champions have been arriving all night yesterday and all morning today. Let them compete.”

Councilor Zivras gripped the armrests of his chair. His terracotta-colored senties undulated agitatedly. “Let the Crown of Lorsan and your hand in marriage be the prize for the winner.”

“Let the strongest man win. This crown is too heavy for a human woman’s head.” Councilor Azorin threw his hands in the air in frustration.

“Queen Consort is an honorable position with fewer responsibilities,” someone offered.

“Exactly! You’re not really giving up anything.” Azorin shrugged.

If I let the tournament take place, someone strong and agile would win—a man, a High Lord, from a noble gorgonian bloodline. The marriage to someone like that would pacify the Council. It would nip at the bud any competition or speculation about finding me a suitable husband in the future.

Lorsan would have the king it wanted instead of the queen it got saddled with.

And where would that leave me?

The Queen Consort.

It was a supporting role, which might suit me better than the lead role I’d so boldly taken upon myself. Maybe I wouldn’t mind being supportive. I could be a partner in a true partnership, based on mutual respect. But that wasn’t how my future husband would see me.

It didn’t matter which one of the twenty-four High Lords would end up the winner. As their wife, they all would see me the way Lord Adriyel did—a crown to take, a body to use, a mind to ignore.

“Trust no one.”

I’d heard these words often. Wise words. But they weren’t entirely true. There was one person I absolutely had to trust. Always. It was me. I had to have faith in myself.

Clenching my hands into fists, I slowly rose from my seat.

The councilors stopped their bickering, staring at me. Silence reigned over the table.

“There will be no tournament,” I announced, my voice firm, my tone unyielding. “The crown will not be contested. Lorsan already has a ruler. Me.” I moved my gaze around the table from one face to another, giving time for my words to sink in. “The kingdom has a queen. There will be no king.”

A murmur of protests rolled through the room, but I wasn’t finished yet. I raised my hand, calling for silence.

“Instead of the tournament, I want a ceremony where each of the High Lords publicly pledges fealty to me.”

Throughout the history of Lorsan, the lords swore their loyalty to their sovereign. I might as well make a celebration out of it.

Councilor Oharen stared at me. “Are you demanding all twenty-four of our High Lords come to Ufaris? Now?”

I tilted my head, folding my arms across my chest. “They are coming already, aren't they? I may as well make their trip worthwhile.”

He blinked, saying nothing.

“When would you like to have the ceremony?” Councilor Azorin inquired.

“As soon as possible.” I turned on my heel, heading for the door.

This session was over.

“Your Majesty.” Councilor Delahon hurried after me. “A jolly celebration after the somber funeral has always been the way to part with the dead and rejoice in life. The crowd expects entertainment. The tournament was supposed to give that…”

I paused at the threshold.

“We’ll give them entertainment. Let’s celebrate with food and drinks. Let’s do games and shows. But there’ll be no tournament, no prize, and no winner.”

Once back in the king’s bedroom, I paced the room restlessly. Putting my foot down today was important, but defending my position would get much harder over time. This was just the beginning. The pressure to marry wasn’t going to disappear. With all the High Lords gathering in Ufaris now, it would only mount higher.

The very reason they all flocked to the king’s palace was to get a chance at the crown. I had just snatched that chance from them.

They wouldn’t give up that easily.

When Uzyni brought my lunch, I went to the king’s wardrobe room. It remained unchanged as I hadn’t ordered to clear it out yet. It felt too soon. Getting rid of his clothes and other things felt like banishing his spirit from the rooms that had been his for so long.

I took one of the king’s formal robes from a trunk.

“Take this to the Wardrobe Master.” I handed it to the maid. “Tell him to make me a dress for the ceremony. And tell him it has to be the best he’s ever made. Fit for the queen.”

King Zeldren had worn this emerald-green robe stitched with black and gold serpents to several formal functions before his death. I could wear it as is, to remind the crowd whose shoes I was filling in. But I wanted it altered.

I wished to send a message with my outfit, to show the High Lords that even though my power had been bestowed on me by their king, I intended to tailor it to fit my style. My governing the kingdom would be entirely my own.

That was a perfect way to shed the widow’s clothes and to transition into my new role—not just the king’s widow, but the queen in my own right.