Chapter Text
There is no killer more relentless than disease. It cannot be bribed, does not discriminate, and knows nothing of mercy, for it drives its victims to utter exhaustion before surrendering them to death. Not even a king possessed the power to halt such a scourge.
Chris had understood that truth on the day his father closed his eyes forever and the weight of the crown was placed upon his shoulders at the age of fourteen.
Until then, his mother had ruled as regent, for the kingdom had required harsh measures to contain the plague that had swept across the land—the very plague that had taken the king’s life. For years, the young king had lived surrounded by the fear of that unseen terror, having witnessed firsthand that neither the palace gates nor its finest physicians were capable of destroying an enemy invisible to the human eye.
And now, after years of peace without a single sign of the plague, it had returned to haunt him once more.
Not long ago, the kingdom had been celebrating the queen’s birthday, and now, scarcely two months later, the young king and his sister stood beside their mother’s grave as she was laid to rest after being struck down by a merciless fever. The physicians had done everything within their power, but the illness had prevailed, and she now rested beside her late husband.
Chris slipped an arm around his sister’s shoulders, drawing her close and offering himself as a refuge for her grief. Claire accepted it without hesitation.
Throughout the palace, every curtain was drawn and every vase of roses removed. Chris had ordered that neither he nor his sister was to be disturbed under any circumstances. The servants had no choice but to wait for further instructions.
Fortunately, those instructions came no more than a week later.
On a quiet morning, the doors to the king’s private apartments were finally opened by His Majesty himself, fully dressed and prepared for breakfast. He instructed the staff not to wake his sister to join him; he wished to spare her from her duties for as long as possible.
He ordered a meeting with his council, but while his advisors were making their way to the palace, he withdrew into his study and began reading the notes taken in the parliamentary chamber. It was the room he always used when he wanted to be alone.
His father had taught him that clarity came most easily in solitude.
As the future king, he had been educated with painstaking care. Every lesson had been chosen with the hope that one day he would become a wise ruler.
Well… that day had come.
He remembered his mother—how she had always carried herself with quiet dignity. She spoke with absolute authority, and he could not recall a single decision she had made that proved to be wrong.
How had she done it?
He wished he had spoken with her and his father more often about matters like these. He should have treasured them while they were still alive. But back then, he had been too busy being a child with his little sister.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts, and he quickly forced those memories aside, anchoring himself in the present.
“Come in.”
The door opened, revealing his oldest friend, Barry Burton, one of the few marquesses for whom Chris had genuine affection.
The king spread his arms and stepped forward to embrace him with a broad smile. It was a relief to see someone dear to him after days of self-imposed isolation.
“I’m glad to see your strength has returned, Your Majesty,” Barry said.
“Well, it had to return sooner or later, didn’t it?” Chris replied, bitterness lingering in his voice. “Running away was never an option.”
Barry chose not to pry into the young king’s thoughts. He had something far more important to discuss.
He walked to the desk, reached inside his coat, withdrew a rolled parchment, and said,
“In any case, Your Majesty could not have chosen a better time to resume your duties.”
Chris looked at the document.
“What is it?”
“Your mother’s instructions. She asked me to take care of certain matters while she was ill.”
Chris listened in silence, giving him his full attention.
“The Dowager Queen entrusted me with the task of finding a wife for Your Majesty.”
Chris stared at him for several seconds, struggling to process what he had just heard.
“What?”
His voice rose in disbelief.
“When did she decide that?”
Barry looked at him, momentarily stunned.
“Your Majesty, may I ask you something?”
Chris frowned in confusion.
“Yes, of course.”
“Then allow me the liberty of repeating what your mother never stopped reminding me of: the throne needs an heir, and the king still has no intention of marrying.”
“I had—and still have—far more pressing concerns,” Chris protested.
“Yes. And among those concerns is your duty to give this nation a prince.”
“I have responsibilities to Parliament.”
“Once a prince has been conceived in fertile soil, it is the mother’s duty to—”
“I decide what our priorities are, Barry,” Chris said firmly.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Chris stepped away from the desk, unrolled the parchment, and began reading everything his mother had written. She had been meticulous, carefully outlining the kingdom’s needs and the conditions required to address each one. She had even left notes in the margins for her son.
One sentence, however, struck him more deeply than all the rest—a simple dedication:
I know we placed a great deal of responsibility in your hands, but I know you will do what is right.
That was exactly what he intended to do.
“If she entrusted you with this task…” Chris began, choosing his words carefully, “tell me—have you already begun looking for such a wife?”
Barry relaxed slightly. The question did not necessarily mean acceptance; it meant that Chris was assessing the ground beneath his feet.
“Yes. I visited several households where I believed I might find young women well suited to the role of queen.”
“And?”
“Naturally, many powerful families would be delighted to marry their daughters to the rightful king. But of all the young ladies I met, only three struck me as women who might genuinely interest Your Majesty.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Chris’s mouth. He trusted Barry’s judgment because Barry was a good man—but more than that, a happily married one. He had been married for eight years now, and his wife was expecting their second child. As Chris’s oldest friend, he knew him well enough to understand what qualities were most likely to capture his attention.
“Very well,” Chris said. “Who are these ladies?”
“Your mother began her search during the last grand event held at the palace,” Barry replied. “You may remember that the Ethiopian royal family attended that celebration.”
Chris thought for a moment. If memory served, the eldest daughter he had been introduced to had been about nine years older than he was. He could not deny that she had been breathtakingly beautiful; he had found himself glancing at her throughout the entire evening.
“I remember.”
“Your mother was greatly impressed by Lady Sheva Alomar.”
“So was I,” Chris admitted without thinking. Realizing how easily that could be misunderstood, he quickly corrected himself. “I mean… she was a very pleasant woman, and we had a great deal in common.”
Barry quietly filed that reaction away. Sheva was undoubtedly a strong contender for his king’s heart. But there were still two other candidates, both of them much closer to home.
“Morgan Lansdale has also expressed interest in offering the hand of his ward, the Baroness of House Sherawat. Given her standing, I doubt he would consider marrying her to anyone beneath a duke.”
Chris remembered little about the young woman herself, but House Sherawat held a seat in Parliament. An alliance with such a family would certainly be useful. His father had never fully trusted the late baron’s cousin, who had inherited the seat after Baron Sherawat’s death—Albert Wesker. Chris, however, had never had any personal quarrel with the man. In fact, he admired Wesker’s unwavering composure.
“It would be an interesting alliance,” Chris said. “And the last one?”
“She is the daughter of a lord whom I had the pleasure of meeting—Jill, of House Valentine.”
“I don’t know them.”
“That is understandable, Your Majesty. They possess neither political influence nor much presence at court. They are a rather private family.”
“So they hold little social importance.”
“I would not say that.” Barry crossed the room to a bookshelf and pulled out a volume containing a detailed map of the surrounding territories. Opening it, he pointed to a neighboring county.
“Lord Valentine is a man who did not acquire his rank through marriage. His wife may have brought a respectable dowry, but that is all. She came from a wealthy Belgian family. What I discovered is that he built a disciplined fighting force of his own. He inherited his title from his liege lord, Lord Spencer, shortly before the old man passed away. The family resides in the neighboring county.”
Chris fell silent. He was not particularly attached to titles, but he knew they were always worth considering.
The strongest match was Sheva.
If he were thinking like his father, however, he would choose Jessica because of her family’s importance in Parliament.
“They are excellent candidates, my friend.”
Barry smiled.
“But once again,” Chris continued, “my duty to produce an heir will have to wait behind the kingdom’s more urgent concerns.”
“Of course. Do as you believe is best.”
Chris looked once more at the parchment his mother had left behind. Uncertainty weighed heavily on his heart. Perhaps grief was still clouding his judgment. He had been using it as an excuse for everything lately, waiting for the day he would finally understand what was truly troubling him.
“We should go, Barry.”
“Where to, Your Majesty?”
“I must present myself before Parliament.”