Royals of Ruemri Book I: Betrothal

Chapter 4 - Part 2

SOREN found himself waiting in the White Garden alongside Jiri while the High Council meeting persisted. The notion of his fellow faie being subjected to slavery, stripped of their freedom and compelled to yield to humans, was an idea he couldn't easily reconcile. If this rumor reached the ears of the Twelve Clans before its verification, Soren dreaded the imminent outcome. Regardless of any agreements in place, he was certain it would spark another war.

As a faie, he felt a profound obligation to forewarn his people about this egregious atrocity, even if it meant the dissolution of his engagement to the prince or relinquishing his role as a Court Healer. Yet, he couldn't simply ignore the mounting fear and unease creeping beneath his skin. He realized this could potentially rupture the harmony between faie and humans, culminating in the chaotic destruction he dreaded for all involved.

Soren's innate calling was healing, and pacifism ran deep in his veins; violence was something he detested entirely.

His anxious pacing halted abruptly as the council chamber door swung open, and several council members representing the ten kingdoms emerged, engaged in hushed conversations too faint for Soren to decipher. Upon noticing him observing, they quieted, turning their heads away.

Prince Varce of Selemea, Duke Leio from Istel, and Princess Fora, third in line to the Zuan throne, appeared particularly fatigued and drained. Soren empathized, understanding their weariness stemmed mainly from the rebels scattered throughout their kingdoms, lurking in the shadows, awaiting the opportune moment to disrupt their hard-won peace.

A moment later, Deputy High Commander Jadel drew close to him. "Your Highness," he said, and Soren had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He saw the slight twitch in the corner of the man's mouth, and Soren could feel that he was biting back a smile. Jadel obviously noticed his subtle discomfort.

The title made him cringed. He was not used to be called Your Highness or High Consort Presumtive. But Jadel won't stop calling him that even if Soren begged him not to. He even requested to just be casual and call him by his name, which, obviously, Jadel happily ignored.

He's just plain stubborn. Very stubborn, like a certain Andalva that Soren was betrothed to. It seemed like the Andalva Household had stubbornness running through their veins, he concluded.

"His Majesty wants to see you," Jadel finished.

As they entered the chamber, High King Alizade sat at the head of the rectangular mahogany table, his posture slouched, fingers pressing against the bridge of his nose in evident weariness. Prince Raffe and Commander Salav hovered over a map spread across the table's surface, engrossed in discussions about routes, cavalry, and troop movements. Their eyes narrowed considerably, sharpened deftly, and the hard set of their jaws were easy to see.

These men are ready for war, Soren grimly assessed to himself, shaking his head inwardly. He cursed his mind for conjuring up dreadful scenarios of what these men might do to his brethren.

At that moment, Soren held onto the belief that they stood as allies. At the very least, they shared a common purpose—to quell the violence between the two prominent species of Ysandre. He hoped fervently that this alliance would persist and not devolve into something else.

"You called me, your Majesty," he muttered after bowing down to the High King.

"Soren, my lad. Come and sit beside me."

Soren obeyed and took the chair next to High King Alizade. The chamber grew quiet as Prince Raffe and High Commander Salav stopped their discussion and regarded him with keen and knowing eyes. Deputy High Commander Jadel, on the other hand, remained standing behind Soren, making him more uncomfortable in addition to the attention that he was currently getting. It felt as if they were making sure he was not going to suddenly bolt out of the room.