The group of siblings was ushered through the crowd by several attendants, as they headed for the distant hall, where the king’s council was waiting to meet with them all. Gareth felt a knot in his chest as they marched forward, wondering what lay in store for them. Of course, they had to name a successor. They could not leave the kingdom to go on without one, like a ship without a rudder. Gareth hoped that they would name him. Who else could they name?
Maybe they would use the meeting to name his sister as ruler. He looked at his siblings all around him, their faces set, grim and silent, and wondered if they would fight for the throne. They probably would; they all hated him, and after all, their father had made it clear that he wanted Gwen to rule. This was the one moment in his life that he really needed to fight. If he walked out of this meeting successful, he would walk out as ruler of the kingdom.
Yet he also wondered, with a sinking feeling, if maybe he was walking into a setup. Maybe they were summoning him to accuse him, in front of everyone, to present evidence that he had killed his father; maybe they would drag him off to be executed. His emotions swayed from optimism to anxiety, as he marveled at what drastic outcomes the meeting could have.
Finally they made it through the crowd, who were clearly waiting to hear the rulings of the council, and were ushered through an open arched door, promptly closed behind them by four guards.
Spread out before them was the grand, semi-circular table of the council, behind which sat the advisers to the king—in the same place they had sat for hundreds of years. It was strange to walk in here and not see his father seated on that throne. The huge, carved throne sat empty, for the first time in his life. The councilmembers faced it, as if waiting for a ruler to drop down from the sky and lead them.
The group of them walked down the center of the room, Gareth’s heart thumping, between the two halves of the semi-circular table, and found themselves, as they turned, standing before the dozen councilmembers. They all stared back, grim, and Gareth could not help but wonder if this were an inquisition. Seated with them, in a dainty throne off to the side, flanked by her attendants, was his mother. She watched over the proceedings with a blank face, and looked frozen in shock.
Seated at the center of the table was Aberthol, the oldest of the bunch, a scholar and historian, mentor of kings for three generations, looking positively ancient, etched with wrinkles, wearing his long, regal purple robe which he had probably worn since the days when his father was a boy. Being the eldest, and the wisest, the other council members clearly looked to him to lead the proceedings. He was flanked by Brom, Kolk, Owen, the treasurer, Bradaigh, his adviser on external affairs; Earnan, his tax collector; Duwayne, his adviser on the masses; and Kelvin, the representative of the nobles. It was a formidable group of men, and Gareth examined them all, trying to see if any were preparing to condemn him. None seemed to stare at him directly.
Aberthol cleared his throat as he looked down at a scroll, then looked up silently at the group of siblings.
“Our council wishes to begin by extending our sincerest condolences for the death of your father. He was a great man, and a great king. His presence in this chamber, and in this kingdom, will be sorely missed. I think it’s fair to say that this kingdom will never be the same without him. I had known him since the time he could walk, I counseled his father before him, and he was a dear friend to me. We will do everything in our power to find his assassin.”
Aberthol slowly surveyed them, and Gareth tried not to be paranoid as he saw him looking at him.
“I have known the lot of you since you were born; I am certain that your father is very proud of you. As much as we would like to give you time to mourn, there are pressing matters of ruling this kingdom that must be addressed. Which is why we have summoned you here today.”
He cleared his throat.
“The most pressing matter is our inquiry into your father’s assassination. We will gather a commission to investigate the cause and manner of his death, and to bring the killer to justice. Until we do, I think it is safe to say that no member of this kingdom will sit at ease. Including myself.”
Gareth could have sworn he saw his eyes stop at him, and he wondered if he were giving him a message. He looked away, trying not to let his mind go there. Gareth’s mind raced, as he scrambled to come up with a plan to divert attention away from him. He needed to frame a killer, and he needed to do it quickly.
“In the meantime, we sit in a kingdom without a king. It is a restless empire, and this is not a safe place to be. The longer we lack a ruler, the longer others may conspire to seize power, to overthrow the royal court. I needn’t tell you that there are many men that would like to have the throne.”
He sighed.
“The law of the Ring holds that the kingship must pass to the firstborn son of the father. In this case, it pains me to add, the firstborn legitimate son—with no offense meant to you, Kendrick.”
Kendrick bowed his head.
“None taken, sire.”
“That would mean then,” Aberthol said, clearing his throat, “that the kingship must pass to Gareth.”
Gareth felt a thrill at his words. He felt a rush of power beyond what he could describe.
“But my Liege, what of our sister, Gwendolyn?” Kendrick shot back.
“Gwendolyn?” Aberthol asked, surprise in his voice.
“Before our father died,” Kendrick continued, “he told us it was his wish that Gwendolyn should succeed him.”
Gareth’s face burned red, as the entire council turned and stared at Gwendolyn. She looked down to the ground, distraught, maybe even embarrassed. He assumed she was just putting on a show of humility. She probably wanted to rule even more than he.
“Is this true, Gwendolyn?” Aberthol asked.
“It is, my lord,” she answered softly, still looking down. “It is what my father wished. He made me vow to him that I would accept. And I vowed. I wish I hadn’t. I can think of nothing I want less.”
An excited and disturbed gasp spread amongst the council members, as they turned to each other, clearly caught off guard.
“A woman has never ruled the kingdom,” Brom said, agitated.
“Much less a young girl,” Kolk added.
“If we were to hand over the kingship to a girl,” Kelvin said, “surely the nobles would rebel, would vie for power. It would put us in a position of weakness.”
“Not to mention the McClouds,” Bradaigh added. “They would attack. They would test us.”