Sir Gavin shook his head. “Prince Oren pleads well, but he’s outnumbered by greedy men. The mere fact that they deliberate at all shows they never meant for the new king to have power. It matters not who takes the throne in their eyes. They’ll choose the easiest to control. Some among them might think a boy raised as a kitchen stray would be easier to manipulate, but Achan’s deeds have proven him too noble to be their puppet.”
What deeds? Achan could recall having done nothing to gain any reputation at all. Except fall in the moat. He stepped to the bench and sat down beside Sir Caleb.
Achan’s stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten breakfast, and now he’d missed lunch. It had to be almost dinnertime. He glanced quickly over the crowd and saw that most were staring at him. Gidon’s miniature throne was empty.
Sparrow slid up beside Sir Gavin. “It’s true,” he hissed in a strangely low voice. His face was white, but all signs of tears were gone. “I saw scrolls in Master Hadar’s chamber, letters. And he told me himself that Lord Levy promised him a seat on a ‘new council’ if he would report the king’s every move.”
“Insolence!” Inko snarled.
“New council? When did he tell you this, lad?” Sir Gavin asked.
Sparrow wrinkled his tiny nose. “Four days ago, I believe.”
“And what of the scrolls?” Sir Rigil asked.
“Correspondence between Lord Nathak and Master Hadar. They planned to meet here in Mahanaim to discuss their plans. Lord Nathak pays Master Hadar to watch Prince Gidon, to see that no one attempts assassination.”
“So the old man is taking bribes from both sides, yet he is turning them to being against each other,” Inko said. “We should be destroying him.”
Prince Oren burst out of the side chamber, strode up to Achan, and drew his sword.
The crowd gasped.
Achan shrank back against the wall.
But instead of striking, Prince Oren knelt before Achan and offered the blade to him on his palms. “I swear fealty and service to the crown of Er’Rets, to ever give wise counsel, to uphold the laws and customs of our land, to serve where I might, according to my knowledge and ability. Thus swear I, Prince Oren Hadar, to you, my king.”
A chill broke out over Achan’s body. His heart rate thundered and his face flushed. He glanced at Sparrow, whose eyes were as wide as his, then to Sir Gavin. The Great Whitewolf nodded.
Achan didn’t know what to do or say. With shaky hands, he took the impressive weapon from Prince Oren and set it on his knees. He glanced again to Sir Gavin, who only nodded again, eyebrows raised.
Sir Caleb leaned close and his thoughts flooded Achan’s mind. Say, “Thank you.”
Achan licked his lips. “Thank you.”
Sir Caleb. You accept.
“I accept.”
Sir Caleb nudged Achan’s elbow. Now give it back.
Achan turned the weapon, hilt out, and Prince Oren accepted it. He bowed low until his head disappeared below Achan’s knees, then stood and walked back to his seat at the high table.
“This does not bode well,” Sir Caleb said.
Sir Gavin sighed. “No. If Prince Oren left the chamber already, he’s unhappy with the turn the discussion has taken.”
Sir Rigil stepped forward and went to his knees before Achan. “Prince Oren declares you the rightful heir. That is more than enough for me. My sword is yours, my king, however you see fit to use it.”
Achan repeated the awkward procedure with Sir Rigil. When the knight sheathed his blade, Bran jumped forward and fell onto his knees.
Achan tensed again. “Oh, no. Bran, please don’t.”
Do not insult him by making light of his oath, Sir Caleb warned.
Bran removed his sword and swore fealty to Achan as Sir Rigil and Prince Oren had done. Achan went through the motions quicker this time, feeling like he was playing a game with a bunch of friends. He tried to act solemn, but it was fear, not pride that heated his cheeks. The crowd had arranged itself in a semicircle around the impromptu fealty ceremony, and when Bran stood, a nobleman and his wife knelt down in his place.
Achan’s chest tightened. He’d never seen people bow before Prince Gidon in such a way. With Gidon, they knelt out of fear. They cowered. These people beamed with hope. They wanted a real king to lead them. Achan couldn’t do that or be that. He didn’t know how.
Regardless, he forced himself to smile and spit out every phrase Sir Caleb sent to his mind. He couldn’t help but wonder, Who is the puppet prince now?
After twenty minutes of this, during which everyone who desired to swear fealty to Achan had done so, the doors to the side chamber grated open, and the Council members came out. The people scurried back to their seats to hear the verdict.
Achan didn’t want to know what the Council would say. Either way, life as he knew it would never be the same.
The prince came back and sat on his throne, accompanied by his Shield, Sir Kenton. The Kingsguard stood beside the throne and blocked Achan’s view of Gidon.
When all the Council members were in their places at the high table, the chairman spoke. “We have verified the validity of Sir Gavin’s claim. Master Achan Cham is the true son of King Axel Hadar.”
Much of the audience broke out in applause. Some heckled. With Sir Kenton in the way, Achan could only see Gidon’s ear, which was glowing red.
Lord Levy pounded his gavel, and the crowd quieted. “We are now ready to take a vote as to whom this Council feels would better serve Er’Rets as king.”
Sir Gavin stood and clutched the shoulder of Achan’s shirt. “Be ready to go. They will vote for Nathak’s son. They can better control him. And then we had better not be around.”
Achan pulled his doublet on and fastened the laces with shaky fingers. At least it gave him something to do.
“Where will you go?” Sir Rigil asked.
“Into hiding for now,” Sir Gavin said. “We need time to develop a plan.”
“You will keep in touch with Prince Oren?”
“Aye.”
Sir Rigil nodded. “We will stay with him then, and serve you however we can, though we must do our part to free the Duchess of Carm from her invaders.”
Sir Gavin raised a bushy eyebrow at Achan and jerked his head toward Sir Rigil.
Achan realized Sir Rigil had been speaking to him when he’d said “serve you.” He croaked, “Thanks.”
Sir Caleb groaned softly. You need much training in diplomacy. Tell him you wish we could be of assistance in that matter. That your prayers go with them.
Achan regurgitated Sir Caleb’s words. Sir Rigil thanked him. Bran bowed, face beaming with admiration. Achan caught Sparrow’s glowing smile from behind Inko.
The chairman spoke. “Prince Oren Hadar of Arman. How do you cast your vote?”
“I vote for the true king, my nephew, the real Gidon Hadar, who is also known as Master Achan Cham.”
Several people in the crowd cheered wildly. Tears threatened Achan’s eyes. He blinked them back and berated himself for the weakness. What a great way to show what a kitten he was.
The chairman continued, “Sir Choresh Orson, Duke of Therion.”
The hairy man said, “Master Achan Cham.”
The crowd cheered again.
“Sir Dovev Falkson, Duke of Barth. How do you vote?”
“I vote in favor of Prince Gidon, the old one, that one.” The grey-skinned man pointed to Prince Gidon, who sat sneering with folded arms.
The audience gave sporadic applause, though someone hissed. Gidon glared at Achan. If the people were this divided, what would that mean for the Council’s authority? Or a king’s reign? Would there be civil war?