It was when Kelewulf turned twelve that the madness took hold of his mother. Her sickness, Kelewulf was convinced, had been brought on by his father’s mistreatment of them both. And the madness had robbed Kelewulf of the one person he’d ever loved when she’d taken her own life in Vissergott.

And now the man was dead.

Sensing someone entering the great hall behind him, Kelewulf was careful to wipe away the sneer on his lips, replacing it with a look more becoming of a grieving son.

His cousin Erik joined him, standing respectfully at Kelewulf’s side as they stared down at the dead king. ‘He died a good Volken warrior’s death,’ he said.

‘Whatever that means.’

‘In battle. With his axe in one hand and his shield in the other. He will enter the Great Halls and meet the gods as a hero.’

‘And that is a good death, is it?’ Kelewulf said, unable to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

‘As good a one as any of us could hope for.’

‘If that is the case, then I’m afraid my own death will not be considered “a good one”.’

The silence that followed was uncomfortably long. Erik, like so many of the Volken people, felt uneasy around the pale-faced scholar. The Volken way was the warrior’s way, and Kel was anything but a warrior.

‘I’m glad I managed to find you on your own, cousin,’ Erik eventually said.

‘Oh?’

‘I … I wanted to know how things sit with you … regarding my father’s claim to the throne. While the decision was voted for by the high council, I suspect there might be some who disagree with it. I would like to know if you are one of them. After all, the throne could just as easily have gone to you.’

Kelewulf smiled inwardly. His uncle, Mirvar Rivengeld, had ascended the throne and this had all but ruled out Kelewulf’s chance of ever taking that role. There had been rumours at court he was unhappy about this. What nobody in this or any of the neighbouring kingdoms could possibly know was that Kelewulf had never harboured any wish to rule over these … savages. No, let his cousin Erik and other oafish axe-swingers like him rule Stromgard; Kelewulf had other, grander ideas.

Seeing that Erik was watching him, Kelewulf forced his lips into a humble smile. ‘It is the right of the council to vote that the crown can pass from brother to brother if they think it is for the good of the people. The crown is in safe hands with your father. He is a just man and a great warrior, perhaps even greater than my father.’ When Erik put a consoling arm across his shoulders, Kelewulf cringed. He hated to be touched and he wanted nothing more than to peel himself away from the unsolicited contact.