“That’s for the gods to decide. In any event, we cannot delay what must be done any longer. You are my only son. You were right about our enemies being scavengers, except most of them are right here in Marchessault, not beyond our borders. Vultures circle the throne in search of carrion. You must produce an heir as swiftly as possible, though a whole nest of them would be preferable. They cannot be bastards, which means you must find yourself a wife. Tomorrow. Or the day after at the latest. Actually, yesterday would be better.”

“You’re joking. There is far too much to be accomplished. The Kinkallians are out for blood. That murderer, the Fire Eater, is still on the loose. Magic use is rising again, and people are afraid. There are rumors of strange monsters being sighted along the edges of Lostwood.”

His father waved all of that away with a wrinkled hand, as though his son was worrying over nothing and not an entire list of significant problems that, taken as a whole, could result in the destruction of the very kingdom they were responsible for governing. “I’m sure you can squeeze in a ball or two to select a bride. Or if you prefer, I could simply send that cart filled with coin you were talking about earlier to the eligible princess of your choice and we can expedite things. She could be with child before the next Moons Day celebration if we’re lucky. I know you haven’t had time for romance as of late, or ever, but I can teach you the mechanics of the act. I may not be the best artist, but I can draw you a diagram easily enough.”

“I know how…you’re teasing me again, aren’t you? Father, this talk of finding a wife and creating heirs is absurd. You’re in bed looking like a corpse and talking of me impregnating hypothetical women I’ve never met.”

“And yet I speak of your duty to your kingdom, do I not?”

Tomas closed his eyes, not to shut out the truth his father spoke of, but because he was right in many ways. “If I find this—this—bride, my future queen, do you promise to live on to meet your grandchildren?”

“Ah, I have taught you well. Never give anything unless you’re getting something you desire in return. Alas, I outrank you, so your negotiating power is rather limited, I’m afraid.”

“Just promise me.”

“Fine. I promise.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yes, I am. I cannot promise to extend my own life, for as much power as I have, I am no god. Shocking, I know, but true. Now, I fear exhaustion has me in its grip once more. Please, let me rest. And when I next awaken, I expect to hear detailed plans on how you will protect our throne by filling it with a long, hale line of future rulers.”