Alfie’s face hardened. “I haven’t been in this bed even a month—”

“I don’t care,” True cut in. “The Alfie Henriksson I know wouldn’t care. He fought battles that were useless and unwinnable out of loyalty to me and the belief one day it would be over, and the future would be better. Now he has a battle that is crucial to win, and it’s winnable, and he falters.”

“Fuck you, True,” Alfie spat.

“Good,” True whispered and bent to him. “Shovel it at me, I can take it. But her,” he kept bent and pointed toward the door, “maybe she can’t, but you don’t want to find out if that’s the case.”

He decided that was enough, straightened, and without another word to his friend, he walked out of the room.

Bronagh did not meet his eyes when he was in the hall, and True gave her that, turning to make his way to his and Farah’s chambers.

It was not late, it was not early. Not long ago, he and Farah had dined with a number of men and charmed folk, for even if True had an insurgency on his hands, the Beast possibly risen and lying in wait, his friends in their realms dealing with serious and dangerous issues, he had not given up on his idea for the future of Wodell.

He could think of no other future than one where they quelled this Rising and defeated the Beast.

Which meant there was a future, and he had to plan for it.

And that meant, when (not if), they recovered the coin Carrington stole from them, he would utilize it to build a parliament building, adjacent offices for its members and staff, and to hold elections throughout his land.

Emissaries from various provinces and clans of charmed folk were astonished by this idea, but receptive to it. Tremendously so.

This meant there was much to plan, much to do, his people needed to be educated about this idea and understand that they were not losing their king. He was not shirking his duty. He would continue to be the last word in his realm and deeply involved in its governing.

But they would have a say.

He was pleased at the response to this idea.

He was also tired just thinking of implementing it.

Exhausted.

He did not sleep well in the norm.

But since his mother’s death, he had barely slept at all.

If he could have his greatest wish, he would take Farah somewhere remote and private, maybe the Royal Cottage on the sea outside Welling Harbor and hole in. No meetings. No conferences. No summits. No strategy sessions.

Just his wife and himself, a bed, perhaps a few books, the waves lapping the shores…and sleep.

He could not do that.

He might not be able to do that for months, or with all he had planned, even years.

But he wanted nothing but to do just that.

Helga had said she’d needed a word with Farah after dinner, therefore Farah had followed Helga, and True had gone to visit with Alfie on his own (and in the end, that had been a boon, for he would not wish his wife to see Alfie behave that way, and he might not have said what he needed to say after he did).