The Rule

Prince True

The King’s Study, Birchlire Castle, Notting Thicket

WODELL

“I will do no such thing.”

“You will. The papers will be ready in the morn. The heralds ride out at seven sharp to share the king speaks at ten o’clock. By that time, the papers will be signed and recorded. You will make your announcement, then I will make mine.”

“My wife’s body is barely cold, and you make a play for my crown,” he snapped.

It was unfortunate his father mentioned his dead mother.

Very unfortunate.

And Aramus was not there with him then.

Wallace, Luther, Bram and Florian—the latter two sporting bandages, Bram’s under his shirt around his middle, Florian’s over his trousers around his left thigh—were there.

And they did not lift a finger or even open their mouths to stop True from rushing his father across his study and pinning him bodily against the wall.

“Alfie took two arrows to protect her,” he snarled into his sire’s face.

“That is his job,” his father spat back.

“You dove behind a pew to save yourself, leaving your wife an open target,” True went on.

“It is not in this country’s best interests to lose its monarch.”

“Then why did you let this country’s true monarch take six arrows?”

Wilmer spluttered in insult.

“You will sign those papers,” True gritted.

“I will do nothing of the sort!” Wilmer shouted.

“You will either abdicate or I’ll take your crown,” True told him. “For on the morrow, if those papers are not signed, on the grounds of your incompetence, I’ll declare war on the reign of King Wilmer of Wodell. I will lead my guard to your guard. And when I do, your guard will dismount and lay their weapons down in surrender. Alfie cannot ride. That means, in front of all, the two hundred royal guard that protects this castle will lay down their arms to five men.”

“They wouldn’t,” Wilmer whispered.

“They will. I’ve asked each man myself and they’ve already vowed fealty to me. Now, do you want that spectacle to end your reign?” True asked. “Or do you want to share with your people that you are beside yourself with grief at the loss of your wife, beside yourself with mortification at your misreading of the true nature of your advisor, and you feel it’s in the best interests of the realm in this trying time to abdicate to your son?”

“I will not be recorded in the Go’Doan tomes as the Dellish king who gave up his throne,” Wilmer bit.

“Call out,” True urged, stepping away from him. “Call out now, Father, to the guard outside your doors. Call out.”

Wilmer, breathing heavily in anger, scowled at his son.

What he did not do was call out to his guard.

“You know they won’t come,” True said quietly.

Father and son stared at each other.

Wilmer broke the silence.

“I cannot believe you’re doing this to me.”