What can I do to gain favor? asked the tax collector to the Master of Jackals.
Marry well.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
The newspaper cartoon displayed a baby with a shotgun in one hand and a scepter in the other, a crown of bullets sitting askew on his head. On one side, grotesque caricatures of Lagrimari refugees gobbled food from huge bowls, while on the other, waifish Elsiran farmers split a single loaf of bread.
An editorial on the same page detailed Prince Jaqros’s plan to starve his own people in favor of the refugees. It dredged up the swirling chaos surrounding his mother’s emigration after his father’s death—she had renounced her citizenship before fleeing the country. Those had been dark days.
Of course the reporters did not mention his father’s mistreatment—that was a secret no one knew. The damage the former Prince Regent had caused with words and occasionally with fists. How Jack hadn’t been able to protect either of them. How the light had fled his mother’s eyes until she’d had to leave. Jack’s fingers dug into his palms at the memory.
Today’s newspaper article reported “no confidence that the offspring of a woman who many consider a traitor to her country could effectively rule.” His recent reckless undercover mission and subsequent disappearance were laid out. He was young and headstrong and prone to rash behavior.
Jack slammed the paper shut and tossed it to the ground. Usher stooped to pick it up, smoothing the folds and placing it neatly on the bureau.
“What happens if I abdicate?” he asked, seriously considering the idea.
Usher sat next to Jack in the armchair in front of the fireplace, a finger to his lips in thought. “Your second cousin Frederiq is a lovely boy, but a twelve-year-old Prince Regent would fare little better in the press, I’m afraid.”
Jack groaned. “The Council would run that child ragged and rule unchecked. Sovereign only knows what manner of damage they’d cause if left entirely to their own devices.” He rose and leaned against the mantelpiece. “I don’t know what to—”
His secretary knocked on the door then stuck her head in when he replied.
“Minister Nirall for you, Your Grace.”
Jack sighed. “Show him in, Netta. Thank you.”
Nirall entered, his normally jovial face grim. Jack forced a warm greeting and bid him to sit.
“You’ve seen today’s paper, Your Grace?”
“Unfortunately.”
“What passes for journalism these days is offensive,” Nirall said with a sniff. He shook his graying head. “However, this refugee business has the people on edge.”
“And they blame me? For failing to turn away these threadbare women and children? Is that what the people are saying?”
“Your Grace, the people simply want to know that their Prince Regent and their Council hear their voices and have their best interests at heart. They’re afraid helping the refugees is taking away vital resources from our own people.”
“And the rest of the Council has concern for their interests? Giving in to the True Father’s demands is madness.” Jack shook his head. “If we could only get more of them to see reason…”
Jack closed his eyes, weary of the task in front of him. Whenever he dropped his lids he saw Jasminda’s face smiling back at him, and the thought soothed him. The cares of the world disappeared in her arms; how he longed for nightfall and the comfort of her touch.
“What do you think Alariq would have done?” he asked.
Nirall exhaled slowly. “He would have examined all sides of the issue very carefully. Measured them twice to cut once.”
A hint of a smile cracked Jack’s bleak face. “My brother would have measured them no less than four times. That’s why he was a good prince.”
Nirall leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees. Round spectacles and a gray-streaked goatee in need of trimming gave him a professorial air. “Alariq was also very good at deflecting.”
“How do you mean?”
“Sometimes, when people are up in arms about something, they need their attention to be redirected elsewhere.”
Jack frowned. “What could redirect them?”
Licks of fire reflected in the man’s spectacles, setting his eyes aglow. “The people have been displeased over the shortages for some time, but the royal wedding was going to be the perfect distraction. The right mix of glamour and austerity, of course, but an event to capture the public’s imagination all the same.”
With a sigh, Jack slumped farther in his chair. “I’m sure that would have done the trick. It’s too bad they could not have wed. I hope Lizvette’s spirits are not too low.”
“She’s quite well. And she would still make a very fine princess.” Nirall’s gaze held Jack in its grip.
He was dumbstruck. Several moments passed before he could respond. “You can’t be suggesting…”
Nirall reached for Jack’s arm. “Our two families are still a good match. A strong princess will go a long way to improve your public perception. A wedding, an heir, it would be—”
“That is ludicrous!” Jack stood. “Lizvette loved my brother. How could I … It would be extraordinarily inappropriate, not to mention in very poor taste. I’m not sure how you could even think such a thing.”
Nirall stood and bowed his head. “I did not mean to offend you, Your Grace. I was simply trying to offer a potential solution.”
Jack backed away. “The title Minister of Innovation fits you too well. But this is outlandish. I could never do such a thing to the memory of my brother, nor to Lizvette.”
“You could honor him by maintaining his legacy. He chose my daughter for a reason, and you and she have always been friends. I do not believe the idea would be as unappealing to her as you think.”
Jack held up a hand. “Please stop. I do not want to hear any more of this. I cannot.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I won’t speak of it again.” Nirall bowed formally and took his leave.
Usher shut the door and came to stand by Jack’s side.
“Has everyone gone mad, Usher?” When the valet did not respond, Jack looked over. “What? You can’t think that lunacy makes sense?”
“Alariq was popular with the people. He had the luxury of waiting to marry. An unpopular man is aided by a well-loved wife.”
“Don’t spit platitudes at me, old man. How could she be well loved, jumping from one brother to the next?”
“Your grandmother did the very same thing to much regard when her first husband died. The people like continuity.”
“The people are idiots.”
Usher set a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I’m sure the feeling is mutual.”
Jack scowled and shrugged off the contact. “I do not love her.”
“Many things will be required of you in your new position, young sir. Unfortunately, falling in love is not one of them.”
Jack’s gaze fell upon the newspaper. He stormed over to the bureau, snatched up the offending sheets, and threw them into the fire. He rubbed his chest while he watched the pages burn; the spot just under his shoulder where he’d been wounded had suddenly begun to ache. Or maybe that was just his heart.