Free A Little Fate by Nora Roberts

quiet them.”
    â€œThe talk that comes down is not of Draco but of the True One.”
    Owen’s mouth twisted as he gripped the hilt of his sword. “Tongues won’t flap of what is forbidden once they are cut out. Those who speak of treason must be routed out and reminded there is only one king of Twylia.”
    â€œAnd so they shall be. The envoys brought six rebels, as well as the taxes. They will be tried, and executed, as an example, as part of your betrothal ceremonies. Until then, the tribunal will . . . interrogate them. If these are more than rumbles, we will silence them.”
    They strode through the gates of the castle and across the great hall. “Meanwhile, preparations for the rest of the ceremonies proceed. You must make your choice within the week.”
    Inside the throne room, Owen plucked a plum from a bowl and threw himself into a chair. “So many plums.” He bit in, smiled. “All so ripe and tasty.”
    â€œThere’s more to your choice than a pleasing face. You may take any who stirs your blood into your bed. You are the prince, and will be king. Your bedmates may slake your lust, but your queen must do that and more. You must have sons.”
    Lorcan poured wine, and sat by the fire that burned even so early in the day for his comfort. “Strong sons, Owen. So you must choose a woman who will be more than a pretty vessel. Have any here found your favor?”
    â€œOne or two.” Owen shrugged. “The latest arrival interests me. She has a bold look in her eye.”
    â€œHer dowry would be rich,” Lorcan considered. “And her father’s lands are valuable. She has beauty enough, and youth. It might do.”
    â€œThe match would tie the west to us, and as Ute’s land runs north along the hills, such positioning would be strategic.”
    â€œYes, yes.” Lorcan rested his chin on his fist and considered. “The Realm of Magicks still thrives in pockets of the west, and too many men run tame there who preach of Draco’s spell and the True One. It’s time to look to the far west and north, and smother any small embers of treason before they flare.”
    â€œThe Lady Aurora’s father, it seems, is unwell.” Owen took another bite of his plum. “If we were wed, he might sicken and die—with a bit of help. And so his lands, his fortifications, his wealth would come to me.”
    â€œIt might do,” Lorcan repeated. “I’ll take a closer look at this one. If I approve, your betrothal will be announced at week’s end at the masque. And you will be pledged the following morning.”
    Owen raised a brow. “So quickly?”
    â€œWith the wedding ceremony to take place at the end of a fortnight—by which time every man in the world must render a token to mark the events—the masque and the wedding. The shepherd must render his finest rams, the farmer one quarter of his crop, the miller a quarter of his grain, and so on, so as to provide their prince and his bride with the stores for their household.”
    Lorcan stretched his booted feet toward the fire. “If the man has no ram, no crop, no grain, he must render his oldest son or if he has no son, his oldest daughter, to serve the royal couple. Craftsmen and artisans will bequeath a year of their time so that your home can be built on the western border and furnished as befits your rank.”
    â€œSome will not give willingly,” Owen pointed out.
    â€œNo. And the business of persuading them to do their duty to their king will bury all mutterings of the True One, scatter rebellious forces, and forge our hold on the west. Yes.” He lifted his goblet in toast. “I think it may do.”
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    U NDER the guise of serving his mistress, Rohan walked with his head humbly bowed. His heart was full of rage edged in fear. He kept his eyes lowered as he moved past guards and into the sitting room where