The king and his son died on the same day.

        King Thomes' demise had been expected. For months he would teeter through the halls of Kaewold Tower, wrought with illness and made weak by age. The ceremony for his passing had all but begun by the time he slipped away, disappearing during a midday nap. Prince Athyew had been tied to Kaewold for nearly a year, kept from his own keep in Brewick in order to assist his declining father and await the impending succession. He had left for a hunt two days before his father’s death and cut his hand on a poison arrow just half an hour after the gods claimed Thomes. It was an unprecedented tragedy for a royal family already beleaguered by fate, and a disaster for the kingdom over which they ruled, for Athyew’s death left Thomes with no living male heirs.

        Jasi ascended to the throne almost immediately. There was no other choice for the late king’s eldest daughter. It was not unheard of for a queen to reign in Erest, but it was rare, and pretenders and claimants would have used any time she took for mourning to pry the throne from her hands. It took her a week to finish the coronation rites, but the crowning ceremony commenced before the sun had set. And so, within a day, power had changed hands twice in Erest, from father to son, from brother to sister.

        And then the rumor began.

        She’d heard it first from the constable. A servant had arrived in the gardens, small and young and doing everything in his power to control his breathing—climbing Kaewold Tower was hard on the body, to the rooftop gardens especially. Still, the man was a servant to the queen, and so he managed some semblance of composure while delivering his message. He bowed and spoke, “Your Majesty, Lord Othgan wishes to meet with you in his study.”

        For a month, Jasi had met with every noble, cleric, patriarch, merchant prince, and royal craftsman twice. She’d had a meeting every waking moment of the day, not including the regularly scheduled meetings with her council. Today was the exception. She had put on a lighter gown after the morning’s meetings and moved to the rooftop, sitting under one of the many tents between the green, high above the world below. Servants had carried for her a bowl of fruit and The Book of Gere, and she had prepared herself for an afternoon of study.

        At least, it was meant to be. Jasi tried not to let her annoyance show—her father had always scolded her for giving too much away with a look. Now, as queen, his advice was especially important, and practicing on the servants helped make good habits. “Did he happen to say what for?”

        “Only that it was urgent, ma’am.”

        Not urgent enough for him to have brought it up just an hour ago during the council meeting, apparently. She looked away from the servant for a moment, lifting a small hand mirror from the table before her. Brunette braids held her hair up, and golden yellow draped over her shoulders. Elegant, angular features looked back at her. The face of a queen, she told herself. It seemed these days that’s all she was ever doing, telling people she was the queen. Often she had to tell others, often she had to tell herself. Jasi put the mirror down. She would have preferred to have her hair down, to be wearing a less casual gown. But she was the queen, and Othgan was Othgan, and so it would do.

        “Let him know I’ll meet with him soon,” she said, standing and motioning to her servants.

        The boy left and Jasi’s entourage of guards and servants followed her down the Tower, pausing only briefly in her quarters to return the tome and to give the young servant time to inform Othgan. Then, they continued down to the Great Hall and through it, emerging into the upper courtyard. A number of royal guards trained in the center. Above, doves and gulls circled the keep and the city. Othgan’s study was just across the courtyard, opposite the Hall. When they arrived, Jasi informed her guards and servants to remain outside, and knocked on the thick, walnut door. It opened after just a few moments.

        “Your Majesty, I appreciate you meeting with me on such short notice.” He was a gaunt man. Slim and tall—Othgan towered over her, heads above her own—but muscled, certainly, beneath the simple white tunic. His narrow features were surrounded by a mane of grey hair. Othgan moved from the doorway to let her in, bowing slightly as he did.

        Jasi moved into the constable’s study stopping only in the center, where she was sure the train of her gown had followed her into the room. It was a large chamber, but he’d wasted no time in covering it with pelts and trophies. Bookshelves lined the leftmost wall, a fireplace on the right, dark in the late spring. Windows on the far side betrayed the height of Kaewold Tower, overlooking the lower courtyard and city far below. An ornately carved walnut desk, crowded with a pitcher, goblets, and books was just below the windows. It was more than a constable needed, if truth be told. Far more. His place was below, across from the barracks and offices of the city guard, with the men he commanded. But Jasi’s father had respected Othgan, often seemingly more so than any of his other advisors, and so the constable enjoyed more luxuries than he should have.

        Luxuries like this study, and like being able to summon the queen to see him. She would have to change that. It was important Othgan stayed as faithful to Jasi as he had her father, but her rule was tenuous as it was. Such concessions to her vassals would only highlight her weakness. “In the future, Lord Othgan, I would see you in my own study.”

        There was a light in his eyes that faded slightly at her words. A warm friendliness, dulled. But his face did not change completely. A familiarity remained, flanked by respect for her office and respect for her. It was a welcome look. In the last few weeks, she had seen in the eyes of almost everyone she had met pity or condescension or lust. A pity about her family, an understanding that such a poor little girl likely needed the rules of court explained to her, an endless grasping for her power. Othgan’s eyes were devoid of all but a recognition of the Queen Jasi, Daughter of Thomes, Rightful Ruler of Erest.

        He bowed slightly once more. “Of course, my queen. My apologies.” He stood up straight again and looked her in the eye. “I swear to you, however, that I have a good reason for your visit.”

        She took a breath and looked him over. “So your servant said. What was so urgent?”

        A quiet moment passed between the two of them, and Jasi could feel nervousness begin to creep up her spine. Eventually, he spoke. “Would you like a drink?”

        Mead. He meant mead. Othgan wasn't noble born—he had grown up halfway across the kingdom in a fishing village, where the best they could afford was mead, and he’d never taken to the wine they drank in the capital, even now, decades after his appointment to constable. Jasi was sure he didn’t even have a bottle of it in the study. Making the queen drink mead. Another one of his luxuries that would have to go. She bit her tongue. “Yes, a drink would be nice.” Whatever he was about to tell her, she felt a drink would make it easier. And besides, one culled luxury was enough for today. But she swore to herself that the damned mead was next.

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        Othgan made his way to the desk, where he filled two silver goblets with brown liquid. “You know, when I first met your father, we were enemies.”

        Jasi knew the story. She’d heard it a dozen times from him and Thomes at celebrations growing up. He could tell she was nervous, and was obviously trying to calm her down with a familiar story. And…it was working. She let him continue. A warm thankfulness bloomed in her stomach, but the anxiety remained. What news could he have that would make him be so cautious?

        “I’d just been captured, and your father had demanded to see me, to see the man who’d led a revolt against him. ‘By the gods,’ he told me. ‘I don’t think I have ever seen my constable so exasperated.’ He was entertained, mostly, at what I could do with a bunch of peasants that not even the Frami Lords could do with their armies.” He handed her one of the cups, now brimming with mead. “So I told him, ‘Fuck off, pretender king,’ and he threw me in the dungeon.”

        As he laughed, Jasi took a sip of her drink and struggled not to grimace. She let the foul taste and the story distract her from the growing worry in her chest.

        “Bah, bad couple of days, those. Your father knew what he was doing, though. Broke that bullheaded resolve of mine. And then he took me out and told me I could keep my head if I talked to the peasants that’d risen up and got them to settle down. Once I did, he gave Aelrer the boot and brought me on as constable.”

        As a kid, Jasi thought the story entertaining. When she got older, she thought it was an example of how strong a diplomat her father was. Now, she knew it had been stupid. Aelrer was a powerful lord, and the slight against him had caused a revolt. Jasi pulled her thoughts back to the conversation, surprised to find Othgan talking about revolt himself.

        “We spent nearly four months outside that damned castle. The men were thinking about deserting by the time they surrendered. And then…” Othgan stopped himself, his eyes catching Jasi’s for the first time since he started talking. “Apologies, ma’am. I get away from myself sometimes.” He took a breath. “What I mean to say is that your father and I spent a fair few years together on the battlefield. I knew him well, and I’d dare to say better than most others. And as long as I knew him, he was only ever singularly focused on a single thing: your mother.”

        Fear sprouted in every corner of Jasi’s body, mead and bedtime stories be damned. Her tongue seemed to go numb and swell, and a belt tightened itself around her chest. The words worked to climb their way out of her mouth. “What is it, Othgan?”

        He signed deeply, finishing his mead and turning to pour another. An authoritative voice in the back of Jasi’s mind, emboldened by her swirling emotions took charge. “Do not turn your back on your queen! Tell me why I have come here!” Another voice—it sounded like her father—began to sing of regret the instant the constable turned around. How many times must I tell you, Jasi? the voice asked between verses. Do not let your emotions control you. Do not let them shape your face. Pity was written across Othgan’s face. Whatever he had looked like before, now he seemed no different than everyone else.

        “It is…a sensitive matter, ma’am. I’ve spoken with the head of the city guard. Two days ago, they arrested a man for spouting treason in the square. Unfounded rumors. The ravings of a madman or a drunkard. But, last night, they arrested another. A merchant who had just come into town. He was spreading the same rumors.”

        She managed it this time, though perhaps too well—the words were tight, without emotion. “What were the rumors, Othgan?”

        The words didn’t seem to come naturally to him. Even this upset, Jasi could see the pain on his face as he uttered the words, as if by informing her he was, himself, slandering his old friend. “Both men were saying that you were an illegitimate heir. A bastard, born of your father and another woman.”

        A knot rolled in her stomach. Her heart pounded in her ears. It had taken a tremendous amount of work to get the throne. She had missed the window to properly mourn her father and brother to do so. And still, Jasi had known this was coming, expected false claimants to begin to slither out of the woodwork. Her early actions had made open opposition against her difficult, had created a demand for more insidious attacks against her. She thought she had steeled herself enough that she wouldn’t be caught off guard when they arrived. But now the enemy was here. Someone had made their first move. And it slandered her, tarnished her name, her father’s name, her mother’s. It grabbed her throat and squeezed. She thought she might collapse.

        Jasi could see it, clear as day. Her cousins would hear of it. Her uncles. The other lords. They would let it fester. And then they would use the rumor like a banner and wrap their armies around it. They would march to Kaewold and steal her birthright. The smell of the dungeon filled the study. The words weren’t hers. They were their own, and they spoke themselves. “Who is responsible?”

        The pity in Othgan’s face deepend, emblazoned by a clear shame radiating from within himself. “I…do not know. That’s an area where I’m sure Lord Cemaer would be more helpful.”

        Cemaer. Cemaer should have told her first. Should have caught wind of this before it landed in the capital—her capital. He was either incompetent or in on it himself, the slimy cretin. Jasi lifted the goblet to her lips and emptied it. Her tongue was numb to the taste. She moved to the desk, placing the goblet back onto the platter, next to the pitcher. The words and numbers in Othgan’s books seemed to dance themselves into scribbles before her, and she turned her eyes out the window. The city at the foot of the Tower bustled, people and carts and animals moving from street to street, like raindrops sliding down panes of glass.

        A fleeting memory of a childhood summer flickered through her mind. A horde of wild boars had swarmed the city from the eastern forest, and her father had put a bounty on them: one bolt per boar head. Her cousins had come to town to visit Athyew, and the lot of them had decided to try to claim some of the bounty themselves. Athyew wound up with a broken arm, and Robern still carried scars on his side from where the tusks had pierced him.

        The anxiety in her stomach began to reshape. Still, it lit her spine and ate her appetite, but from it anger began to boil. These were her people. This was her city. Her kingdom. She would not let it be taken from her. She would not let her name, her parents’ name, be twisted into a hammer and used to strike her down, especially not by her brutish, thickheaded cousins. She would see the streets run red with their blood before she gave any one of them the crown. Fear and fury swirled within her, and she turned back to Othgan.

        “I will speak to Cemaer. Still, learn what you can. Tell no one I’ve asked you to do so. Tell the guards to strike anyone they hear repeating these vile allegations.”

        “As you wish, ma’am. However, such leniency with the city guard could result in more brutality than you want.”

        A voice in her head cursed her for the shortsightedness, for revealing her inexperience to him. Othgan was right, but she was the queen and had already given the order. Backtracking would only invite more second-guessing. Think before you speak, Jasi. “You are the constable. Make sure they stay in line.”

        Othgan gave her another short bow, his face indecipherable.

        She needed to think. To breathe. To be away from the likes of Othgan, away from people who could use this distraction against her until she sorted herself out. A word to Othgan ended their conversation, and she slipped out into the courtyard, entourage in trail. Even outside in the sun, she felt suffocated. She heard the rumor, Othgan’s words, in a dozen different voices. They washed over her. She needed to figure out who was spreading it. Who was challenging her power. Who to break. That wasn’t enough, though. Her head wouldn’t stop spinning, the swirl of emotions wouldn’t stop tearing through her. Securing her throne wasn’t enough. Stopping the rumors wasn’t enough.

        She needed to know if they were true.