Читать книгу Youngest Son of the Water King. A bride for the water prince - Natalie Yacobson - Страница 3

He was named after the state his father had invaded and destroyed. That was probably why in Moran’s presence it felt as if the fortress around him was crumbling and the walls were fiery cracks.

The former Viceroy of Aquilania and now First Minister Ramiro felt insecure in his presence. The young man himself had nothing to do with watermen, though he was rumored to be of their kind. From head to neck he was definitely human, and quite handsome. His hair, the color of ripe rye, hung over the collar of his purple robe. They barely reaching his shoulders. His snow-white skin was completely free of tan and blush, which was unusual for the local climate. But the heir had returned from faraway lands. And right on the night of his return he was crowned by the priests from the temple of the sea god, who had now become the main one in the country.

Ramiro was not made aware of the appearance of the new king until the morning of his awakening. Not that it was a surprise to him. He, like everyone else, had been expecting the appearance of an already grown-up heir. But it had come too suddenly. No one had been notified of Moran’s arrival even a day in advance.

When Ramiro dressed in ceremonial attire and came to see him, the young king was already seated on the throne, and the intimidated archivist was familiarizing him with all the important records of the past years. The royal guards at the door were replaced by some ghastly giants with their faces covered with shields. In their presence Ramiro felt trapped.

“Do they wake so late in Aquilania?” The king had dumbfounded him with his first question.

“We are not awake at night, if that is what you mean, Your Majesty,” Ramiro said with a stammer. His tongue was not listening well, and dawn was just breaking outside the window. In its rays, the new king of Aquilania looked like a perfect marble statue that someone had placed on the throne as if in mockery of human imperfection. The luxurious coral crown, too, would have been the envy of any earthly ruler. It certainly didn’t come from the royal treasury. Only the gods could create such a thing.

Moran drank wine from a precious goblet that he had obviously brought with him. The walls and stem of the goblet were decorated with a ringed sea dragon made of pure gold. As far as Ramiro had heard, sea dragons were only blue, but blue gold was obviously not even found underwater. The large pearl in the middle of the cup resembled the eye in the dragon’s forehead and appeared to be sighted, as did the tiny stones on the rim.

“You have been expected for a long time,” how else to start a dialog with the king.

“So here I am,” the king tapped the armrests of the throne with long, graceful fingers studded with unusual rings. His hands were so strong that the powerful jade throne was cracked by his touch. Ramiro would have to call in the craftsmen to fix it. Would it be worth it? Ramiro noticed the cracks in the ceiling and walls. Is the castle collapsing or is it magic?

“You’re just in time. The armada from the Black Shores is closing on us.” Who doesn’t know that the Black Shores is home to tribes that practice evil magic? “We can’t handle it on our own. We need a ruler who can negotiate with the elements.”

“Is it with the elements or with those who dwell within them?” The king’s piercing gaze pinned Ramiro in place.

“Well, how can I put it more precisely?” The First Minister felt as if he were growing to the floor and the floor itself was turning to ice. “You have a whole family in the sea.”

It’s a touchy subject. Is it possible to speak directly to the young king? And how young is he? He looks like a young man, but it’s been over a century since the last heiress of Aquilania disappeared into the waves.

“I am the only one allowed to come,” Moran ventured a revelation. His long, frosty stare made Ramiro uncomfortable.

“But the others in your sea dynasty… They can be called in to help.”

“Forget the others!” Moran rose from his throne without letting go of his wine goblet. He looked magnificent in his royal robe. He was yery statuesque, tall, well-built, and strong. And they said he was a monster, the offspring of a union between a princess and a water monster. He didn’t look like a monster at all. He didn’t look like a water monster either. Except for the golden plaque like fish scales on his ears, and the coral crown that seemed to grow out of his head. Otherwise Moran was perfect, except for one minor point.

“You are the youngest son,” Ramiro reminded him gently. “The Almanac of Kings records that you have six older brothers. Their names are even listed. It is customary for the first born to inherit the throne. It is as long as he’s alive.”

“The elder brothers are still in their domains,” the heir did not deny it.

“Would they come to your aid if you called them from the abyss?”

“They don’t walk at all. But if you need them to come…” he arched his beautiful eyebrows meaningfully. Moran had expressive violet eyes beneath a rim of gold lashes, but his gaze gave Ramiro a chill.

“Shall we officially record them as cripples, to explain why you are the ones who inherit the inheritance?”

“Officially they don’t exist!” Moran objected emphatically. He glanced at the archivist’s nimble hand, which hovered in the air above the paper like a frozen thing.

“I think it’s broken,” whispered the young man, who could not move his own arm. But he dared not call for a physician. Under the heavy gaze of the new king, both health and willpower were drained from everyone.

“You have only me! Rely only on me! There’s no one else to protect you, and the sea is right under your windows,” Moran grinned wryly and moved toward the Viceroy. There was no sound of footsteps. Does he have no legs? Or is he floating above the floor?

Who knows what kind of body he has under his robe. Moran steadfastly refused to try on the doublets and caftans that had become fashionable at the court of Aquilania. He doesn’t follow fashions. But his face is divinely beautiful. Not surprising, considering that his mother, the officially deceased Princess Lilophea, was famous for her beauty.

Ramiro thought that if he didn’t prefer women, he would be wildly in love with the young king, despite the fear he felt in Moran’s presence. His proximity felt as freezing as a desert of ice. So did he really come from the sea? Probably he is some powerful wizard pretending to be the son of a princess who disappeared into the waves. But then where did he get Lilophea’s signet ring? That ring was supposed to be for the heir to the throne.

“The father won’t protect you,” Moran relented before explaining in detail. “It’s because of a long-standing conflict over a bride.”

“I remember! It was an unpleasant affair,” agreed Ramiro. He had not seen it himself, of course. The story was old. But all the details were recorded in the archives and chronicles of the kingdom. It was a pity that the paper in the local repositories got wet in some places, and some lines could not be restored later. What can you do, the humidity here is too saturated. But Ramiro was aware of the events, though not in detail. So he appreciated Moran’s remark:

“If you don’t concede a small thing to someone, it’s hard to count on their generosity.”

Ramiro had to account to him for the mistakes of those who had died long before Ramiro was born.

“The thing is,” Ramiro shifted from foot to foot. Is it just his imagination that there are slippery tentacles beneath the king’s robe and wet footprints on the floor? No, probably not, considering whose son he is.

“I don’t know what it’s like on the seas, but here in Aquilania, you don’t hand over your only princess to just anyone at the drop of a hat.”

“To you, a powerful king is just anyone?” Moran took a sip of wine. If only the purple liquid in his glass could be called wine? If it was a type of wine, it was definitely a sorcerer’s wine.

“Besides, the Lord of the Seas had complained that there had been over a hundred demands before he had to use force.”

Ramiro’s heart sank. He had called his father by his official title. Apparently their family relationship wasn’t so friendly that Moran could call on his relatives for help.

“I’m afraid the state is in a sorry state right now. We’re down to ten ships at most. And the enemy’s armada is almost at the fortress walls.”

Moran gave him an expressive look. It is clear under whose supervision we are so impoverished, said his eyes from under half-lidded eyelids.

“Come!” He beckoned instead of judging, and fish scales glistened on his hand. “I’ll show you how to deal with your enemies without a fleet.”