Feath returned to his brooding friend, wielding the news that Faolan craved. "I found the woman and offered her to the castle, informing her that you would like to make a request for her hand. She said she'll consider accepting if you personally go down to the rock pools by the fishing docks."

"But she will consider it?"

Feath shrugged his shoulders, doing nothing to subdue the nerves within Faolan. "That's what she promised." Faolan chewed a whitlow by his nails. "Faolan, word spread fast. Your people are gathering by the docks, some even holding flower petal baskets and bells."

"Some." Faolan snorted. It was an improvement to the hatred he faced before, but still it didn't satisfy Faolan's greed for respect.

"Enough to bring you confidence. Faolan, I am your closest advisor, and your friend since we were young. Your father treats me as if I were your brother. I give this advice to you now because I want the best for you. I know you're concerned of the people's opinion of you, but this week or next week, it will remain the same unless you do something about it. Go down there now and bring all attention onto you while Konnyr leaves. Make them accept you by gaining their trust and proposing now." Feath's face bloomed pink from the speed and effort he used to get every word out with as much expression and urgency as he could muster.

Faolan grinned at Feath, "You're my closest advisor for a reason. Then, let us go now before the night settles in." With a slap on Feath's back, the two strode to stables, a bout of fiery excitement between them.

They prepared their horses, dressing them in royal armour, before riding through the forest at a leisurely pace. Though he tried, the words to propose didn't form in Faolan's mind, and he frowned at his lack of ability to use words to impress. But as they neared the town square, all troubled thought blew from his head.

Lines of children stood; the few mothers scattered between them. They coated the streets, baskets of colourful flower petals held in their tiny hands. Scattered cheers broke out as they rode down the path towards the lines, petals flying into their hair. Not the entire Kingdom had shown up, but the small gesture felt like a shower of appreciation to their King, Faolan.

Then the bells began. Small and hand-held, their chimes collected in rhythmic strikes to Faolan's ears, building a welling sense of self purpose within. To keep those bells chiming, louder and sharper. Church bells joined the call, harmonising with the chimes that surrounded the Kingdom—life struck into the people that only a week prior, verged death.

They rode over a short hill that led to a shore of sand and pebbles. Barefoot, and draped in a pale blue gown, stood Freya. Her body, a flood of cascading water, was crowned by white-gold hair, embroidered by the purest rays of sun. With a soft turn, she revealed her face: an array of delicately sculpted features, arranged in an unreadable expression.

"My King." With a cautious curtsey, her eyes locked upon Faolan as he hopped down from the horse, adjusting the crown perched on his hair. The expressionlessness of the woman haunted Faolan, who could only bring himself to look at her feet.

"Freya, your beauty is only half of that which men have relayed to me." Dried by the sea air, his voice passed without even a flutter of her lashes.

"I know why you have come, for there are few persons of importance that dare descent to our home by the rocks." Her porcelain frame remained still even in the whip of winter wind. Men and women tightened the circle of children around them, each draped in similar blue rags, with eyes bound tight to the King.

"You request for my hand. To remain at your side in our sacred building, where history was once decided. You now call it a castle." The simple sentence rose Faolan's heart into his chest. Feath's hand twitched to his belt, but Faolan steadied him.

"I ask for your partnership, dear Lady. Partnership and guidance. You have spent your life dedicated to this Kingdom. Our Kingdom. Your voice, be it firm and assertive or filled with a harmony crafted by the brilliance behind your luscious hair, has kept Ravaryn afloat when trade and money has evaded you. Take your place beside my throne. Let your grace be recognised and praised—"

"I do not want praise." Her voice pierced the thick air, sharper than any bell. "I have three terms in which your honourable word will grant you my hand. These terms are not up for debate."

Gasps flew like butterflies around the circle. Some women wept, their men taking the steps to comfort them, fear wealthy in their eyes. Never, in Faolan's experience, had he seen a woman hold even a fraction of the power she held—never had one dared to make demands to him.

"Faolan is King." Feath started, disbelief overriding the anger usually so quick to pounce.

"Correct, and he has offered me the position of Queen. A role in which I will do well; utter obedience and loyalty beyond measure—only a mere sample of the qualities I can possess for you."

"What are your terms?" Faolan struggled to match her tone, pushing his voice to new volumes in his feeble attempts.

"Firstly, you will remove the fiefs newly gifted to the nobles and grant them as shared land to the people. I ask for only two shared territories. From the edge of the forest Selmour to the Meadow stream, for crops, and from these rock pools to the incline of the hill, paddocks for animals."

"Absurd." Feath shook his head defiantly as a round of cheers beat around the crowd. "It has no benefit to the wealth of the Kingdom. Besides, no land around Selmour is even the King's to give away. It was taken, years ago."

"And so, the King will win back the land that is rightfully ours to claim. At his coronation, that is what the King promised. As for no benefit to the Kingdom, well I do pity the King for having an advisor as ignorant as you at his side. Surely you have noticed the starvation on our streets? Our population will thrive, if only given permission to grow our own food, as we once done not so long ago. Bigger armies, expanded territories, and more energy to make, create and trade. What's more, it won't cost the Kingdom at all. The lands will be farmed and monitored by the mouths it's feeding."

Cheers echoed across the waves as they crashed into the rocks, a short distance away. "Which leads me onto my second term. There is an utter lack of care for our children, especially those who have lost parents in war or to starvation and disease. Build a home for these orphans. Orphanages. A permanent residence in which you can protect and teach the next generation. Why waste potential, when we can train them? These are your future guards, seamstresses even advisors." Feath snorted, but Freya continued without acknowledgement, "Build futures. Do not leave them to perish."

The sun beyond the horizon melted into the sea, heating it to a fire orange. The crowd turned their attention to it momentarily, struck by its beauty. By the change. Faolan took the distraction with a grateful sigh, clearing his throat before asking, "My Lady, your third request?"

Freya beckoned the King with a slender finger. He took a single step before Feath's hand grasped his arm. Within his friends eyes, he saw silent pleas. Don't trust her. But Faolan couldn't swallow his pride and lust to hold the same power as she. He was King, though he had to keep reminding himself of it. Freya whispered in his ear, "I am with child. The father is dead. None know. The child, to all eyes and ears, will be your heir, and I will raise it as such. My final request to you—let me keep my child."

Without the presence of the sun, the winter air sent violent tingles over Faolan's back. The silence of the crowd blared on, unbearable. "How am I to believe your word? That none know, and that the father is dead?"

"I killed him. Use that as a weapon however you wish. All you require from me is an heir. But you're strange. Not like the other men. You have no interest in intimacy with me, and for this I am lucky, for I have none in you. You want my allegiance for the people's allegiance. I can do more than make them accept you as their ruler—I can make them beg for you to rule, to fight for your patronage."

Her lips touched Faolan's ears, and he drew breath. "And should I refuse? Or if circumstances change."

"I'll make my death so abhorrently messy, so torturous that none will believe anything other than the rumour that you had me killed. Trust me, Your Majesty, my death wouldn't just cause upset on these lands—I'll start a war. Let me keep my child."

The wind picked up, blanketing Freya's face with her hair as she stepped back towards the sea. With her movements, she drew numbness from Faolan's legs, almost buckling his knees as he fought to stand. For she was a leader, a peasant-born Queen. All of that, his, on three simple terms.

"Freya. I accept all of which you have conditioned to me. A fair King I am, and so a fair husband I shall make. Take my hand." She held out a dainty hand, to which he placed a delicate kiss. "Food packages, wines and cloaks will be brought down from the castle, for all to enjoy. A gift from me to you. Let us celebrate."

With an air of warmth, Freya withdrew her hand and retook her stance by the rocks, revelling in the clamour of an exciting future with only a hint of a smile to show it. In the final strengths of the setting sun, her figure glowed against the seafoam.