“Well, then.” She finally put the hooped fabric aside. “I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear you can stop looking.”
“I… can?” Relief stuttered in his heart. Had she…? Was she finally seeing what she was doing to him? “Is this because you’ve decided to make me the ambassador at Minamist?”
His bow shook and another arrow missed its mark, glancing off the lower edge of the target and spinning away. He should’ve known right then. Should’ve realised her intentions and left.
But no, he’d been stupid enough to believe she would keep her word. Fool.
His mother laughed. It was a dreadful, sneering tone that sent an icy vein of horror through him. “Are you still harping on about that? Nae, you’ll be far too busy forming a family with your new wife to venture off into foreign lands.”
“I dinnae…” Pain erupted in his chest, squeezing tight. Panic and dizziness overcame his senses. He stumbled to lean against the doorframe. “You said I—” It couldn’t be. New wife? He dared another darting look around the room. They were still alone. “What wife?”
Sighing, his mother stood. “Hamish, you’re thirty-seven years old. When I was your age, I was married, your brother was born and your sister was on the way.” She clasped her hands before her, every inch the queen. “That is why I am holding a union contest for your hand.”
Hamish doubled over, teetering on the edge of nausea as he struggled to keep back tears. Nae. He pressed a hand to his belly, trying to still his stomach. How was this happening?
The union contest. He’d witnessed it with his siblings; a fight amongst currently eligible noblewomen from all the clans. But unlike his siblings, he wouldn’t have a prospective spouse amongst the competition. Rather, he would be gifted to the woman who won his hand. Like a trophy.
“Dinnae look so distraught,” his mother snapped. “Your brother went through the same contest.”
Hamish pressed a hand to his lips. Aye. But Gordon had loved his wife. The union contest had been a mere formality for them, necessary only because his mother had deemed Muireall unfit to become the princess consort.
But Hamish? Who would even have him? It was well-known that he had never had a wife, an unheard of thing at his age. Maybe the competitors would twig something wasn’t right.
But if the expected suitors did come? If someone won? What then? Chaos. He’d be despised. Outcast. Unsuitable as another link in the royal chain. His purpose of siring a child like his ancestors finally declared invalid. “You cannae—”
“The first of the eligible nobles have already arrived. The rest will filter in over the coming week.”
Hamish frowned. A week? When the nearest clan was several weeks away? That could only mean she had sent the call before Darshan’s arrival.
Anger singed the fear from his mind. “You swore,” he growled. He had thought this was retribution for his intimacy with the ambassador, but she’d been planning this before she even knew the wrong spellster was coming. “You gave me your word as queen that I would be allowed to marry in me own time.”
“I think we both know you didnae intend to ever keep your end of the deal, dear.”
He glowered at her. No, he hadn’t.
“Dinnae think I was unaware of what you’ve been up to. Becoming an ambassador? Of all the inane lies to weave. Nae son of mine is travelling to some far-off city to be some noble’s bedwarmer. You will stay here and do your duty like any other Tirglasian prince.”
“But—”
She strode across the room to halt before him, an imposing figure even if she came only to his chin. “The call has been sent. A few from the closer clans have already arrived. What do you expect me to do?”
“Call off the competition!” What difference would it make to the clans if the queen reneged the union contest? There could only be one winner, so no one lost anything. “Tell them I’m nae ready for a family, that I might never be ready.”
“You ken once the call has been sent, it cannae be undone.”
He turned his gaze to the walls. “Aye,” he muttered. Clans had fought over less. For the queen to renege the union contest was to invite civil war.
She clasped his hand in both of hers, her fingers colder than her ice-blue gaze. “I ken it seems unfair, but sacrifices have to be made to keep the land together. You’ve spent your whole life preparing for this; trained to defend your clan, schooled in case you have to take the throne. It’s well past the time for you to settle down and have wee bairns like your siblings. Like I did with your father.”
“But it’s nae your life you’re building, it’s mine. I dinnae want it to be over.”
His mother scoffed, jerking her hands back. “It’s marriage, nae a death sentence.”
That was debatable. “I ken what you’re really after. You didnae even care which woman I marry.” She never had been, thrusting every woman from the noblewomen who came to visit, to the youngest maid. “If it’s the wee bairns you want from me, then why bother with the pretence of marriage? Why dinnae you just tie me to a bed and put me out to stud?” He was about as willing either way.
Gasping, his mother jerked her shoulders back. Her whole body strained to be taller than her spine allowed for.
Her hand came up, swift and sharp.
His cheek stung before he realised she had slapped him.
Hamish stared at her, struggling to see his mother amongst the naked rage blazing in front of him. He backed away, his hand pressed to his cheek. Warmth soaked through his fingertips. “You hit me.” She
