Peter sighed, inwardly, as he picked out a handful of names and faces. Prime Minister Arthur Hampshire, technically a commoner; Israel Harrison, Leader of the Opposition; Duke Jackson Cavendish, trying hard to look confident even though everyone knew he no longer had a pot to piss in . . . names and faces, some of whom were friends, some allies, and some deadly enemies. Peter wondered, careful not to show even a trace of doubt on his face, if he was really up to the task. There were men and women in the chamber who’d been playing politics long before he had been born.
There’s no one else, he told himself firmly. And I dare not fail.
He sucked in his breath. He wasn’t inexperienced. His father had made him work in the family corporation for years, pushing him out of his comfort zone time and time again. And chewing him out, royally, when he’d screwed up. Peter wasn’t sure how he felt about that either. His father had been a good man, but he’d also been a hard man. The family could not afford weakness in the ranks. Peter, at least, had been given a chance to learn from his mistakes. Not everyone had been so lucky.
And others never had to take up the role, he thought, feeling a flicker of resentment, once again, towards his youngest sister. Kat had never had to study business, never had to take up a position within the family corporation. Instead, she’d gone to war and carved out a life for herself. Some people have all the luck.
Peter stopped in the exact center of the chamber and looked up. King Hadrian, first of that name, looked back at him. He was a tall man, with short dark hair and a face that was strikingly calculating. The king, Peter knew from experience, was a man who could move from affability to threat with terrifying speed. He was young too, younger than Peter himself. It was something Peter knew had worried his father. Peter, and the other corporate heirs, could learn their trade without risking everything, but the king’s heir could not become king until his father had passed away. King Hadrian had been learning his trade on the job. And it was hard to tell, Peter had to admit, just how much was cold calculation versus sheer luck. And inexperience.
A shame the rumors about the king and Kat were groundless, Peter thought as he knelt in front of his monarch. She would have made a good partner for him . . .
He dismissed the thought, ruthlessly. There was no point in crying over the impossible. An affair was one thing, but marriage? The other dukes would have blocked the match without a second thought. And besides, Kat had been in love with a commoner. Peter couldn’t help feeling another stab of envy. His marriage had been arranged, of course; his parents had organized the match, one of the prices he paid for his position. But Kat was free to fall in love as she pleased. He wasn’t sure it was really a good thing. Kat had been devastated by her lover’s death.
King Hadrian rose, one hand holding his scepter. He wore a full military dress uniform, although it was black rather than white. Peter thought, rather sourly, that the king had no right to wear so much gold braid, let alone the medals jangling at his breast. But then, the king was a hereditary member of a dozen military fraternities. He probably needed to wear the medals his ancestors had won. Some of his supporters would otherwise be alienated.
“It has been a year and a day since Duke Falcone was treacherously killed,” King Hadrian said. His words were a grim reminder that nowhere, not even Tyre itself, was safe from attack. The Theocracy’s strike teams had done a great deal of damage before they’d been wiped out, but the security measures introduced to combat them had been almost worse. “And now, with the period of mourning officially over, we gather to invest his son with the title and powers that once were his father’s.”
There was a brief, chilling pause. Peter felt his heart beginning to race, even though he was sure there was nothing to worry about. He was the Duke, confirmed by the family council; no one, not even the king, could take it from him. And yet, if the House of Lords refused to seat him, it could cause all manner of trouble back home. The family council might vote to impeach him on the grounds he couldn’t work with the rest of the nobility and elect someone else in his place. Peter doubted he’d be permitted to return to the corporation after that! More likely he’d be sent into comfortable exile somewhere.
“But we must decide if he is worthy to join our ranks,” the king said calmly. “Honorable members, cast your votes.”
Peter tensed, telling himself again that he was perfectly safe. No one would risk alienating him over something so petty, not now. But the vote was anonymous . . . His family’s enemies would vote against him, of course, but what about the others? There were people who might take the opportunity to put
