He continued. “But her role was temporary, or so the Kai people assumed. A regent until I returned to Saggara. They accepted her as such for that time frame. But they would never accept her as queen consort.” Resentment over that fact flitted across his features. “She is and will always be human, no matter how fluent she becomes in our language, how quickly she absorbs our culture, or how much Tarawin thinks of her as her mother. Ildiko will never bear me children, and even if it were possible, no Kai would consider a half human, half Kai child a fit heir to the throne.”
The inability of the very rare Kai and human couple to bear children wasn't unknown. Like Ildiko, Anhuset couldn't give Serovek a child. He'd been quick to assure her such a thing didn't matter to him. She believed him. Had it mattered to Brishen? Considering his change of status after the rest of his family died in Haradis, carrying the line would become of utmost importance. “Did you suggest the marriage be annulled?”
He scowled. “No, she did.” A kind of melancholy humor replaced his scowl. “She even had her replacement picked out for me. I told her I would abdicate in order to keep her.”
Anhuset gasped. She'd known none of this during those dark, desperate days. She hadn't even sensed it. Brishen and Ildiko had been somber, worried, fearful—just like everyone else. A marriage in jeopardy was a small thing compared to a kingdom in jeopardy, though the failure of this marriage would have had far-reaching consequences. And abdication to save it even more so.
Brishen offered her a brief smile lacking any amusement. “Ildiko was beside herself, afraid of civil war breaking out as the remaining noble families would fight each other for the throne. As fate would have it, Tarawin survived.” He closed his eye for a moment. When he opened it again, its yellow depths swirled with emotion. “I owe those who brought her safely to Saggara a debt of gratitude I won't be able to repay in ten lifetimes.”
“My gods, herceges,” she said. “Abdication? Tell me you searched for another way.”
He didn't even flinch, and a resolute hardness settled over his features. “I knew the risk of civil war, knew the monumental struggle Bast-Haradis would have to endure to recover from the destruction the galla visited on it. I had contingent plans and fail-safes and capable ministers in place to hopefully ease the transition of power, but even if I hadn't, even if Tarawin had died with her parents and siblings at Haradis, I would have still abdicated.” His face looked carved from rock. “There are those who, if they knew what I just told you, would say I'm not to fit to rule as either king or regent because I didn't put the kingdom first. You may well think so yourself. Unlike me, the woman whom no Kai would accept as queen put the kingdom of Bast-Haradis first. I suffer no guilt, no regrets. I will give up my life for Bast-Haradis. I will never give up Ildiko for anyone or anything. Now ask me again if I think you disloyal.”
His revelation had thrown her over a cliff, and for the moment Anhuset was still in free-fall, grappling with her changing notions of what loyalty meant, what duty demanded, what love inspired and what one would sacrifice in the service of all three. Her admiration for Brishen didn't change, though her admiration for Ildiko grew by leaps and bounds. Faced with similar circumstances, would she be willing to give up Serovek for a greater good?
Brishen stayed silent as she worked through the cascade of thoughts and questions, ready to face whatever condemnation she might rain down on his head for what he perceived as a failure in his role as regent. Anhuset did none of that. Instead, she bowed low and saluted him, not as a vassal to her liege but as one Kai warrior to another after a battle won. “Thank you, Brishen,” she said, infusing her voice with all the affection she held for him. “This is why you were certain the marriage between me and Serovek would convince the king his margrave was no longer a threat.”
His shoulders sagged for a moment and his grin held an obvious relief. “Partly, though I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't believe you already in love with the man or if I thought him unworthy of you.”
“I understand better now why you love your wife.”
“And why I think she's beautiful?” He winked.
Now that she too saw Serovek in a different way, she understood his teasing question. “That too.”
He reached out to squeeze her arm. “You may no longer carry the title, but you will always be sha-Anhuset, and Saggara will always welcome you for however long you wish to stay. Besides, I want you back here in the summer to train our newest recruits, so talk Serovek into giving you up for a week or two.”
Footsteps warned them they were no longer alone, and Serovek topped the berm, dressed for departure in cloak and gloves. His glance darted between Brishen and Anhuset. “Tell me now if I'm interrupting so I can stay longer and make a nuisance of myself.”
Brishen laughed. He gripped Serovek's forearm in both greeting and farewell. “I'll leave you two alone and meet you in the bailey when you're ready to leave.” He offered him and Anhuset a short bow. “Margrave. Margravina.”
“Your Highness,” they replied in unison and watched as he strode down the embankment toward the bailey.
“I like the way he said that,” Serovek said.
“Said what?”
“Margravina.” Serovek slipped an arm around her waist to draw her to him. The rising sun cast a red patina on his dark hair. He'd shaved his beard off
