The Inadequate Heir (The Bridge Kingdom)

1

KERIS

Keris Veliant, latest heir to the throne of Maridrina, followed his father down the gangplank and onto the pier of Southwatch Island. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other during the short crossing, his father remaining on deck while Keris closeted himself in the captain’s quarters. Though in truth, even if they’d stood side by side the entire voyage, the result would’ve been the same: the taciturn silence of two men well aware that each wished the other dead.

A masked Ithicanian, his shoulders stooped with age, approached, bowing low. “Welcome back to Southwatch, Your Majesty.” Then he inclined his head toward Keris. “Welcome, Your Highness. I understand this is to be your first venture through our bridge?”

Keris opened his mouth to answer, but his father interrupted, “Are they here?”

“His Grace sends his regrets, I’m afraid. His presence was required elsewhere.”

A flicker of disappointment passed through Keris at the Ithicanian king’s absence. Aren Kertell was a man much discussed, though the rumors surrounding him were at odds with his recent actions. Actions that had the Maridrinian people singing his name in the streets, claiming him a king that all rulers should aspire to emulate.

And Keris’s father hated him for it.

Yet King Silas Veliant showed none of that ire, his tone steady as he asked, “What of my daughter?”

Lara. She was Keris’s younger sister—his only full-blooded sibling in the sea of half sisters and brothers produced by his father’s harem. He hadn’t spoken to her in over sixteen years—not since she’d been taken away to be raised in secret. Keris had believed her dead until the day she’d passed through Vencia on her way to be married to the King of Ithicana as part of the Fifteen Year Treaty. A bride of peace, they’d said.

Keris didn’t believe that for a heartbeat.

The Ithicanian said, “It is the Queen’s preference to remain at His Majesty’s side, though she sends her regards.”

“I’m sure.”

On the surface, his father’s voice was cool, but for the sake of his own self-preservation, Keris had long ago made a practice of reading the tiny tics and tells that gave away his father’s true sentiments. As such, he heard the hint of amusement in the king’s voice, the tone causing Keris’s skin to prickle. What amused his father tended to elicit a rather different reaction from everyone else.

The Ithicanian’s eyes narrowed slightly, and wary of anything that might jeopardize his escape to Harendell, Keris said, “I’m sorry to have missed my sister, but pleased to hear of her loyalty to your king. Give them both my best wishes.”

His father huffed out a soft chuckle, giving Keris a condescending pat on the cheek. “My son is sentimental. Gets it from his mother.”

That would be the mother you murdered, you cold-blooded reptile? Keris wanted to say, but today was not the day to test his father’s patience. Not when he was so close to finally escaping him. “We all have our faults, Your Grace.”

His father’s azure eyes, which were twin to Keris’s own, regarded him, unblinking. “Some more than others.” Then he clapped his hands sharply. “I came only to see your sister and her husband. Given they are absent, I don’t care to belabor my presence. Let’s get this over with.”

Sentiment was not one of King Silas Veliant’s faults.

The pier turned into a flurry of activity, two dozen young Maridrinian men in tight coats made with vibrant fabrics disembarking, the stiff breeze tugging at their slicked-back hair, much to their obvious consternation. The smell of wine came with them, which accounted for their overloud voices as they shouted at the sailors to take care with their belongings or suffer the lash. Between his teeth, Keris asked, “Who are they?”

His father crossed his arms, a slight smile growing on his face. “Your entourage.”

“I’m going to university, not to court, Your Grace. This is an unnecessary expense.”

“You are heir to the throne of Maridrina,” his father answered, “which means you must arrive in Harendell with a suitable entourage.” Under his breath, he added, “You’re embarrassment enough—no need to add to the shame.”

Don’t argue. Keep your damned mouth shut, Keris silently ordered himself. But the temper he usually kept in check was rising. “This will cost a fortune. Better for us to go by ship. It’s the calm season—there’s no reason not to.” On a ship, it wouldn’t matter if these men behaved like idiots, whereas the Ithicanians had rules of conduct in their bridge and no patience for those who broke them, which these buffoons would inevitably do within the day.

Perhaps that was what his father was counting on.

“Don’t be a fool, Keris. The seas are swarming with Valcottan vessels, and the last thing I need is for my heir to be killed.”

“Given my eight predecessors are in their graves, I’d think you’d be used to that by now.”

The words sneaked out, and Keris immediately braced for the blow, long used to his tongue earning him beatings. Yet instead, his father gripped him by the shoulders, pulling him close so that his mouth was inches from Keris’s ear. To anyone looking on, it would appear nothing more than an intimate exchange between father and son, but Keris’s arms were already numb with pain from where his father’s thumbs pressed against nerves.

“Your older brother was twice the man you are,” his father hissed. “I’d exchange your life for Rask’s in a heartbeat, if such a thing were possible.”

And not just Rask. Despite Keris having brothers who were arguably worth less than the detritus of humanity, his father held every one of them in greater esteem. It was only Keris that he hated, only Keris whom he mocked without mercy.

“I wish Rask were still alive as much as you do.” Not because he’d liked his brother, but because with Rask performing all the duties the heir was supposed to do—soldiering, politicizing, and warmongering—Keris had been able to avoid them. But Rask had gotten himself killed in a skirmish with the Valcottans, and Keris’s greatest fear since his brother’s death was that he’d be able to avoid soldiering, politicizing, and warmongering no longer. Which was why his father not backtracking out of his agreement to allow him to go to Harendell had seemed like nothing short of an act of God.

Which, given he was a disbeliever of the first order, made Keris extremely suspicious.

“You are pathetic and weak, and your tongue is not worthy of speaking your brother’s name.” His father’s grip tightened. “But you are still my son. Which means I must find ways to capitalize upon your attributes, limited though they may be.”

And there was the catch.

Of course his father wanted something from him. He wouldn’t allow Keris to go without making him pay a price. “What will it be, Father? Spying on the Harendellians, I assume?”

He chuckled, and the sound made Keris’s skin crawl. Then his father released his shoulders. “No, Keris. I’ve spies aplenty. But rest assured that I will find a way to use you to my benefit.” And without another word, he strode up the gangplank and disappeared onto the ship.

Not spying, but something. And whatever it was, Keris knew he wouldn’t like it.

The old Ithicanian still stood a few paces away, waiting patiently. “If you’d follow me, Your Highness, we will get underway. We have restrictions on what is allowed through the bridge, which means all persons and baggage are subject to search. And”—his eyes flicked to the stacks of chests and to Keris’s entourage—“that might take more time than anticipated.”

---

Hours was what it took, the Ithicanians removing them to a stone warehouse where everything was thoroughly searched before being loaded into narrow wagons. And though Keris had watched his father’s ship sail away, he couldn’t shirk the sense that something would happen that would see him not in Harendell, but back in Maridrina, once again immersed in a war he wanted no part of. A war he was opposed to on every possible level.

“They ready?”

A female voice caught his attention, and Keris lifted his face from the book he was reading to find an Ithicanian woman striding into the warehouse, several other armed Ithicanians on her heels. She was tall and lean, her dark-brown hair shaved on the sides of her head and the rest pulled back into a long tail at the back. She wore the drab greyish-green tunic and trousers that the Ithicanians favored, her thick leather boots rising to her knees and a multitude of weapons belted at her waist. Her arms were bare except for the vambraces buckled around them, her skin tanned but for the few pale scars lining it that suggested she was no stranger to combat. Like the rest of her countrymen, she wore a leather mask, making it difficult to guess her age with any certainty, but Keris doubted she was more than twenty.

The old Ithicanian nodded. “Their luggage is in order. An overabundance of drink, but they assure me it is for the journey, not to sell.” His jaw tightened. “Their… conduct gives verity to the claim.”

“Lovely. There is nothing I like better than escorting drunk Maridrinian pricks.”

Keris laughed.

Her head jerked sideways, gaze lighting upon Keris where he leaned against the wall, far away from his companions.

After coughing to clear his throat, the old Ithicanian said, “This is Crown Prince Keris Veliant. The Queen’s elder brother.”

The woman inclined her head. “My apologies, Your Highness. I regret you overhearing my comment.”

But she did not regret saying it. Keris liked her already. “Given I’m quite sober, I assume you’re delighted to escort me.”

Her hazel eyes flickered with amusement. “Sober… but you are a Maridrinian.”

“And a prick, as luck would have it.” He smirked at her. “I hope your king pays you well.”

“Not well enough.” She gestured toward his entourage. “If you’ll join your companions, Highness, you’ll be searched for weapons, and then we’ll be on our way.”

Keris made no comments as one of the soldiers accompanying her searched him from head to toe for weapons, pulling off his boots and inspecting their soles, the man’s efficiency suggesting he’d done this a hundred times and knew his business well. Keris’s entourage, on the other hand, snickered and laughed through the whole affair, making comments that had Keris grinding his teeth. He was on the verge of shouting at them to shut their damned mouths when one of them said to the Ithicanian woman, who was kneeling while searching him, “You look well practiced in this position, girl.”

Every Ithicanian in the room went still, their anger palpable even to the fools in his entourage, whose faces quickly drained of humor.

Shit.

The Ithicanian woman’s jaw had visibly tightened, but she said nothing as she finished her search. Then she stood abruptly, her shoulder catching the idiot between the legs hard enough that he screamed. Toppling over, he lay on his side, cursing and moaning while he clutched his groin.

The woman turned to the old Ithicanian, snapping, “There a Maridrinian ship in port, Rin?”

“Two.”

“Good. Pick one and tell them they’re taking His Highness and his men back to Vencia. Passage through the bridge is denied.”

Keris’s stomach dropped, panic rushing through his veins. He’d known this would happen. That his father would find some way to go back on his word.

“Raina.” The old man’s voice was disapproving. “Prince Keris is Queen Lara’s brother.”

Her eyes flicked to Keris, looking him up and down. “We’ll take him, then. But not the rest.”

It was tempting. Oh so terribly tempting to take the woman up on her offer and go through the bridge alone, but Keris knew his father would make him pay for such a decision. He always did.

“I’m sorry for his disrespect.” Walking over to the woman—Raina—Keris stopped a courteous distance from her. “He’s a fool, but he doesn’t deserve to die.”

“I didn’t hit him that hard.” Her voice was withering. “He’ll live.”

“Not if you send him back.” Keris lifted one shoulder. “My father tolerates embarrassment poorly. The unfortunate sot will be dead within an hour of making port unless he finds the courage to jump overboard on the journey back.”

“Perhaps he should have considered the consequences before he spoke.”

“I doubt he’s capable of that much foresight.” Keris glanced at the men, who were silent for once, and he could see in their eyes that they knew the threat was real. Not only to the idiot on the ground, but to all of them. “They won’t step out of line again; you have my word.”

She exhaled a long breath, rocking on her heels. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“We will be on our best behavior.”

Even with her mask, he saw her eyes roll. But she gestured to the wagons. “Get in.”

His entourage scurried toward the traveling wagons, polished affairs with well-upholstered seating that were pulled by pairs of mules. Comfortable enough, but far too close in quarters for Keris’s liking. “Do you mind if I walk?”

Raina shrugged. “Be my guest.”

The caravan creaked into motion, nine more heavily armed Ithicanians flanking the wagons as they trundled out of the warehouse and into the light rain. Raina led the way, and Keris followed at her heels, his eyes going up the slope to the cavernous mouth of the bridge. Mist emanated from the grey stone as the rain struck it, and as they approached, a heavy steel portcullis rose, the rattling of chains rivaling the distant rumble of thunder.

Raina cast her face skyward, the rain splattering against her mask. “Be glad you chose not to go by ship, Your Highness.”

Keris eyed the dark opening, the steel bars of the bottom of the portcullis looking remarkably like teeth. “Why is that?”

“Because there’s a storm coming.” Then, taking a glowing lantern from one of the waiting guards, she led Keris inside the bridge.