"Sir Aurelian, you said you had important news from the High King?" Baudwin leaned back in his chair and stretched his aching leg out in front of him.

His advisers were all gathered to hear the news from Messina. Aurelian, as the High King's Envoy, usually reported the goings-on in the kingdom to the sovereign city, but occasionally he would also relay messages from them. The High King rarely got involved in the kingdoms, letting rulers govern as they saw fit - as long as they did so with their subjects' best interest at heart. It had been this failing on Baudwin's parents' behalf that had caused their dethroning and his crowning.

Aurelian stood up, the brown-haired former knight looking more sombre than usual. "I think we've all heard the rumours of a man calling himself the Son of Deva, claiming to be the son of the Dark Disciple."

A murmur of agreement sounded around the large table.

"Do we really believe that Deva had a son?" Donauld asked, his bony shoulders tense despite his unwillingness to believe the rumours.

"According to the latest message from Messina, they are now fairly certain the rumours are true. There have been attacks on the High King and his wife, apparently orchestrated by followers of this Son of Deva."

Baudwin sat up straight. "Are they okay?"

He'd met High King Felix during the Battle for Messina years ago, when the former was still the Prince of Ler, and he quite liked the man. Not much older than Baudwin, he had been straddled with a lot of responsibility at a young age. Following the recapture of Messina, they had crowned him High King, and two years ago he'd come to Baudwin's and Braithe's aid against their parents.

"They are fine. The queen was poisoned, but has recovered nicely. They've caught the would-be assassin, and it was apparently a follower of this Son of Deva. As a precaution, the High King is sending troops to the mountain pass between the Kingdom of Ler and the Dreadlands. Just in case they try to march on us as they did eight years ago."

"I'm glad to hear they are well. And that sounds like a good start." Baudwin nodded thoughtfully. If this Son of Deva was real, he might be a considerable threat to all of Erya. It had only been four years since they defeated Deva and recaptured Messina. Was their peace to be so short-lived?

"What does he want? Do they know what he's doing?" Golen shuffled a few papers around in front of him, always needing to occupy his hands.

"It doesn't say." Aurelian looked at the crumpled piece of paper in his hands before sighing. "But I think it's fairly obvious. He will want to free Deva from the crystal in which they spellbound him, and then the two of them will continue what Deva started. Trying to free the Dark God Ondastos from the Nether Realm."

Baudwin nodded. That had been his thinking as well. "Which we cannot allow to happen. What does the High King want us to do?"

"For now, he only asks that we keep our ears to the ground and our eyes to the mountains. They are not easily traversed in this region, but since the Dreadlands are immediately north of them, he would like us to be extra vigilant."

"Of course. We will station lookouts along the mountain range." He tapped his fingers on the oak table while thinking. "Anything else you can think of we could do?"

"It's worth adding more training for the troops and opening enlistments," Sir Ioan, the Captain of his Guard said.

"Agreed." Baudwin nodded. "Good call. Please see to it, Sir Ioan."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"It might be worth taking stock of our grain and other resources," Donauld suggested. "We will want to be prepared if there is a battle and we cannot harvest or get food from elsewhere."

Nodding again, Baudwin truly hoped it would not come to that. The years leading up to the Dark Disciple conquering the City of Messina had been rough, with monsters and zealots attacking wherever they could. After they possessed the city, their attacks had become worse, targeting specific targets at random and quickly overwhelming them. Breoch had fared relatively well compared to some other kingdoms, but there was no guarantee that they would again. And it wasn't as if they had been completely forgotten.

The memory of visiting a small village the Dark God's followers had raided was etched in his mind for all eternity. There had been nothing left. Men, women and children, all wiped out in a bout of senseless violence. The buildings and farms all razed and burnt to the ground. And for what? No one even knew why they attacked, or if they even had a reason. The beasts might simply enjoy the carnage of it all.

He still had the charred doll of a child he'd found in the ashes in a drawer in his study. A stark reminder of what happened when a ruler didn't react quickly enough.

Pressing his lips together, he sat back. No matter what, they had to make sure the Dark Disciple remained spellbound in his crystal prison. Erya might not survive a second time. If he was freed, and succeeded in breaking open the portal to the Nether Realm to free the Dark God they were all doomed.

"We will do everything we have to," he vowed. "Aurelian, please send a message to the High King. Let him know we stand behind him in the fight against this Son of Deva. Anything he needs."

Aurelian nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Is there anything else we need to discuss today?" He almost didn't want to know the answer. This new threat was more than enough to worry about for the time being.

Golen cleared his throat and looked down at his papers, almost as if he didn't want to meet his eyes. "Yes, Your Majesty... There is one more area of concern."

"Yes?" he queried when the older man didn't immediately continue.

"Well..." The adviser cleared his throat again before finally looking up. "It appears that there are some problems in the west. With Lord Delen."

"Already?" Baudwin flexed his hand on the table. "It's only been three weeks since the wedding."

Three weeks of his wife avoiding him like a plague. She'd kept her word and played the dutiful, loving wife whenever they were in public, but if she wasn't needed, she kept to herself. Either locking herself in her chambers, or walking the castle gardens.

"I'm afraid so." Golen grimaced. "We've received reports that Lord Delen is taking liberties he should not and asking for higher tithes. Any time anyone questions him, he says the king has given him permission."

Baudwin groaned. Was Son of Deva not enough? He had to deal with his dreadful father-in-law too? "That man needs to be put in his place!"

"May I suggest a trip to see him?" Aurelian said. "This may be a discussion you should have face to face. Make sure he receives the message."

"That might be best." And his wife would be happy. She could roam the castle without having to worry about running into him. "We'll leave in two days. Please make the preparations, Sir Ioan."

The Captain of the Guard nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty."

Taking his cane, Baudwin stood up, grimacing when his stiff joints complained. "Well then, if that's all, I think we will end today's meeting here."

Before anyone could say otherwise—he was quite done dealing with problems for the day—he left the room. Limping down the hallways towards the private quarters, he passed through the portrait gallery and stopped in front of the recent addition. The artist Aurelian had commissioned had truly done a magnificent job capturing Rhiannon, her portrait now hanging proudly next to his. He'd even caught the stubborn glint in her eyes, and Baudwin suspected the serious look on her face was natural. Having her portrait painted didn't seem like something she would have enjoyed. Somehow, that made him feel slightly better. Maybe she was as miserable as he was.

Reaching the private sitting room he shared with Rhiannon a short while later, it surprised him to find his wife sitting in a comfortable chair by the window, reading a book. She looked up when he arrived, and immediately made to stand up, but he held up a hand to stop her.

"One moment," he said. "I just need a moment of your time."

Hesitantly, she put her book down on her lap and waited. Really? He wasn't even worth a few words of greeting? With a sigh, he leaned on his cane, cursing his aching leg for the sign of weakness.

"I just wanted to let you know that in two days I will leave on a trip."

Surprise crossed her face, and she arched her eyebrows. "Oh? Where are you going?"

He debated not telling her, then remembered his vow to always be honest. At least one of them should be. "I am going to visit Lord Delen. He's been taking some liberties."

If it surprised her, there was no outward sign, but a small crease appeared between her brows. "And you do not expect me to join you?"

"No, I would never force you to see your family. Not after what he did to you." That she'd even consider he would was almost insulting.

She nodded, looking relieved. "Thank you."

"At least you won't have to worry about avoiding me for a little while." He kept his voice light, but a remnant of hurt still pierced through it.

Looking down at her hands, she didn't answer. Not that he'd thought she would. Massaging his aching leg, he wondered how he could fix whatever was broken between them. Whatever was making her keep him at arm's length. If only it was as easy as ordering his subjects around in a meeting.

Her eyes darted to his leg as he touched it. "Is it hurting?"

He nodded.

Standing up, she put the book on the chair and motioned for him to follow. "Come, I've replenished some of my herbs. I can make you a new ointment."

She'd only ever helped him with his pain that one evening at the Inn, but it had felt better for several days before the pain fully returned. If she was offering to do so again, he was not one to decline. Once in her chambers, he sat down in a chair by the table where they had played chess on their wedding night a few weeks ago, watching as Rhiannon prepared a bowl of water.

When she opened a closet to reveal a plethora of tiny vials, pouches and boxes, with herbs hanging to dry from a rack at the top, he had to hide a smile. Trust his Swamp Witch to bring her treasures with her to the royal castle. She picked a few items and brought them back to her bowl. A spoonful of this, a pinch of that... He enjoyed watching her work, her movements swift and decisive, a little line of concentration between her brows.

Stirring her mixture, she glanced over to him. "Remove your trousers."

The order reminded him of the first time she'd issued it, and the memory of her hands on his skin instantly made him hard. Well, this would be awkward. Again. Taking his boots off, he wriggled out of his breeches and waited for his wife to finish the ointment. He'd not expected to react this way. For the love of the Gods, her hands weren't even on him yet. At least his shirt covered his embarrassment.

When Rhiannon came to kneel before him and began putting the cold ointment on his skin, massaging it into his thigh, he wondered what he'd been thinking. All this was doing was to remind him of how desperately he wanted her back in his arms. To have her this close, touching him, and not be allowed to kiss her or hold her was maddening. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, thinking of cool ponds and icy waterfalls. It wasn't helping.

It was as if his body was crying out after hers, wanting so much more than just her fingers rubbing the puce-coloured goo onto his leg. He'd thought the first time she did this had been torture, but it was nothing compared to this time. Having tasted her once, his body craved her touch. Keeping his eyes closed was possibly making it worse, conjuring images of her straddling him in the billowing nightgown, illuminated by the faint light of the moon.

Opening his eyes, he gazed down at his wife as she finished applying the ointment. Wiping her hands on a towel, she looked up at him, and something in his eyes or face must have caught her attention. Her movements stilled. Their eyes locked, his breaths coming in loud rasps as he resisted the urge to pull her up into his lap and kiss her. Rhiannon's mouth was slightly open and her tongue darted out to wet her lips, forcing him to hold back a groan.

She was the first to pull away, and he tamped down the instant disappointment. For a moment, a very short moment, he'd almost thought she'd been about to kiss him. But there was no sign of any such thoughts now. She was cleaning the bowl and putting her herbs away.

"I'll tell the servants to have a bath sent to your room," she said as she closed the closet door. "Wash it off when it begins to crack."

"I remember," he murmured. He also remembered how she had helped him clean it off last time. It didn't look like that would be the case today.

She opened the door to the sitting room, a clear invitation for him to leave. With a grim smile, he grabbed his trousers and boots in his free hand, leaning on his cane with the other. He was dismissed.

He was halfway across the sitting room when he heard the quiet words behind him.

"Safe travels."

~~~~~~