Page 105 of War Queen
Except follow after Phillip.
The dining hall was as he remembered—too big with too much… stuff. He wanted to break away, return to his chamber, but he was committed now. He had followed the king this far. He had followedthe Aleon king. He clenched his teeth so tightly they ached. He should have left him to walk back on his own. Eat on his own. Fuck off on his own. Now it was too late.
Now he was here, expected to eat. Expected to show his face. He had shown his face to the Aleon king before. Why had he done that? He had felt… What had he felt? An obligation to Salara to smooth the tension, yes, but something more…
He had wanted to show his face.
It had been a mistake.
“What would you like?” the king asked as they neared the table being prepared by servants.
Blood.
“Anything you want,” Phillip added, “I’ll have it made for you.”
Enough. He couldn’t bear it any longer. “Do you expect me to be impressed? Bow at your feet in thanks?”
The king whirled around, stopping them both abruptly. He didn’t match Soren in size, but he certainly met his challenge. “I do want you to be impressed.Destroyer.” His eyes locked with Soren’s boldly, unafraid. More than unafraid. Angry. “I’m the king of Aleon. I’ve defeated those undefeated. When I kill the man that I’m ashamed to call my brother, I’ll have the largest empire in the world, riches unmeasurable. But you’re not impressed, are you? And I know you’re the last man who will bow to me.”
Soren bristled at the king’s sudden anger. “But that’s what you want, isn’t it?” he snarled back. “And you’ll carry on with your riches, pursuing your glory, as you continue to take, continue to conquer and build your empire, as will the next Aleon king after.”
Phillip’s shoulders fell, and a calm returned. His anger seemed to dissipate as quickly as it came. “No,” he said softly. He walked to the chair at the table’s end and leaned against it, as if he suddenly didn’t have the strength to stand. “No,” he said again. “I’ll have no heir.”
What? Soren could only stare at him.
The king sat down and motioned for Soren to take the chair at the other end. “Please.”
Still Soren stood.
Phillip sighed. He waved to the servants waiting near the door, and they disappeared into an adjoining room. Then he said, “When I take my final rest, I’ll give the empire to the people.”
What?
“I’ve been planning it, setting in place the laws that will govern and those who will enforce them and carry out the will of the people through elected officials.”
Soren didn’t understand, or if he did, he didn’t believe it. “Aleon will no longer have a king?”
Phillip motioned again to the chair at the end of the table. “Please.”
Finally, Soren moved to it and sat.
“Men are not meant to be ruled.” Phillip let out a long breath. “And power… power corrupts everything it touches. It’s taken everything and everyone I love.”
Soren didn’t agree. Men needed the strength of a ruler. And not everyone with power was corrupt. Not Salara. Not Salar. But he didn’t offer an argument. “What do you want, then?” he asked instead.
Phillip frowned, ever so slightly leaning back in his chair. “To structure Aleon for the future. And to kill Gregor.” He paused. “After that, I don’t know. Perhaps then I’ll feel complete.” He raised his eyes to Soren’s. “Do you feel complete, Lord Commander?”
Of course he was complete. He had everything he could ever ask for. He had Salara, and Salar. But why did the question hit him so heavily?
Mercifully, the servants reappeared with trays of assorted meats and vegetables, redirecting their attention and rescuing him from answering. A large platter was laid to Soren’s right, and his stomach growled at the heavenly smell of herbs and spices.
“I don’t go after Gregor with the lust of power,” Phillip said. “I go to avenge my younger brother.”
Soren knew the history. As Phillips’s father lay on his deathbed, he split the empire between his three sons. Gregor, the oldest, was furious, and killed his youngest brother, joining the kingdom of Hetahl with his own kingdom of Japheth. He had tried to take Aleon and the lesser kingdoms from Phillip, but Salara’s father stood as his ally, and that had been the beginning of the Great War.
“Aston was fourteen,” Phillip said, staring at his chalice, but Soren knew he was staring into his memories. “Fourteen when Gregor slit his throat. He was just a boy.”
Soren had always hated Gregor. Crowns in general were not kind to those who wore them, especially the young. But he didn’t feel pity. “My brother was twelve when he died,” he said. “My sister, nine.” He had never spoken about them. Not since it happened. Only Mikael knew, and Salara. The words on his lips brought back the rage long buried.
