The King's Whisper

by T. S. Cleveland

  “But he speaks the truth, Malcolm,” William said quietly. “The queen is dead.”

  “Why do you lie?” Malcolm demanded. “I’ve told you what you wanted to know. I’ve spoken the truth. What can you possibly hope to gain from this?”

  “It’s no lie,” Audrey said, stepping up and removing the flask from her pocket. She set it down hard on the table before him. “Bellamy was poisoned this evening, and she died just after raising your son to your former position on the Royal Council. Isn’t that right, councilors?”

  None of them spoke. She stood back, folded her arms, and sighed. “You may speak now,” she instructed.

  Felix was fully expecting a repeat of the music shop’s clamor to ensue, but it didn’t. Instead, each member of the council confirmed the truth of Bellamy’s death with a somber nod of his or her head and a simple “yes” while looking at Malcolm. Then they turned their eyes to Torsten, lowering their heads in a deep, respectful bow.

  “No!” Malcolm said, eyes darting about in a frenzy. “I don’t believe this! Have you all gone mad? You tell me Bellamy is murdered, and then you shift your allegiance to the bastard who surely must have killed her!” He raised his arm, pointing a shaky finger at Torsten. “Can’t you see it’s why the bastard returned? To be rid of me in the dungeons and to murder his mother so he could be king!”

  “A guardsman killed Queen Bellamy,” Felix said, his voice calm and certain. “He confessed before Audrey killed him. As for Torsten’s return, his only wish was to expose the evil you’ve done and stop you from doing worse. And my wish,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he held Malcolm’s eyes, “is that after tonight, he will never have to lay eyes on you again.”

  The council erupted in applause, with calls of “Well said, Sir Felix!” and “Hear, hear!” and even a few shouts of “Let Carwyn rot!”

  “You!” Malcolm yelled over the ruckus, turning his eyes from Felix to Torsten. “You both may have your wishes!” He took up the flask, threw the cap to the floor, and quickly downed its contents. “I will not be subjected to the rule of my own bastard!” he yelled, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and hurling the empty flask at Torsten. “I will not allow you the pleasure of keeping me jailed!” He grabbed the chair up from the floor and collapsed into it, dropping his head in his hands.

  Torsten moved as if to go to him, but Felix tightened the grip on his arm. “It’s all right,” he said calmly. And as the room lapsed into watchful silence and Malcolm began to weep, Audrey bent over, slapped her hands on her leather-clad thighs, and began to laugh.

  ***

  “You could have told me the poison only works on elementals,” Torsten said as he and Felix exited the dungeon and stepped into the cool, fresh air of the courtyard.

  “Well, I didn’t know for sure. Neither did Audrey,” Felix replied. “It was only a guess until Malcom proved it.”

  Audrey had hauled Malcolm off to his cell once she’d stopped laughing, and the agitated, confused whispers that accompanied their departure had ceased upon William’s suggestion that Torsten remove his boots in order to quell any lingering doubt. It was an odd scene that followed, as Felix watched the councilmembers gather around Torsten’s bare foot, leaning in close for a better look at the royal sigil that scarred the back of his left heel, a mark that Torsten had all but forgotten about since being told it was a birthmark when only a child. The foot exam would certainly elicit roars of laughter, should he decide to add it to the song he would write of Torsten, as would Audrey’s reappearance in the doorway some twenty minutes later, so she could assure everyone that Malcolm was “still not dead.”

  “Besides,” Felix said, “I didn’t know Malcolm would empty that flask.”

  “You didn’t wish that he would drink it?” Torsten asked, lifting a doubtful eyebrow.

  “I don’t know,” Felix admitted, shaking his head. “I’ve wished a lot of things tonight. And I’ve never been as angry with anyone as I was listening to Malcolm. I know I wished he would never bother you again, but—”

  “And he won’t,” Torsten said, pressing a soft kiss to Felix’s mouth as the doors opened behind them and the others began filing out. “He’ll never bother us again.” He sighed deeply.

  As the guard began forming and the council lined up behind them, Torsten turned his head to the sky and squeezed Felix’s hand. “Is all this really happening?” he asked. “Is it real?”

  “It is,” Felix sighed. “At least, I think it’s real. If this is a dream, we’ve been asleep an awful long time to have everything that’s happened happen.”

  Torsten laughed, and there was an edge of hysteria to it that Felix well understood. “You mean meeting you, then going from being a banished bandit who’s lived five years in the woods to the bastard King of Viridor in the course of a week?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” Felix said, watching the top of the moon as it appeared from behind a cloud, then turning to face Torsten. “Whether the Gods sent me or not, whether it was willed or not, you were meant to be king,” he said, knowing with all his heart that it was true. “You’re a good man, Torsten, and you’ll be a good king, too.” Thinking back, he wasn’t surprised at all that things turned out the way they had. It seemed inevitable to him now, as unlikely as it all seemed.

  “But will they accept me?” Torsten asked with a nervous laugh, a look of uncertainty on his face. “A bastard with only two decent shirts?”

  “I accept you,” Felix said, stepping back and dropping to one knee. “The queen is dead. Long live King Torsten.”

  The guards nearest to them dropped down beside Felix without hesitation. “The queen is dead. Long live King Torsten,” they repeated. The entire company began to kneel, the chronicler, the councilors, and the guard alike, each repeating the same words, their voices echoing in the broken courtyard.

  Audrey appeared at the door, glanced at the others briefly, and dropped to her knees. “The queen is dead,” she said quietly, and then, in a loud, strong voice, “Long live King Torsten.”

  Torsten reached for Felix, drawing him to his feet. “All of you, please, get up.”

  As the assemblage rose to their feet, William came forward, bowing deeply. “Your Majesty,” he said, “the transfer of power is all but done. We are all on the same page, yes?” he asked, looking to the councilmembers as they drew near.

  Their heads nodded, though not as eagerly as they had in the dungeons, and there was a bit of grumbling as Lord Ward cleared his throat. “The Royal Council will support this succession,” he said, bowing his head respectfully, “with the expectation that Your Majesty will lean heavily on the collective wisdom of his elders for guidance.”

  Torsten stood for a moment in silent consideration. “Am I now King of Viridor?” he asked the chronicler, sounding far more composed than Felix knew he felt.

  “Yes,” William said. “Your council has verified your right to succession before witnesses, as have I and your father. All that is left is a formal proclamation—which I will see to penning tonight—and the coronation, of course, but these are technicalities.”

  “So I am the king now?” Torsten asked again. “With all the power that entails?”

  The chronicler pushed up his spectacles. “Yes. You absolutely are.”

  “Good.” Torsten turned to the council. “Then my first act as king is to depose every member of this council, effective immediately. You may remain at court for now, but your behavior going forward will determine if you stay. Audrey,” he called, “please have someone see these people off.”

  As the council was led away, fretting and sputtering, the chronicler leaned close to Torsten, speaking quietly. “If I may be so bold, Your Majesty,” he said. “Your first proclamation was an incredibly astute one. Yet I’m afraid the royal charter does require you keep a council.”

  “And how many councilors do I require?” Torsten asked, smirking.

  “Ten has been the usual number, sire.”

  Torste
n’s smirk stretched to a grin. “How about that, Flautist? Isn’t it lucky we happen to know ten people perfect for the job?”

  ***

  The townhouse where Queen Bellamy had been living appeared to be an unexpectedly modest one, for which Torsten was surely grateful. Still, he hesitated once he and Felix had been escorted to the front door. Sensing his discomfort, Felix took his hand. He flashed a smile at the guards, then led Torsten inside and up the winding staircase to their rooms. The servants who usually attended Bellamy were gone, assisting Winchester. They were all alone in the house.

  The queen’s presence was everywhere, from the whiskey decanters on the side table in the living room, to the fur-lined silk robe draping her bedroom’s vanity chair. Audrey was there, as well. A bright pink eye patch lay in a decorative box on the mantle, and a pair of freshly polished leather boots stood waiting beside the bed.

  Torsten stood in the bedroom doorway, surveying the space in obvious distress, but Felix was too exhausted to feel anything but relief as he kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the bed. Gods, it was soft.

  “We could stay somewhere else, you know,” he said. “You’re the king, so you can stay anywhere you want.”

  “No,” Torsten replied. “This is fine. And I’m too tired to go anywhere else.”

  “Then stop frowning and come here,” Felix said, patting a pillow. And to his delight, Torsten obeyed, lying down beside him on the bed.

  He rolled to face him. Torsten’s stubble was in full evidence, and he looked much as he had the first time Felix saw him. Gruff, serious, devastatingly handsome. Tomorrow, word would spread that he was the King of Viridor, and their lives would become impossibly hectic and fast. But for now, it was only the two of them, and he scooted closer, needing to touch.

  “Can I ask a question?”

  “Hmmm,” Torsten answered, his eyes closed

  “Are you an elemental?”

  Torsten’s brows knitted together in a brief moment of confusion before they relaxed and he let out a soft laugh. “Because Bellamy was?” he asked. Felix nodded. “No. And it’s a good thing, too. I doubt I would have survived my childhood in the palace if she’d heard even a hint of that.” At Felix’s horrified face, Torsten’s smile broadened. “Don’t look so shocked. Bellamy may be dead, and she may have been my birthmother, but I won’t be swayed into believing she was a better person than she was. Viridor has been a dangerous place for elementals until the very recent past, and that includes elemental children. It’s for the best I wasn’t born with any magic in me.”

  “No magic at all?” Felix pondered, knocking their knees together. “What about your uncanny ability to befriend wolves?” When Torsten shrugged, Felix sat up, flashes of their earlier conversation returning to him. “The execution you went to,” he said, “where they killed the woman because they said she was a wolf.”

  “What about it?” Torsten asked hesitantly.

  “You have a connection with that wolf pack. They’re not ordinary wolves, are they?” he asked. He remembered the wolves that attacked Gethrin’s camp, and the wolf that had limped into the village with the hurt foot, and how Alex had been limping on the same foot the next morning. Felix could have kicked himself for not putting it together earlier. “Alex is a wolf, isn’t he?” he asked, lowering his voice to a rough whisper. “It all makes sense now. Why didn’t you tell me? Was the woman they executed from the same pack?”

  “It wasn’t my secret to tell,” Torsten said, sitting up beside him and not looking the least bit apologetic. “The woman they executed was Alex’s aunt. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. I only found out later, when I stayed with him in their village. I figured it out then, like you have, but it took me a lot longer.”

  Felix’s mind was racing. “I had no idea anyone like that actually existed outside of the stories,” he said.

  “I guess that’s a good thing,” Torsten said. “If people knew, people like Niall, the peace they have in the east and the northern shore would be gone, and people like Alex and his family would live in constant fear of being hunted down.”

  “But they won’t have to now,” Felix said. “Now that you’re the king, you can fix things.”

  Torsten groaned and fell back, rolling onto his stomach and covering his head with a pillow. “If only being king came with wisdom,” he said into the fluff-stuffed silk, “and always knowing what was right. Look how many people I lost to Gethrin, how many friends are dead because of poor decisions I’ve made.”

  Felix began gently rubbing his back, and neither spoke for a while. Just when Felix was beginning to believe Torsten had fallen asleep, he rolled over, his eyes shiny and wet. Felix leaned down and kissed him softly. “You will be a good king,” he soothed. “People are going to die in service to you, just like your friends did. And it’s going to hurt when it happens, but you’ll be no more to blame for their deaths than you were for the men Gethrin killed. The bandits don’t blame you. They have nothing but respect and love for you, and so will the people of Viridor. I know it, Torsten,” he said. “I can feel it.”

  Torsten smiled, running his fingers through Felix’s hair. “You have a special gut feeling?”

  “I have a special gut feeling,” Felix said. “Plus, you’ll look amazing in a crown, and that’s half the struggle of being king.”

  Torsten laughed, pulling Felix closer. “Maybe, but you have to say that because you’re the Royal Flautist.”

  “True,” Felix said, running his hand along Torsten’s stubble. “And as Royal Flautist, I have a request.”

  “What is it?”

  Felix appraised Torsten thoughtfully. “I know there are a million things that will need doing in the coming weeks, but after the funeral and the coronation, I would really like to follow up on Gethrin’s letter.”

  “The letter?” Torsten cocked an eyebrow before the understanding reached his eyes. “I see. Your concern is with the Guardians’ Guild.”

  “The guildmaster,” Felix corrected. “As far as we know, McClintock was the only one who knew anything about the deal with Gethrin and your father.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Torsten groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “I told you how corrupt the guild is. The whole establishment needs to be called into question.”

  Felix shook his head and climbed on top of him, straddling his waist and boxing him in with his arms. “I know McClintock needs to be thrown into the dungeon. But the entirety of the guardians shouldn’t be made to suffer for his mistakes. The guardians are good, Torsten, even if their leader isn’t. What they need is a new leader.”

  Torsten eyed him suspiciously. “And I’m guessing you have an idea who you’d like that leader to be.”

  Felix pictured hair gleaming like rubies and nodded. “Merric should be guildmaster.” He could see him standing outside the carriage, his sword brandished, yelling for Felix, trying to run after him, trying to save him, even with his wounded leg. “He’s brave and loyal.”

  Torsten didn’t look persuaded. “I thought he was just an apprentice.”

  “He is," Felix agreed. “But yesterday you were just a bandit. And having Merric as guildmaster feels right to me.”

  Torsten sighed. “I suppose you’re right. If I can become king overnight, anything is possible.” He tightened his hands over Felix’s hips. “You’ll be wanting to go there, won’t you? To see McClintock arrested and tell Merric about his promotion?”

  Felix smiled, rolling his hips against Torsten’s. “Yes.”

  Torsten smirked. “Fine. But I’m going with you.”

  “But you’re the king,” Felix argued. “You’ll need to be here, doing kingly things.”

  “No. For this, I need to be at your side doing kingly things.” He smoothed his hands up Felix’s back and brought him down for a kiss. “Besides, I’ll need to meet the new guildmaster, won’t I? It’s proper royal etiquette.”

  Felix frowned at the thought of Torsten meeting Merric, but pu
shed that particular concern aside to save for another time, a time that would prove to be, without a doubt, horribly awkward. “All right. Then we’re in agreement. We’ll go to the Guardians’ Guild as soon as possible, after the funeral and coronation,” he mumbled against Torsten’s lips, yelping in surprise when Torsten flipped him onto his back.

  “We’ll wait and go after the wedding, Flautist. If that’s okay with you.”

  Felix laughed in surprise, reveling in the feeling that was filling his heart, a feeling that was most definitely love. “It’s okay with me,” he said, his mind beginning to string together a perfect melody as Torsten leaned down to kiss him.

  On their wedding night, Felix would play the finished song on his flute, throwing all of his feeling and all of his magic into it. The song would have a perfect ending, a final stanza that would leave a tavern crying for more. But it wouldn’t be the end of the story. Not by far. For Felix knew, better than most, that stories never really ended.

  Their heroes just changed.

  ###

  About the Author

  T.S. Cleveland is a writer, artist, and illustrator.

  She lives in Atlanta, GA.

  Find her on the web at

  tscleveland.blogspot.com/

  facebook.com/artbyvictoriaskye/

  To buy prints or original art from this novel,

  please visit:

  Etsy.com/Shop/ArtbyVictoriaSkye

  The Sun Guardian

  Book One of the Vanguards of Viridor

  Scorch is a cocky apprentice at the Guardians’ Guild, a fellowship of warriors trained to protect the people of Viridor. But when his first guardianship turns out to be more treacherous than he’d bargained for, Scorch finds himself in league with an unlikely companion—the mysterious Vivid, a man as attractive as he is ill tempered.