“Um. Yeah.” I stared at the chess pieces, wishing one of the bishops or rooks would offer some advice. They didn’t. “Can we make the gifts stop?”
“In my experience, love, gifts are given according to the giver’s preference, not the recipient’s.” Micah moved a pawn, then he grabbed my hands. “Do you think you’d not rule well?”
“I think random fake office work doesn’t qualify me to do anything but alphabetize reports,” I mumbled, being that I’d only ever been given busy work in my position at REES. “Can’t they support someone who knows what she’s doing?” I looked at him, my next words almost as desperate as I felt. “What should I do?”
Micah rose and scooped me into his arms, settling us onto the window seat. I loved it when he carried me, but I always told him I’d rather he didn’t. If he knew how much I enjoyed it, my feet would never touch the ground again. “You truly do not wish to rule?” he asked.
“I truly do not.”
“Then we shall learn who else wishes to be leader of copper, and we shall support them.”
I blew out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “We can do that? It’s that simple?”
“Yes and yes.”
I laid my head on Micah’s shoulder, relieved beyond words. “You’re brilliant. I love you.”
“Only for my mind?”
I glanced at his face; there was that grin, the one that only made appearances when we were alone. I’d move mountains for that grin. “Maybe for a few other things, too.”
The next morning found Micah still in full-on Corbeau avoidance mode. He had instructed the silverkin to deliver breakfast to our rooms, and while I enjoy having my coffee in bed as much as the next gal, all this sulking was getting a little old. I tried to distract Micah out of his funk by asking him about Oriana’s impending appearance and trying to learn a few details about what would surely be quite the event. I only asked for basic information, like who was expected to attend, what we should be wearing, would anyone be handing out pronunciation guides for all those multi-syllable names, things like that. My Micah had other ideas and suggested that instead of spending the day inside discussing such dry matters, we head on down to the village and visit the smithy.
“For your sword,” Micah said when I asked why.
“Oh. You’re really going to teach me?”
“Didn’t I already agree to it?” he countered. “What with your brother’s exceedingly bad judgment, and your mother’s tendency to destroy those who can guard you from whatever follows Max home, I now see the need for you to be armed.”
“A sword can help me against iron warriors?” Maybe Micah was going to get me a super sword. Cool.
“It would not,” Micah clarified, “but it could be useful against other creatures who are displeased with your brother. He accumulates enemies the way a squirrel gathers acorns.”
I smiled, grateful he wasn’t holding a grudge over Mom’s and Max’s bad behavior; well, at least he wasn’t holding one against me. After a leisurely breakfast involving all three major food groups—caffeine, heavily buttered toast, and extra caffeine—we were on our way. I, in turn, surprised Micah by suggesting that we walk, instead of taking the metal pathway.
“Sadie and I walked to the village yesterday,” I explained, “and it’s such a nice, sunny day. It would be a shame to miss it by hopping around from metal to metal.”
“Why did you and Sadie decide to visit the village?” Micah asked.
“I had to get her out of the manor,” I said in a rush. The little blue vial I’d purchased at the apothecary was still wrapped up in plain brown paper on my dressing table. “She needs to, you know, acclimate herself.”
“Did you bring a silverkin?”
“I thought I only needed one when I was with Max.” Micah blinked, so I amended, “Actually, I didn’t think about it.”
“You didn’t think about being safe?”
“I was intent on getting Sadie to act like an adult.” Not to mention that I was worried that a silverkin would rat me out. I leaned up and kissed Micah’s cheek. “I’ll remember next time. I promise.”
“Mmm.” Micah accepted my response, lame as it was, and my elf and I enjoyed a leisurely stroll to the village proper.
What’s really interesting about the village of Whispering Dell, and Micah’s rulership of it, is that he does almost all of it from afar. He rarely sets foot in the village, today being only the second time he’d passed its gates since I’d lived at the manor. Instead, he preferred to have his magistrates or tax collectors or whoever come to the manor for any matters that required the magic Silverstrand touch. I supposed having one’s business affairs handled by one’s minions was a fringe benefit of being royalty.