Pretender to the Throne(2)

                Xander stopped walking, ignoring the woman who ran into him thanks to his sudden action. “What did you call about then?”

                “Dad had a stroke. It’s very likely he’s dying. And you are the next in line for the throne. Unless you abdicate, and I mean really, finally, abdicate. Or you know, chain a concrete ball to your neck and hurl yourself into the sea, I won’t mourn you.”

                “I would think you’d be happy for me to abdicate,” Xander said, ignoring the tightness in his chest. He hated death. Hated its suddenness. Its lack of discrimination.

                If death had any courtesy at all, it would have come for him a long time ago. Hell, he’d been baiting it for years.

                Instead, it went after the lovely and needed. The ones who actually made a difference to the world rather than those who left nothing but brimstone and scorch marks in their wake.

                “I have no desire to be king, but make no mistake, I will. The issue, of course, lies in the production of heirs. As happy as Jessica and I are with our children, they are not eligible to take the throne. Adoption is good enough for us, but not sufficient per the laws of Kyonos.”

                “That leaves...Eva.”

                “Yes,” Stavros said. “It does. And if you hadn’t heard, she is pregnant.”

                “And how does she feel? About her child being the heir?”

                “She hates it. She and Mak don’t even live in Kyonos and they’d have to uproot their lives so their child could be raised in the palace, so he or she could learn their duty. It would change everything. It was never meant to be this way for her and you know it.”

                Xander closed his eyes and pictured his wild, dark-haired sister. Yes, she would hate it. Because she’d always hated royal protocol. As he had.

                He’d taken her mother from her. Could he rob her of the rest of her dreams, too?

                “Whatever you decide, Xander, decide quickly. I would ask that you do so in two days’ time,” Stavros continued, “but if you want my opinion...”

                “I don’t.” He hung the phone up and stuffed it into his pocket.

                Then he walked toward the dock. And he wondered where he might find a concrete ball.

                * * *

                Layna Xenakos dismounted and patted her horse on the neck. Layna was sweaty and sticky, and the simple, long-sleeved shift she was wearing didn’t do very much to diffuse the heat.

                But she was smiling. Riding always did that for her. Up here, the view of the sea was intoxicating, the sharp, salty ocean breeze tangling with the fresh mountain air, a stark and bright combination she’d never experienced anywhere else.

                It was one of the many things she liked about living at the convent. It was secluded. Separate. And here, at least, lack of vanity was a virtue. A virtue Layna didn’t have to strive for. Vanity, in her case, would be laughable.

                She pulled her head scarf out of her bag and wound her hair up, putting everything back in place. The only thing she could possibly feel any vanity about—her hair— safely covered again.

                “Come on, Phineas,” she said to the horse, leading the animal up to the stables and taking care of his tack and hooves before putting him in his stall and walking back out into the sunlight.

                Technically, that had probably been a poor use of meditation time, but then, she rarely felt more connected to God, or to nature, than when she was riding. So, she imagined that had to count for something.