“Maia,” he breathed, throwing wide his arms.
She wanted to run to him, just as she had as a little girl. She wanted him to sweep her up, to soothe her with kisses and promises and dispel the awful dream that had suddenly plunged her soul into darkness.
The chancellor released her arm and she approached her father, dropping to a formal curtsy in front of him.
“What is this nonsense?” he asked, his eyes suddenly stern. “Maia, you are home! I am grateful to see you. I want your embrace, not formality. Come here!”
She choked down her feelings and came into his arms. There was a smell about him. Not the scent of cinnamon or some contrived odor. Just the smell of his skin, his breath, and she felt a surge of girlish emotions that threatened to ruin her composure. It almost made her forget her disgraced mother, and little Edmon who shared her father’s eyes. Almost.
“That is better,” he said, giving her a hearty squeeze. He held her away from him by the shoulders, gazing down at her with obvious pleasure. “You are quite beautiful, Maia, though must not all fathers think that about their daughters? Look at her, Walraven. She is a beauty.”
“She is, Your Majesty. And she has fulfilled her charge remarkably well for one so young. You could trust her with any errand. She is loyal.”
“I know,” he replied, pinching her chin just as Lady Deorwynn had done. The gesture made her flinch. He gazed at her lovingly, but there was that bit of something in his gaze . . . it smelled of guilt and shame. “I commend your tailor. What fetching colors on you. I like the style. Though you have traveled for quite some time, you arrived here neat and clean. I respect that. Tell me, Maia, are you still as sober a child as you once were? The Pry-rians can be a giddy bunch. Their ways do not seem to have changed you. I see no marks of it anyway.”
“No, Father,” she replied humbly. “I am grateful to be home. Where is Mother? I thought I would find her here with you?”
She had struck a nerve and a blow at the same time, not realizing it until it was too late. Her father flinched noticeably. “Ah yes, well . . . there is all that.” He began to pace away from her, gathering his thoughts, sorting through his words as if trying to determine the best ones to use. “Your mother is no longer here.”
Maia felt a jab of pain in her ribs. “I see.” She swallowed.
He let out a pent-up breath. “It would be best to get this said and done.” He turned and looked at her sternly again, his eyes narrowing coldly. “I have banished your mother.”
Maia flinched, but said nothing. Her cheeks were flaming.
“Where is she?” she asked in a kitten of a voice. She had to repeat herself even to be heard.
“Muirwood, I think,” her father said dismissively. “It is in an out-of-the-way Hundred full of bogs and swamps. I have heard nothing but trouble about the ruins and the slow process of rebuilding. That abbey will never be done, I fear. But that is neither here nor there, Maia. Your mother is banished. I am seeking to have our marriage annulled.” He looked at her pointedly. “For that to happen, Maia, I must banish you as well.”
Her heart rumbled inside her chest. She stared at her father as if he were a stranger. “Why?” she asked, her voice threatening to betray her. “Have I not pleased you, Father?”
He waved his hand dismissively. “No! It is nothing like that, Maia. No, no, that could not be further from the truth. I care for you, and I always shall. You are precious to me. But you cannot be my heir. I will not allow my kingdom to become a principality to another. There are many wolves prowling for you, Maia. Many would-be suitors who would love to claim your hand and my throne. No! I will not allow it. We are chief among the kingdoms. We have the most ancient noble blood, the strongest Families. But I am not growing any younger, Maia, and your mother could not carry another child to term, no matter how many vigils I kept. Something about your birthing . . . damaged her. I cannot allow a daughter to claim my throne. The Naestors would invade and overrun us if they knew a woman was to inherit.” His tone was turning uglier by the moment. His face twisted with rage. “I cannot show them a hint of weakness. Even Chancellor Walraven agrees that a woman cannot inherit Comoros without drawing all of our enemies to our shores. I must have a son. A warrior who can defend us when I am too old.”
In her mind, Maia thought of the timid little boy hiding in his mother’s skirts.
Maia’s tongue finally loosened, the strain of the situation too much to bear in silence. She stared at him in shock and disappointment. “How can you do this, Father?” she said with outrage. “You are a maston! You married Mother by irrevocare sigil. It cannot be broken! You cannot just banish her. She is a noblewoman in her own right, by her own rank. She is of the ruling Family!”