The King was looking decidedly nervous.
The Fifth Wizard was peering up at the man from his ceremonial position on the dais. He could hardly blame the young king. He was only 25, after all, and headstrong. The lad had been trying to assert his independence since he was as tall as his father’s knee, but the old King Delimar had been a man of peace, a diplomat, filled with stoic reserve. The young prince’s rambunctiousness – his disinterest in his studies and his boredom at the day-to-day run of the realm – had been incomprehensible to the steady patriarch. Since his father’s death, the King Steven had always seemed decidedly uncomfortable in his crown, surrounded as he was by his father’s men, each of them acting just as they had in his father’s time. Old cobweb-addled minds, the lot of them. Continue reading →