Staring out at the waves provided him none of the usual comforts of its constancy this night. Instead, Kian thought, his forehead rested against the cool glass and breath fogging over his view, instead I think of Dunnagan ships on my pristine shores. He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair, unbraided from his bath earlier that night, stepping back from the window and pacing anxiously across his floor. The news had unnerved him greatly- his cousin, Alcuin of Donnagal, was challenging the authenticity of Kian's blood and staking his own claim to the throne of Gwynvyr.
It was absurd. Ridiculous. And, if Alcuin had not been King of a land in his own right, it would have been treasonous. Kian would've had him locked up in the darkest gaol somewhere, and the whole business would've been done. But, no, the claim had been declared legitimate by the Druids and war was coming.
Bastard blood. All of this trouble because his mother had been a mistress. Kian had been Gryffd's only son, legitimized, and declared heir to the throne by his sixteenth birthday. Now, closing in on thirty, naught but six months after the death of his father, Kian's mother yet again came to haunt him.
And what about Gryffd's wishes? The former King had worked very hard to ensure Kian's ascension to the thrown. Even the Druids had declared Kian suitably royal! The Druids, Kian thought. Maybe they were in on it.
No. No, they were following their dictates. A legitimate claim to the throne had arisen and it had to be approved. Stupid laws. Stupid, stupid laws that did nothing for the good of the Kingdom. It made Kian want to spit. May he should spit. Maybe it would make him feel better.
"Damnit all," he muttered. Kian loved his Kingdom, felt the Land within his very soul. He wished that he was better with a sword; oh, like any man, he was proficient with a weapon, enough to keep him alive if need be, but Kian's skill was in administrating, in ruling, not in leading battles. Not in war.
Aeric. Kian needed to talk to Aeric, and quickly. He made to ring for a servant, but stopped. Mayhap he should travel to Aeric's residence himself. It would surely lend weight to see the future (maybe) King of Gwynvyr standing at his door in the middle of the night. But would leaving the palace be too dangerous?
Nothing was ever easy.
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