>>6268028Your uncle doesn't keep you long after he reveals the news. He lets you retire, and digest it all. It never occurred to you that you could be a candidate. In your mind, the path was always clear: Frida would grow up, marry, and become chieftess. Your role was to do everything in your power to make it so. There was no other option.
How wrong.
Now you sit on your uncle's right, before the assembled clan heads. A thick wool cloak sits across your shoulders, lined with otter fur and pinned with a brooch of gold and rubies. Beneath it, a silk-trimmed red tunic, with linen breeches that fall to your lower shin while fine wool strips bind your lower legs, disappearing into fresh-tanned leather shoes.
Your uncle bid you to dress for the occasion, and yes—you look the part.
A vast fare is spread about the feasting table. Peeking out from behind the rim of your cup, you study each person's gaze. You glimpse different emotions: surprise, disappointment, hope.
Chlodo, your uncle's cousin. His face twists with anger. He leans forward, taking a sip of his drink before speaking.
"Sooo." He draws out the word, voice dripping with sarcasm. "The boy is to wear the heir's torc?"
A wave of movement passes through the table. You notice how some of the family heads shift in their seats—a few nod subtly, others purse their lips in silent agreement with Chlodo's bitter tone.
A larger portion of clan heads, however, regard Chlodo with open disdain. Frigern, a broad-shouldered man with silver threading through his beard, is the first to speak.
"You sound irritated." He teases with faux friendliness. "Did someone piss in your drink?"
Snickers ripple through the assembled. Someone slaps a knee and another raises a cup in mock salute. But Chlodo remains undeterred.
"This was not what was agreed, Euric." He addresses your uncle directly, ignoring all the others. The clan heads turn to one another in confusion, their voices rise in alarm. "What deal?" "What agreement?" Each family head demands to know what has been decided without their knowledge.
Through it all, your uncle remains silent. He leans back into his chair to watch the chaos unfold, one eyebrow raised. The corner of his mouth twitches with barely suppressed amusement. The clans badger Chlodo for answers that aren't forthcoming.
You sit rigid, spine straight as an arrow, trying to project an aura of nobility and authority expected of the heir. Your hands rest stiff on your knees, your chin is raised to just the right height—you aren't sure how convincing your display is. The assembly, at least, seems too preoccupied with their squabbling to pay you much attention.
Your uncle's chuckle cuts through their arguments. The table falls silent as all eyes turn to him. He reaches out and claps a firm hand on your shoulder.
"Relax, Elric." He squeezes gently before releasing.
You maintain your posture, but on your next breath the knots in your shoulders vanish.
