CH1010 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1010: A Legitimate Heir

“Your Majesty — Your Majesty, please, think carefully!”

Roland heard Barov before he saw him — the City Hall Director’s voice carrying through the outer hall in a way that suggested he’d been running. When Barov finally appeared at the desk, face red, still catching his breath, Roland set down his teacup and waited.

“The coronation?” Roland asked.

“No — your Majesty.” Barov pressed his handkerchief to his forehead and darted a glance at the space behind Roland’s shoulder. “Your wedding announcement. You intend to marry a witch and name her your queen.”

He hadn’t been surprised by this. He’d known the moment he informed City Hall that Barov would be the first obstacle, and he’d arranged the conversation in his head on the walk over. The months after the Months of Demons would bring spring plowing, new construction programs, and another campaign into the Fertile Plains to clear the demon outpost at Taquila. An exceptionally full year. A coronation alone required two to three months of preparation under traditional protocol — add a royal wedding, and the strain on his administration’s bandwidth became serious.

But the Months of Demons had been unusually quiet. He wanted to use this window. And he was genuinely tired of owing Anna a promise that remained unfulfilled.

A feudal king can do whatever he wants. History had no shortage of rulers who’d imposed their personal convictions on the machinery of governance and called the result a decree. He didn’t intend to become one of those rulers. He’d built the City Hall. He trusted it. He meant to keep trusting it, which meant persuading it rather than overriding it.

“Tell me,” Roland said, and knocked once on the desk.

Barov exhaled. “An heir, Your Majesty. That’s what you need. Everyone understands a witch cannot give you children. With war approaching — if anything were to happen to you — the nobles would move on the throne immediately. An heir gives your people stability. Something to point to.” He paused, then added, with the delicacy of someone defusing something: “If you simply want to remain with Lady Anna, the ceremony isn’t strictly required. You could take a lesser noble’s daughter as your official consort. She needn’t be significant — present on formal occasions, otherwise undemanding — and you could continue as you please—”

“So you mean Anna cannot be queen because she is a witch.”

It was Nightingale’s voice, clipped and flat, from the air just behind Roland’s left shoulder.

Barov coughed. “I wouldn’t presume to speak for Lady Anna’s preferences. And this is a matter of national interest, not personal sentiment. If Your Majesty finds it difficult to explain the arrangement to her directly, I could be the one to—”

You cannot speak for what she would or wouldn’t mind,” Nightingale said. “She is not a decoration. She would never accept a third person between His Majesty and herself, and you know it.”

“It has nothing to do with feelings. It’s the matter of succession—”

“Enough.” Roland raised a hand. Both of them stopped. “I understand the concern. I need a legitimate heir to reassure the public.”

Barov blinked. “You… would consider finding one?”

“Isn’t it the simpler solution?” Roland reached for his teacup. “After I defeated the Pope, I absorbed her full lifespan. In practical terms, I have no need for a biological successor. That’s why this marriage was possible for me to announce. The problem is that very few people know this — and among those who do, most don’t fully believe it. The public won’t accept ‘eternal life’ as a substitute for an heir they can see and name. So: I produce an heir, they feel secure, I marry Anna.”

The senior City Hall officials had known about the Battle of Souls since Coldwind Ridge — how the spiritual duel’s victor inherited everything from the loser. The Taquila witches’ Soul Transfer technique had made the claim credible. At the first United Front meeting, Roland had used this fact openly, and Pasha’s trust had followed. Since then, the story had held.

Barov was already nodding carefully. “Yes — an heir would resolve the political question entirely. As long as you have someone who can be pointed to, no one can reasonably oppose the marriage.” He caught himself. “That is — that was what I meant, Your Majesty.”

“There’s already a candidate.” Roland set his cup down. “When we took Hermes, I came across Gerald Wimbledon’s former mistress. A maid in a tavern. She and Gerald had a son.”

The silence that followed was longer than usual for Barov.

“You’re certain the child is—”

“Grey hair. Grey eyes.” Roland nodded.

“Why didn’t you—” Barov stopped himself. The answer arrived before the question finished. His expression shifted.

“If I’d told you then,” Roland said, “they’d have been dead inside a month.”

Barov closed his mouth. Then opened it again. “A bastard child of a maid — the bloodline will need elevation. His mother’s status has to be raised before we can present him formally. A civilian woman, fortunately — far easier to manage than a noble lady.” He was already planning, Roland could see it — the story shaping itself in Barov’s mind, the narrative scaffolding rising piece by piece. “We’ll need a history for her. Something dignified, something the public will find satisfying. Leave it to me to—”

“Draw up a plan. We’ll discuss details once you have something.” Roland waved the dismissal.

Barov rose, bowed, and left with the brisk energy of a man given a problem he knew how to solve.

Roland let out a slow breath.

“I didn’t expect you to speak up like that,” he said.

“I couldn’t help it.” A pause — then Nightingale stepped out of the Mist, hands folded, composure intact in a way that cost her something. “Don’t apologize.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You looked like you might.” She held his gaze steadily. “This wedding is late, not early. If it weren’t for Anna, I would have made things much harder for you.” A beat. “I want you to know I think it’s right.”

He remembered her face when she’d found him after two days of silence — the way some held thing had released in her expression. He’d guessed, afterward, that something had passed between her and Anna. A conversation. An agreement.

He hadn’t asked.

He still didn’t.

Some things were given freely, and the right response to that was not to require their explanation.

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