You stare at the stack of paperwork in front of you, each sheet reminding you that you're stuck with the job you never wanted. Right now, it's all about planning your brother's funeral—the King's funeral. The man who thought it was a great idea to seduce a dragon. You internally mourn the horny bastard. Not the brightest idea he ever had, but at least the rumors say he succeeded. His final moments were, by all accounts, very happy. Lucky him.
You scribble your signature on the next document, then pause. You stare at your name: just your first name missing. That's right—the kingdom doesn't even know who you are yet. You were always the shadow, the bastard half-brother. The Royal House is Osalan, but for you? It's Kingborn, the label of your illegitimacy stamped right there in ink. They won't forget.
"Bastard, bastard, bastard," you mutter to yourself as your quill scratches across another page.
[ ] Write in: First Name only!
There's a loud bang, followed by the slurred shuffle of someone making their way into the room. You don't even need to look up.
The Queen, Denyra. And she's drunk.
"Brother-in-laaawww," she croons, her voice thick with wine. "Look whooo'ssss here to lighten the mood!"
You set the quill down and pinch the bridge of your nose. "Your Majesty," you say as politely as you can, "you're looking... well."
She stumbles toward the chair opposite you, collapsing into it with the grace of a falling sack of potatoes. "Drunk!" she declares, holding up her goblet like it's a royal decree. "I loved him, you know? That big, stupid idiot."
You can't help but smirk. "So did a dragon, apparently."
She snorts, wine almost spilling from her goblet. "Seducing a dragon! What a way to go, huh? Can't say he didn't die doing what he loved."
You chuckle despite yourself. "Yes, I suppose 'seduction' was always his strong suit. But really, Denyra, you shouldn't—"
"Shouldn't what?" she interrupts, her words only half-coherent now. "Shouldn't drink? Shouldn't grieve? Shouldn't laugh at how absurd this all is? I'm a queen whose kingdom is falling apart, and my daughter is being whispered about like she's the next dark sorceress. People are scared of her—terrified—and all because she's got a bit of magic running through her veins. Like that's her fault!"
You lean back, sighing. "The Witch Hunters certainly aren't helping," you mutter. "They don't like that she's a girl, and they really don't like that she's magical."
Denyra waves her hand dismissively. "Men," she spits, "always terrified of women with power. They're more scared of her than of the Emperors knocking at our door. And the Emperors…" She starts to giggle uncontrollably.
You raise an eyebrow. "What's so funny?"
"They're playing their little game," she says, swirling her wine. "Three empires, three egos, and they think they're so clever, stirring up civil wars in our neighbors, trying to pull us into the mess. Proxy wars, they call it. Proxy for what? For whose dick is bigger?"
You suppress a snort. "Well, at least you're handling it with your usual grace, Denyra."
"Grace?!" she laughs, tipping back the last of her wine. "I'm not graceful. I'm drunk! Graceful would be falling in line, marrying off my daughter to some distant cousin, and smiling while they plot to put a dagger in her back the second she sits on the throne."
She's not wrong. The civil war in the neighboring kingdom has the Three Emperors backing different factions, all hoping to extend their influence into your own borders. You're caught in the middle, desperately trying to keep your kingdom out of the fray, and now there's talk of your niece—the young princess—becoming a witch queen of all things. The sexists in the court are already frothing at the mouth over the idea of a female monarch. Add magic to the mix? Well, you'd better start sharpening your sword.
Denyra leans in, her eyes narrowing. "And don't even get me started on Lord Daron. That snake wanted to be Regent, didn't he?"
You grit your teeth at the mention of his name. "Yes. He did. But the King—our dear, dead brother—chose me instead. And Lord Daron has been brooding ever since. Not that I blame him. I'm a bastard, after all."
Denyra waves a hand again, dismissively. "Bastard or not, you're still the one sitting here doing the work. Not him. I think that's what really pisses him off."
You chuckle. "Perhaps. But Lord Daron isn't the only problem. The Emperors are waiting for us to slip, and they'll use any excuse to turn our kingdom into one of their pawns. The Princess—"
Denyra interrupts with a drunken giggle. "Ah, my witchy daughter! You know, I envy her, in a way. All that power. And she'll need it if she's going to survive the likes of Lord Daron or the Witch Hunter Guild."
You glance at her, your own nerves creeping up. "Magic… scares me. I know she's family, but…"
Denyra raises an eyebrow. "Really? Still scared of a little magic, brother-in-law? After all this?"
You look away shame filling your heart. "I love her, Denyra. But magic… it's unpredictable."
Denyra chuckles again, but it's softer this time, almost sad. "I don't envy you, you know. Being Regent, I mean. Not for a second."
You open your mouth to respond, but a glance over reveals the Queen has passed out, her head lolling back against the chair. She's snoring now, the empty goblet in her hand dangling precariously.
You sigh and stand up, adjusting her so she doesn't fall off the chair. "Of course. Passed out just as the real conversation starts."
As you move the papers aside and straighten your robes, you think about what Denyra said. The court is a mess, the Emperors are breathing down your neck, and your niece's magic is attracting all the wrong attention. What to do with Denyra, though? She's still the Queen, and that carries weight.
What should you do with the Queen?[
[ ] Keep the Queen in the Royal Government.
Denyra may be drunk, but she still has influence. Keeping her in power might help steady the ship... if she sobers up.
[ ] The Princess needs her Mother.
With everything going on, the Princess needs her mother more than the kingdom needs another ruler.
[ ] Write In: Subject to Approval!
