Three hours later, Tobin headed for the second sitting room, in dire need of a drink, and some peace and quiet. The Queen had not taken the news of Sandar’s imminent departure well and had wailed and demanded and threatened. In truth, she behaved more like a petulant toddler denied a toy than a monarch.
The King was there the whole time, smirking at the show until, finally, Tobin lost his temper. No, he shouldn’t have pointed out her many inadequacies as both mother and queen, but she’d just demanded Sandar be made Crown Prince in his place and he had had enough.
The only good point, of sorts, was that the King had taken his side, except that had escalated into an argument between the two of them, with Tobin as a verbal punching bag in the middle. He eventually just walked out.
And now he walked in on noise in his retreat as well. To be fair, it was the preferred retreat for all the royal siblings, and the noise was happy.
Sandar was the first to reach his side. “Are you alright? Was it awful? I don’t have to stay, do I?”
Tobin slung a fond arm over his brother’s shoulders. “You’re not staying. In fact, mother just managed to annoy father so much, I’ve been told to dispose of her as well.”
Julianna gasped. “What are you going to do? Please don’t send her to the Temple with me.” She coloured, looking guilty. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Ysabel tutted. “We want to mend the rift with the Temple, not make it worse.” She looked at Tobin. “For all you say I’m the strategist, you’re the negotiator. What are you going to do?”
Tobin dropped into his favourite armchair and accepted a large goblet from Jaspar. “Already done, all but the shrieking. Mother is setting up a new charity, a school to support older orphans, teaching them skills to help get, and keep, them off the streets. The school will be a residential one, in a manor house about a day and a half from the city. She is, of course, fully committed to the project, and is moving to the house to oversee it all. It’ll take so much of her attention; she’ll rarely be seen in the capital again.”
He shrugged at the raised brows around him. “I set it up a year ago, it’s good to have options.”
The DNA of Stories 