“My Lord? High Priest Heimdall is requesting your immediate presence in the throne room.”

Weary, King Lachlan sat up with a groan. “What is it? ” His advisor, Gavin, a tall, rail thin man with long, greasy hair hovered over the bed. The King blinked once then his mind caught up with his body and he perked up with interest. “The ceremony?”

“I…yes.” Gavin wrung his hands together. “It’s about the ceremony.”

Lachlan peeked over his shoulder at his wife, Queen Gemma, and saw the beautiful blonde was still very much asleep. He started to wake her when Gavin shook his head.

“My lord, I think it would be best if you let her sleep.”

Lachlan frowned. He and Gemma had been awake all night long, anxiously awaiting news on the birth of Arcum’s newest princess, his son’s future wife, but as the night wore on and nothing had been revealed, Lachlan had taken his worried wife to bed, assuring her that everything would be sorted by morning. “Is it bad news?” he asked gruffly.

“I think you’d better talk to the High Priest…” Gavin muttered. “He said it was most urgent.”

Lachlan huffed and threw off the covers. He swung his legs out of the bed and with a lazy hand gesture, he summoned his red, silken slippers. Gavin continued to hover, fidgeting nervously with his hands and Lachlan growled, “Out of my way,” so he could reach his matching set of robes and put them on as well.

Lachlan was a large blond man with a big, burly beard. His face was handsome, but his sharp gray eyes were as cold as the steel on the hilt of his ceremonial sword. Once clothed, he bustled out of the bedchambers with Gavin hot on his heels.

“What time is it?” Lachlan asked as they swept down the candlelit corridor.

Gavin clicked his fingers and a ghostly sundial appeared in the palm of his hand. “It’s just before 6 am.”

Paying little heed to his castle’s magnificence, Lachlan took the long spiraling staircase down to the lower levels. “I hope this is news about the new princess,” he grumbled. “The christening ceremony should be complete by now.”

“I think it is, but…”

“But what?” Lachlan shot a look at his spineless advisor. “What did Heimdall tell you?”

Gavin pressed his lips together and shook his head, and Lachlan grunted with frustration and stormed down the last flight of stairs. He reached the main hallway, a wide, stone corridor lined with portraits of his dead relatives, and he strode purposefully for the tall, wooden doors at the end.

The Throne Room was a large chamber filled with high arched windows that looked down at the kingdom and the lake below. Weak sunlight creeped through the windowpanes, but magical torches along the walls kept the room lit with a warm glow.

At the back of the room, High Priest Heimdall stood near the throne; a large wooden chair carved with intricate skill. He was looking behind it, at the dark shadows swirling just beyond the candlelight. The gnarled old man was always doing that lately, staring into the shadows… He said he saw things in them, but he rarely shared his apparitions.

“Heimdall,” Lachlan called, pulling the old man’s attention away from the shadows that haunted him. “What’s going on? What news do you have for me?”

“Lachlan.” Heimdall turned from the throne, his long robe sweeping out behind him. “The christening ceremony was just completed. The Prince’s mate has been found.”

“And?” Lachlan snapped. The christening ceremony was a huge deal with the villagers. There would be parties in the street, a parade would be held, and there would be food for days. This was supposed to be a good time for everyone. “Where is she? And who are the parents?”

Heimdall looked pointedly over his shoulder at Gavin, and the advisor took the hint, and backed out of the room. The doors snicked shut behind him.

“What’s with the secrecy?” Lachlan scoffed. “Is something wrong with the girl?”

“Seven women were visited by the midwife tonight,” Heimdall said somberly. “That isn’t unusual of course, the village women have the conception date down to a science.”

Lachlan grunted his agreement. Five years after the heir to the throne was born, on the day of the summer solstice, the great and mighty God Cian picked the next ruling queen from the village. A newborn girl. The High Priest was required to perform a ceremony, a secret ritual nobody but him and the midwife were subject to, and afterward, the Prince’s mate was revealed.

“There were six baby girls tonight,” Heimdall said. “And one boy.”

“Yes?” This wasn’t unusual either. Magic was pervasive in the people of Arcum. It wasn’t difficult for the village women to influence the gender of their offspring. Usually, there was a shortage of boys born around the prince’s fifth birthday. But not all women were strong enough to use their magic internally. He suspected this was the case.

“Lachlan…none of the girls were picked. Cian has designated the boy as the Prince’s future consort.”

“What?” Lachlan blinked. “How is that possible?”

Heimdall shook his head. “I’m not quite sure.”

“Well, you’d better be sure,” Lachlan snapped. “Homosexuality is against nature and thus against Cian himself!”

“Homosexuality is not against nature, Lachlan,” Heimdall said with a sigh. “And Cian has made his choice. We must follow his wishes.”

“I will not!” Lachlan shouted. “My son won’t be married to a…a boy! How will he produce an heir of his own? This can’t happen!”

Heimdall pursed his lips, sending Lachlan a stern look. “I performed the ritual on all six of the girls and there was no reaction. I was going to return home, I thought that perhaps…Well, I don’t know what I thought,” Heimdall said, sounding unsure of himself, for the first time ever in Lachlan’s memory. “However, the midwife Macha suggested that I enact the ritual on the boy.”

Lachlan scoffed. “The stupid woman.”

“Indeed,” Heimdall said, his voice long suffering. He passed a hand over his wrinkled face, so only his mouth was visible as he continued to speak. “In my long years, I have never heard of a boy being the chosen mate of the Prince. I’m quite sure that the ritual has never even been performed on a male before.”

Lachlan watched the old man as a horrible sense of foreboding passed over him. He’d been expecting to wake up to good news…

“In any case, Macha cleansed the boy, while I said the prayers over him. I didn’t expect anything to happen, I was simply running out all of our options.” Heimdall removed his hand from his face, finally looking Lachlan in the eye. The King’s dark gaze met the pale eyes of the High Priest. “I poured the blessed water over the boy and covered his forehead as I recited the last lines of the prayer. When I removed my hand, there it was. The symbol of Cian.” Heimdall had the very symbol of which he spoke hanging around his neck. The priest stroked the symbol absently, his finger tracing the crescent moon, melted into the sun.

“No,” Lachlan said softly. Only those destined to be royalty, destined to power, were blessed with the symbol. It was invisible almost all of the time, but there were ways to make it appear, just as Heimdall had.

“It was so brilliant, I could barely look at the boy,” Heimdall said gravely. “He is powerful. More powerful than your wife was at that age, or your mother…more powerful than even your son is at this very moment.”

“What does that mean?!” Lachlan roared. “Does Cian intend for this child to overthrow my rule rather than to become part of it! Is this the beginnings of anarchy?!”

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know! You know! You know everything!” Lachlan yelled, angry and frustrated with what he was hearing. He stalked across the marbled floor until he was directly in front of the High Priest. “Tell me what you think. Immediately!”

“Lachlan, I know you are concerned—”

“My life…as well as the lives of my Queen and my son are at jeopardy! Of course I am concerned!”

Heimdall raised his eyebrows. “Lachlan… please calm down. Getting angry with me will not change Cian’s will.”

Lachlan flushed with anger. “What do you expect me to do, then? Let this boy come to live in the castle and encourage my son to become a sodomite? I’ll be the laughing stock of the kingdom!”

“Not at all.” Heimdall had the gall to laugh. It was a deep throaty sound, and the King of Arcum grit his teeth with frustration. “I suggest that for the time being we ignore tradition.” Normally, the baby girl chosen by Cian would be brought to the castle, trained in everything a future Queen would need to know, from etiquette to singing and dancing to the fine arts of feminine magic. Both men realized straight away that no boy could ever go through such training. It was totally unheard of.

“Are you saying I should forget the boy?” Lachlan hissed. “Pretend he wasn’t chosen?”

“That would be blasphemy,” Heimdall said at once. “To ignore Cian’s will would be the surest way to ensue disaster.”

“What then?” The conversation was becoming exhausting. Lachlan was rapidly becoming dead on his feet. Overly tired, stressed, horrified and now fearful of the future should he make one wrong move. Cian was clearly toying with him.

“The Prince won’t be crowned until his 20th birthday. 15 years from now,” Heimdall said as if Lachlan didn’t already know this fact himself. “We will wait until then.”

“Wait?”

“Yes, we’ll wait. We’ll see what the future holds.” Heimdall’s plan sounded completely inane to Lachlan, but he was up for anything at this point. Anything that didn’t involve his son getting married to another boy was good enough at the moment. In his opinion, homosexuality was far more blasphemous than ignoring Cian’s will. You could never be forgiven for lying with another man, after all. “I will do some research, and I will seek the council of my predecessors.”

Lachlan stiffened at Heimdall’s words. All the priest’s predecessors were dead, and yet the man talked of them so casually. Talking to spirits wasn’t considered evil, but it was certainly not the norm.

Heimdall didn’t seem too concerned, however, and Lachlan decided that he would stop worrying. So, he wouldn’t get his daughter-in-law anytime soon. It would crush his Gemma’s high hopes and his son’s expectations, but soon enough, everything would be worked out to his satisfaction.

Or at least he hoped so.

“The fact that there is no Queen-to-be will be kept from the public.” Heimdall continued after a long pause for reflection. “The only people who know about the boy are you, myself and Macha.”

“Will the midwife keep quiet?” Lachlan asked sharply, wondering if he’d have to send his guards to the woman’s home.

“Yes. I swore her to secrecy before I left.”

“Good…good,” Lachlan muttered as all the fight drained from his body. He had so much to think about, but all he could keep his mind on was the thought of his comfortable bed. “Tell me when something changes or you get any more information. Immediately,” he said, striving for his normal authoritative persona and failing.

The priest nodded his head in a parody of servitude, even though they both knew Heimdall served no one but Cian.

As Lachlan left the throne room, he heard whispers from the shadows. When he reached the door, he turned to catch the High Priest in the act, but wasn’t surprised to see he had vanished.

“Damned Priest,” he muttered to himself, then shoved the door open with his magic and swept down the hall. He didn’t yet know what he’d tell his wife and son, but he’d have to think of something.