“Get up,” Russel commanded.

His brothers grudgingly got back to their feet. Each one stared at him with so much intense hatred that Lola could almost feel it. It was like heat wafting outward from a fire. She stood next to the throne, not saying a word and still trying to recover from the emotional train wreck she’d just been through. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see his father savagely beating Russel. She could see the swollen, caved-in mess of his face. The opened slashes to most of his body. Even now, he was still far from okay. The damage inflicted on him was healing but it was a sluggish and torturously slow process.

“What is your will, My King,” Roland said through tightly gritted teeth. His body was practically shaking with rage and there were definite notes of bitterness to his voice.

“Reid,” Russel said.

“Yes, My King,” Reid said. He looked angry as well but not nearly as enraged as Roland. Already his body went into a more relaxed state. He was smart enough to realize the shifting climate of power within the kingdom and was not going to do anything rash.

“Send for Batholomew and have him bring a team of servants here. They’re to have father’s body be prepared for the funeral.”

Reid bowed low, showing great respect.

“Of course. It shall be done,” he said and then departed.

“Raylan,” Russel said.

The short, hairy brother perked up and paid attention. He had a scowl on his face and his eyes were narrowed. His jaw clenched and unclenched so rhythmically, it was almost like a separate heartbeat.

“Yes…,” he paused and emphasized his next words with a guttural, growling sound. “My King.”

“Fetch the war council. And make sure you bring General Edvar with you. At this time of day, he will most likely be found at Marla’s pleasure house.” Russel locked eyes with Ray. “Stress upon him the necessity of his presence.”

“Aye, M’King.” He bowed stiffly and then left.

“Rutger,” Russel said, continuing his pattern of calling out each individual brother.

“My King,” Rutger said, bowing. The shock of his father’s death and the subsequent events seemed of little concern for him. In fact, he looked pretty nonchalant about the whole thing now.

“I want you to send word throughout the kingdom that the throne has been seized and there is a new king. Have runners sent to Yorkvil, Sancton, Polvshire, Idrys, Migfor, Kraywyn, and the smaller farming, fishing, and hunting villages in the countryside.”

“What of the other kingdoms, Sire?” Rutger asked, inquiring about Alcroft, Harvenk, and Sarchi.

“Don’t bother,” Russel answered. “They’ll find out soon enough.”

“As you command, My King,” Rutger said. He bowed and then left the throne room as well.

“And finally,” Russel said, staring down at Roland. He had purposefully ignored him before and made sure he waited to address him last. It was a show of superiority. Of strength. Roland would be the one to test him first. Which meant he had to assert dominance quickly. “Roland.”

“Yes, My King?” Roland said, still through clenched teeth. His eyes were practically burning, they were so filled with hate.

“Fetch me clothes and have the cook make me and my guest, Lola Tarnvol, something to eat.” He turned to Lola, his face already looking much better even though it was far from healed completely. “What would you like to eat? You must be hungry.”

“Yes. Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said with a grin, even offering him a tidy curtsy even though she wasn’t wearing a dress. Then she looked at Roland, remembering the torment he put Russel through. As much as she would love to rub all of this in his face, she kept her pettiness in check. “Just something simple will be fine. Whatever is easiest for the cook.”

“As you wish, My Lady,” he said, although still grudgingly. “And what would you like, My King?”