Hey guys, I would really appreciate some honest feedback on the following. I've never had an unbiased opinion of my writing before, so if it is bad please be honest, just give me some ideas on how you think it could be better. Some backstory:
Eothred is the King of Aranor, the major kingdom in my story. Mayela is Eothred's daughter-in-law, and to say they have a disagreeable history would be an understatement. Mayela once tried to seduce Eothred's younger brother, Eonar, and when he rejected her advances she had his wife and children killed, and had Eonar framed for it. The king knew that Mayela did it but cannot prove it, and eventually had to banish his own brother from the kingdom, either that or kill him. Mayela then married Eothred's eldest son, Eomen (the "Eo" beginning of names is a tradition among the male descendants of the royal line). Mayela and Eomen have a bastard child, Aelenden (notice he does not have an "Eo" name, he is not able to ascend to the throne). That is all you should need to know prior to reading this selection. It is just a part taken from a chapter, so you are jumping right into the conversation between Mayela and Eothred. Keep in mind this is unpolished, but any criticism you guys can offer would be much appreciated.
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"Sit." He gestured toward the cushioned chair opposite the desk from him. Mayela took a deep breath and sat down.
A tallow candle flickered on the desk, burning low to the silver candlestick. King Eothred poured a blot of blue wax onto the parchment and pressed the ring on his right hand into it, sealing the document. Mayela's nose tingled with the scent of the melted wax, and her memories careened back to her childhood when she had spent hours watching her own father repeat this same ritual, and it was as if she was a young girl once more, curious of the secrets contained within the folded pages of parchment.
Eothred blew on the seal and waved the document around in an attempt to dry the wax, and thousands of pounce granules spilled out of the creases and onto the mahogany desk, the fine powder died black with ink.
"Are you not curious as to why I have summoned you?" Eothred set aside the sealed parchment and pulled an empty one off of the pile to his left. He sprinkled more pounce on the rough parchment and dipped his quill into the ink, continuing without pause.
"I assume it is not to let me simply watch you write these letters." She could feel the grains lodging themselves into the side of her palm as if she was writing the letters herself, and the scratch of the quill on the coarse paper sent tingles up her arm.
"No, it is not that."
"Then speak, for I have much to do."
"You have more to do than I, the king?" Mayela could see Eothred's arched eyebrow, although he never once lifted his head from his writing. Mayela breathed deeply again, this time to calm her mounting anger.
"Is there anything more important to a parent than their first born son?" The question set Mayela aback, but the king continued to write, hardly worried of what Mayela might read.
"Would you not agree?" Mayela remained silent, at a loss for words and uncertain of the king's purpose.
"No, there is nothing," she said, but she was hesitant. Is he trying to goad me? What does he know?
"Then you will understand why you are here today." He shook some more pounce on the letter to dry the ink and then folded it. "Aelenden is your first born, as Eomen is mine, so as a father I concern myself with my son and in relation, Aelenden, but as a king I must always consider the interests of my kingdom."
Mayela sighed with relief, and Eothred pressed his signet ring into the wax once again.
"Aelenden is my son, I should choose his fate," said Mayela, guessing as to the direction of this conversation.
"He is my subject," the king argued, though his voice did not rise. "And there are thousands of years of standards that I must uphold."
"What is this about?"
"Aelenden can never inherit the throne," Eothred began, "This you already know. He has no rights, he has nothing."
"He is my son, he should have the rights he deserves."
Eothred set down his quill and shuffled through a stack of paper. "This is not up for discussion, it is a fact, and nothing will change that."
"You condemn my child based on the words of men who have been dead for thousands of years."
Finally, Eothred lifted his head up from his desk and looked Mayela in the eye.
"One's destiny is not condemnation. I will not rewrite the history of my ancestors because you and my son were unable to act as adults. I love Eomen, he is a good man and will be a great king, but Aelenden was a mistake and is a smudge on my son's reputation, something I have worked hard my whole life to maintain."
"Are you calling Aelenden a mistake?" Mayela was shaking with rage, and it was all she could do to not throw herself over the desk between them and throttle the king.
"Yes. What good is a child, a son moreover, if he is unable to inherit the throne and carry on my bloodline?"
Mayela let the subtle insult of her femininity pass. "Then Eothraen is also a mistake."
"Do not speak ill of my son." Eothred's voice was full of poison. "Eothraen may inherit the throne yet, your son will not."
Mayela laughed, though she would have much rather screamed. "You would never bestow the throne upon Eothraen, not if he were the lone remaining heir. You would summon your b-"
Eothred stood up suddenly, and his chair crashed to the floor behind him. "Do not mention his name to me." His face was red and the veins in his neck throbbed with blood. "Not after all you have done." He pointed at her with a shaking finger. "You have done everything in your power to destroy the legacy of my family and your people, and for what? So your son can be king? There would be nothing left for him to rule in your wake, and even then, you would want the power for yourself. Is that what you have wanted all this time, to be queen with no king? Is that the motivation behind your wicked eyes?"
"I have done nothing you would not do for your own son."
"I have not-" his voice dissolved into a feral growl, low and threatening. "I know what you did."
"Then you cannot prove it, else I would be still be hanging from your gallows instead of sitting here in your study." She amused herself by watching the king contain his rage. She had seen him like his once before, and so too did she know she walked a fine line here. She smiled and crossed her hands on her lap, the image of innocence, and the king had to turn his gaze aside.
"Does it anger you so to talk to your own daughter?" she masked her voice with the sweetness all women in the court used.
"It angers me that you live," he admitted. "It angers me that you are allowed to poison the minds of my son and grandson and are able to stand here and feign innocence where you know only guilt lay. You are a wicked woman, and how I wish I could run you through with my sword right here and now."
"My father would not suffer you to live."
"Your father knows his place before his king."
The two locked stares and remained in silence for many heartbeats. Mayela allowed a smile to creep onto her face, and it grew all the wider when Eothred's lips tightened. She could sense the hate he felt for her emanating off of his body, and she was sure he could feel the same.
"You did not ask me here to reopen old arguments," she said after enough time had passed. "What do you ask of my son?"
"You will not like it," he said, and she knew he enjoyed it. Eothred bent low to retrieve his chair, and then sat back down.
"You do not get everything you desire simply because you are the king," she reminded him, though surely she knew that he had not forgotten after all of these years.
"Leave it be, woman," he warned, and Mayela conceded with upraised hands.
"Since your son is unable to inherit lands or titles," he continued as he resumed with his letter writing, "A position must be found that is suitable for him. Aelenden is to be Summoned to the Sentinels to serve as protector of the family you have disgraced."
Mayela's jaw hung slack. She had not expected anything like this. Her stomach churned at the irony of Aelenden's sentence, a horrible joke played by the king at the expense of her only son. Eothred smiled and chuckled, further angering her, but she knew he had her beat.
"It is unprecedented," she began, forming her argument as the words spilled from her mouth, "For the children of royals to be given such a role, your ancestors would have never done similar."
"You are right, it is unprecedented," he admitted, and Mayela could tell by his smile that she had argued the exact point for which he had prepared. "Royal bastards have never been afforded such luxury, since they are usually killed long before their existence is known to the public."
"Gods," she said under her breath. "You would have him killed if you were certain it would never be linked back to you."
"If I wanted my grandson dead, he would be, I assure you."
"Then you have thought about it?"
Eothred paused long enough for Mayela to have her answer.
"He is hardly a warrior," she argued, searching for any possible escape. She knew Eothred felt tremendous pride in following and upholding the history of his people, so she continued to attack that angle. "You would have an incapable soldier standing guard over your family and tarnishing the legendary reputation of the Sentinels. Would you sleep easy at night knowing it was your decision that led to the degradation of such an historic order?"
"Just because one is drafted into the Sentinels does not mean he will survive the training. The Sentinels train for years before they are gifted their sword and armour, and those that do not have what it takes either quit of their own volition, or are brutally injured or killed during the training."
Mayela leaped into the opening Eothred had allowed her. "Then he will quit, and then he will be returned to my side."
"Those who quit are banished from the kingdom under pain of death."
Mayela winced at the blunt response. "And if he becomes a Sentinel do you not worry that I will have an agent amongst your personal guard?" Eothred's paranoia towards her remained her only option.
Eothred chuckled. "You said it yourself, Aelenden is no warrior. At best I allow him to quit his training before he is killed, and would banishment not be a fitting punishment for your son?"
He had her, she knew. It all made sense, absurdly so, for she held no doubts that Eothred had crafted this idea to produce that very result. She could feel everything slipping out from beneath her, as if the earth itself sundered only to swallow her up. The smell of the wax no longer reminded her of her childhood, but of the illicit letters she had written over the years. The wax reminded her of her failures, and of her hatred for this man before her.
"You have until the child turns seventeen to enjoy your last moments with him. The gates of the city are always open should you choose to run away, I swear to you that I will send no one after you, though neither will I hold anyone back. Eomen loves his son," he reminded her, dangling the threat before her.
Well played, you fucking coward. The thought of fleeing the kingdom altogether was inviting indeed. They could travel far to the south, to the enormous cities of Vrabelith or Invernell, even Iventa. or to the northeast and Tinurel.
Or Dothiam. Despite the gravity of the situation the corner of her mouth twitched with the slightest of smiles.
"And what of Eomen, what does he think of all this?"
"He does not yet know, though I suspect he will respect my decision. I am, after all, the king." He folded another letter and sealed it with his signet ring before handing it to Mayela, the wax still warm.
"The letter is for Aelenden, it is his Summoning," he explained. Mayela's hand shook as she grabbed the letter from Eothred. "You can give it to him and let him report, or you may burn it, the choice is yours. But should you choose to burn it I would advise you to be far away from the borders of my kingdom before Aelenden's seventeenth birthday, else the letter will not be the only thing that is burnt."
The letter felt heavy in her hands, as if she held a boulder instead of a piece of parchment. Her fingers traced the edges of the paper, and then the still-hot wax seal, burning her delicate fingers, though she hardly noticed. She licked her lips but her tongue held no moisture, yet it threatened to well up in her eyes.
Mayela stood up without asking leave of the king, her eyes staring straight ahead, seeing nothing. She left the room then, moving like a dead leaf scraping along floor in a soft wind, and behind her she could feel Eothred's smug smile, mocking her, taunting her.