Ruling Sikthand (Clecanian, #7)

by Victoria Aveline

His helmet muffled his growl. He didn’t want her to come speak to him because he so desperately wanted her to come speak to him.

“This is a temporary fascination, human,” he hissed. “You are but a Season. Calamitous, powerful, consuming. But like the rains, you too will pass.” He dropped her chin and straightened to his full height, towering over her, not revealing the crippling ache constricting his stomach. “I need only weather you.”

“People need something to be upset about for their happiness to be real,” he explained, voice emotionless. “We only notice the day because there is night. We’re only truly quenched by water after thirst sets in. They need the negative, even if they manufacture it. It’s the only way they understand the value of the positive. As their queen, you’re an easy target. They’ll look for any crack, any blemish and scream about it. But the fact that they’re screaming about you and not perishing in wars or starving in the mines will show you you’ve done your job well. And when you die, they’ll visit your statue in the Heroes Hall and wail over what a wonderful leader you were, though you won’t be around to hear it.”