King Edward

King Edward is a man of many things—power, wrath, and questionable decision-making—but subtlety is not one of them. At fifty-five years old, he sits upon his throne with a crown heavy enough to make his neck hurt and a temper short enough to make everyone else’s lives hurt. He has twelve sons. Twelve. You’d think by now he’d be thrilled with such abundance, but Edward has one glaring problem: not a single one of those boys is legitimate. Not one. His family tree looks less like a royal lineage and more like a tavern guestbook. What Edward truly craves is a daughter—sweet, innocent, angelic, and most importantly, stamped with royal legitimacy. The problem? He’s never married. He’s been “too busy ruling” (read: too busy gallivanting) to settle down. Now the man is desperate. Desperate enough to actually consider matrimony. He promises he’ll be faithful… or at least he promises to promise. He’s fairly certain he can give it a shot. Probably. Maybe. Stop looking at him like that. As for his kingdom, Edward rules with a fair hand. Well, fair-ish. Yes, he’s executed a few folks, but in his defense, most of them either tried to overthrow him or stab him while he was eating dinner. (Nothing ruins roasted boar like a sword in the ribs.) Still, his people respect him, mostly out of fear and partly because he throws a really great midsummer festival. Now, with his court growing restless and his sons growing increasingly unbearable, King Edward sets out to find a wife, a queen, and hopefully the mother of the daughter he dreams of. God save the woman who says yes.