“You’re a man we know, a son of a man we knew. You bear his looks and almost his name. You’ve as much a right to call yourself royal as many who have worn the crown.” He paused again. Waiting.
Again I kept silent. It was not, I told myself, a temptation. I would simply hear him out. That was all. He had said nothing, as yet, that suggested I would betray my king.
He floundered for words, then looked up and met my eyes. “Times are difficult.”
“They are,” I agreed quietly.
He looked down at his hands. They were worn hands, hands that bore the small scars and roughness of a man who did things with them. His shirt was freshly washed and mended, but it was not a new garment made especially for this occasion. Times might be hard in Buckkeep, but they were harder in Beams. Quietly he said it. “If you saw fit to oppose Regal, to declare yourself king-in-waiting in his stead, Beams and Rippon and Shoaks would support you. It is my belief that Queen Kettricken would support you as well, and that Buck would follow her.” He looked up at me again. “We have talked much of this. We believe Verity’s child would stand a better chance of gaining the throne with you as regent than with Regal.”
So. They had dismissed Shrewd already. “Why not follow Kettricken?” I asked carefully.
He looked into the flames. “It’s a hard thing to say, after she has shown herself so true. But she is foreign-born, and in some ways untried. It is not that we doubt her; we do not. Nor would we be setting her aside. Queen she is, and would remain, and her child to reign after her. But in these times, we need both king-in-waiting and queen.”