But his touch lingered on—longer than it should have. Longer than was wise.
Why? Why did he care?
He already knew. Even before his gaze dropped to her hand still trapped in his. To the emerald ring gleaming on her third finger—his mother’s ring.
Because despite everything that had passed between them, she was still his wife. He was still her husband.
It was still his duty to protect her.
“Hate me if you wish, Sera,” he murmured, voice low. Rough. For her alone. “But do not let your anger dull your senses. Keep your eyes open. Trust no one.”
His body betrayed him before he could stop it, lifting her hand closer to his face, to his lips. “And may your God keep you safe while I cannot,” he rasped before pressing a swift kiss to her knuckles.
Goodbye, wife.
He didn’t wait for her response. He didn’t dare.
Without another word, without a single glance spared her way, he released her hand, spun Mourn about, and rode away—before the rejection he knew would be shining in her eyes could finish him.
Chapter forty-five
Seraphina
Aldric.
Her fingers twitched as she yanked her hand back into her own space. Even through her gloves, she still felt the ghost of his lips against her knuckles. Warm. Familiar.
Unwelcome.
“And may your God keep you safe while I cannot.”
A hollow ache thrummed beneath her ribs. For a heartbeat—only one—she wondered if she had been too cruel, too quick to dismiss his confession last night.
No. No, he had lied to her. He had kept vital information from her—information that might have very wellsaved Mysai. Not to mention the fact that the man had carried awitchbladeinto Elmoria, into her court, into herbedchamber. A witchblade he had meant to use against her, to consign her to a fate worse than death.
To steal her soul.
Around her, the courtyard stirred, horses and men falling into formation to follow either Sir Easome or the Crow. The Crow riding away from her as if the Enemy himself were in pursuit.
Her eyes shifted toward his Sons, toward Master Fitzjesmaine, who watched her through narrowed eyes. The half-Kunishi man held her gaze for half a second before jerking his attention away again and spurring his horse into a brisk trot.
She swallowed against the rising lump in her throat.
Her godmother’s hand alighted upon her arm in a comforting press. Blessedly, the older woman didn’t mention anything at all about what had just transpired.
“Let us return indoors,” Duchess Edith gently urged instead. “We can get warm by the fire with some tea. And you are invited to the party this time, of course, Olivia dear.”
Lord Tiberius scoffed, his tone playful. “Does this mean I am not invited, Your Grace?”
Seraphina barely heard the words. She was too busy trying to locate Aldric in the crowd. But she soon lost sight of him. There were too many horses. Too many men.
Her left wrist throbbed beneath the weight of his dagger—so heavy and strange. The leather straps bit into her skin as if her Crow’s touch lingered there still.
No. Aldric would never be so rough with her. His touch was always careful.
Gentle.
Her breath shuddered past her lips on a frozen exhale as she suddenly urged her horse around the current of soldiers, toward the nearest guard tower.
