Before she could answer, before she could take another step, Alyx suddenly swooped in between her and the count, hissing madly and buffeting the poor man with her iridescent wings.
Wellane shouted and jumped back, his hands raising to protect his face.
“Alyx!” Seraphina chided, mortification burning her cheeks. “I am so terribly sorry, my lord. I do not know what has come over her today…” Desperately, she tried to capture the usuru, but she was too quick. Too slippery.
Unclasping his cloak, Lord Tiberius stepped forward and flung the velvet over the winged serpent.
Seraphina’s heart leapt into her throat. “Do not hurt her! Please!”
The baron made a face, expertly wrapping her usuru up in a hissing, writhing bundle. “I am not going to hurt her. I am just going to take her to the Roost and put her in a cage—where shebelongs, Your Majesty.” He arched an eyebrow at her in clear challenge as Alyx tried to fight her way free from his cloak. “Or would you rather she assault someone first?”
She bit the inside of her cheek and shook her head. “No. Please, take her to the Roost. But becarefulwith her.”
“Yes, yes,” Lord Tiberius sighed, already setting off in that direction.
A shaky exhale escaped from Wellane, reminding her that he was there. Waiting to escort her to the council chamber. To meet with her godfather.
Slowly, she turned back to the Lord Exchequer and offered him a look that she hoped was appropriately apologetic. “Forgive me, my lord.”
“No,” he whispered, his own smile wavering. “Forgiveme, Your Majesty.”
Her eyebrows knit together in open confusion as she hesitated…then finally waved off her Queensguard, silently ordering them to stay. Drawing in a deep breath, she followed the count. “Forgive you? What ever for?”
The man did not answer her. Instead, he hurried down the corridor, nearly jogging, forcing her to lengthen her own stride merely to keep up. Her stomach roiled.
Was her godfather’s news truly that urgent?
Courtiers swept out of her way as she strode past, bowing, curtsying. She barely saw them. Far away, she still heard the bells ringing. Distant. Muffled.
Her mind whirred with all the possibilities of what it might mean.
News from the harbor? Had the blockade on Arath broken? Had Edmund sent ships to assault their shores? No. Drakmor’s navy was pitiful. Was it Lothmeer, then? Had Lothmeer sent reinforcements at last?
Around the next corner, the double doors to the council chambers loomed. Closed but unattended. Not even her godfather’s personal guards lingered outside.Strange. Had he not yet arrived?
Seraphina’s steps slowed. They dragged. She paused before the doors.
It was too quiet in this particular corridor. Too late, she realized why—it was completely abandoned. No servants. No courtiers. No guards.
In front of her, Wellane trembled as he reached for the doorknobs.
A trickle of dread slid down her spine.
Her heart seized. “Wait—!”
But he didn’t wait. The doors swung inward, revealing the council chamber’s single occupant. Not her godfather.
But Coreto.
A scream welled up in her throat. She turned to run.
Strong hands seized her from behind—one around her upper arm, squeezing hard enough to bruise, and one over her mouth and nose. Trapping her scream. Cutting off her air.
“Forgive me,” the count sobbed against her ear, holding her in a vice. “He has my wife—”
“Hold your tongue, Wellane,” the Duke of Coreto’s cold voice sliced through the air as her Lord Exchequer wrenched her backward into the council chamber, kicking the doors shut behind them. “Or I will cut it out.”
As wild as Alyx, Seraphina thrashed against Wellane’s hold, trying to fight her way free. All in vain. She caught sight of LordBennett leaning against the wall near the door, observing her from beneath half-hooded eyelids. Alongside a handful of her own guards who avoided her gaze.
