Is that truly what she was doing by sending him to Arlund?
Sacrificing herself?
“No, you’re not,” her godmother whispered, coming alongside her. The older woman’s hand settled on her arm—warm, familiar, and comforting. “But that’s all right. You don’t have to pretend with me, darling.”
For a time, Seraphina just stood like that, shoulder to shoulder with her godmother, basking in Edith Umberly’s nearness. Her quiet strength. But in the silence, her mind wandered again, flitting between thoughts of the pamphlets. Of Arlund. Of Aldric.
His grimace. His disdain.
The feel of his callused fingers wrapping around hers.
“Are you certain you wish to have the wedding at the cathedral tomorrow?” Duchess Edith murmured, startling her out of her thoughts for a second time. “We can always have a quieter affair here in the chapel.”
Seraphina blinked, trying to make sense of the abrupt turn their conversation had taken. “What?” She glanced toward her godmother sidelong.
Duchess Edith offered a tired smile, her concern evident. “I simply mean, with all the talk of these pamphlets, if you would prefer to remain within the palace tomorrow instead of going out into the city among the common people…”
Understanding dawned, leaving Seraphina clenching her eyes shut as she reached out a hand and braced herself against the mantel.
Even fearless Edith Umberly was concerned about a riot.
“No,” Seraphina breathed, swallowing against the rising lump in her throat. “The people will expect to see me in the procession tomorrow. It is tradition.” Opening her eyes again, she looked toward her godmother and added, “And besides, whoever is spearheading this campaign against me is surely trying to frighten me into retreating.” She lifted her chin a little. “I refuse to give them the satisfaction.”
A strange smile curved Duchess Edith’s lips. “The Lord truly did gift you with all of Silvia de la Croix’s mercy and sweetness—and all of Reynard de la Croix’s unfailing stubbornness.”
Seraphina slanted the duchess a questioning look, unsure just how to take that observation. It was no secret that her godmother, despite having been best friends with her mother, had never cared for her father.
By the light of the fire, the duchess’s eyes sparkled. “I meant it as a compliment, dear heart,” she whispered, gently squeezing her arm. “But if it is not the thought of the procession that is troubling you, then is it the thought of the wedding itself?”
Seraphina’s lips parted, a protest lingering just on the tip of her tongue. Of course she wasn’t worried about the wedding. What was there to be worried about? It was simply a political union. Just as her mother’s marriage to her father had been a political union.Just as her godparents’ own marriage had originally been a mere political union.
But the words stuck in her throat.
Because she couldn’t deny it—even now, even realizingthiswas what the Lord wanted her to do, she still wished she didn’t have to marry the Crow of Drakmor tomorrow. She wished she didn’t have to marry anyone.
Duchess Edith breathed out a quiet, knowing sigh. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, darling. I know you would have preferred to rule as a queen in your own right, to show the world that you could bear this burden on your own with no need for a king or even a consort.” Softer still, she asked, “But do you know what?”
Seraphina shook her head, her gaze fixed on the sight of Alyx dozing before the fireplace. She didn’t know what the duchess was about to say, but she could certainly guess.
“The Lord makes all things good in His time,” the older woman whispered, confirming her suspicions.
A wry smile quirked Seraphina’s lips. “And yet my mother was perfectly miserable until the day the wasting sickness took her, Your Grace,” she reminded her.
But no sooner had the words departed her lips than Duchess Edith’s hold on her arm tightened. “Silvie found peace in her circumstances, just as I know you will find peace in yours, Sera,” her godmother contradicted, an uncharacteristically stern edge to her voice. “Joy is a choice we make rather than something that is given to us. And if this is truly the Lord’s will for you to marry Aldric Hargrave, as you say that it is, then I can tell you this without asingle shred of doubt—itwillbe good. Because His plan is always so much better than ours.”
Chapter eight
Seraphina
The sight of Alyx curled atop Rogue blurred behind the sudden sheen of tears welling up in her eyes until her beloved usuru was a mere streak of blue and green atop a blanket of white. Duchess Edith was always so…calm, so steadfast, sosureof everything.
Please, she prayed while gently easing her arm out of her godmother’s hold so she could raise her hands to wipe away her tears before they could ever fall.Grant me at least a fraction of her courage and confidence.
With a tender smile, Duchess Edith leaned in close and pressed a kiss against her cheek. “And at least the man already cares aboutyour well-being,” she observed, a teasing note now edging her voice. “That is a good start.”
“What?” Seraphina asked, nearly choking on the humorless laugh bubbling up in her throat. She hadn’t the faintest idea what the Crowactuallycared about, but she couldn’t imagine she made the list at all. No. Absolutely not.
A sudden knock sounded at the door, luring all eyes that way.
