Because it sounded much more like a threat to her.
Chapter ten
Seraphina
The city was silent.
Seraphina peeked past the curtains draping the carriage windows to stare at the crowds lining the glittering streets of Goldreach, watching the royal procession rumble past on its way to the cathedral. Her people pressed in close on all sides, clearly eager for a glimpse of her in her wedding gown and jewels. A royal wedding was a rare treat—a true spectacle.
But they did not cry out her name as they had on her coronation day. They did not cheer.
Her fingers trembled as she let the curtain fall back into place, shielding herself from their view.
“They fear a siege,” she mused aloud to her godparents, who sat on the bench across from her, doing their best to exude auras of calm—as if that would be enough to stop the frantic fluttering of her heart.
Wringing her hands together, she buffed the fingernails of her left hand with her right thumb while babbling, “And rightfully so. This cold front will mean a poor harvest. A poor harvest could lead to famine. We will need to take extra precautions to ensure we stockpile enough supplies should the worst happen in Arlund. Your Grace?” She looked to Duke Percival.
He raised his eyebrows and peered at her over the rims of his spectacles.
“Your Grace, I wonder if you have had a chance to review those reports I sent to your room last night?”
Her godfather grunted, a dry smile hitching at the corner of his mouth. “You mean at two in the morning? No, I’m afraid I haven’t yet had an opportunity, what with the last-minute changes you wanted made to the procession back to the palace and all.”
Heat flooded Seraphina’s cheeks. Had it truly been that late? She must have lost track of time in the library. “Forgive me,” she apologized with a self-deprecating laugh. “I didn’t realize. I fear I couldn’t sleep.”
Thankfully so, as she couldn’t stand to have another dream like the last now that she knew about Aldric Hargrave’s dirty little secret—keeping a mistress right under her nose. To think that even in her vision, she had desired to kiss him.
Him. That vile, odioushypocrite—
Her godmother reached out and took her hand, a fond smile on her lips.
“Not today, darling,” Duchess Edith gently whispered just as the carriage drew to a halt, sending Seraphina’s pulse racing all the more. She almost didn’t hear her godmother over the sound of the blood rushing through her ears when the older woman added, “Don’t worry about anything else today. It’s yourweddingday. Just find your peace and enjoy the moment.”
When a footman opened the carriage door, Seraphina’s heart stopped. When her godfather eased himself out first so that he could help her out next, she forgot how to breathe.
The chill wind nipped at her cheeks and throat as she took Duke Percival’s hand and cautiously stepped down into the courtyard before the grand cathedral of Goldreach. In the distance, a familiar chirp pierced the air—Alyx crying out for her wherever she was, being held by one of the many Queensguard in attendance so that the usuru didn’t disturb Father Perero’s ceremony.
Seraphina narrowed her eyes against the brilliant light of day, trying not to be blinded by the reflection of the sun bouncing off the polished armor of her soldiers lining the street and framing the steps leading up to the cathedral, holding the commonfolk at bay.
Her godfather gripped her hand with a quiet strength, unwavering before the deafening silence of the crowd. Together, they stepped forward so that her godmother could emerge from the carriage as well, and the ladies-in-waiting assigned to carry the long train of her wedding gown could find their places.
How different a reception this was compared to the last time she had been before the people on the day she became queen. She could hardly believe that had just been last year.
Almost a year ago to the day.
Let them stare. Let them judge me.
Lifting her chin, Seraphina forced a smile to her lips. Cold reception or no, she was still these people’s queen. She was still a de la Croix—the last de la Croix. Everything she did was for Elmoria’s sake. Every choice she had made had been for these silent gawkers.
So let them look at her. Let them stare and wonder if she was going to succeed in the battles to come or be eaten alive by Arath.
Either way, she refused to back down now.
Far in the distance, a lone voice rang out, shouting, “The Lord bless you, Your Majesty!” The crowd rippled in reply, murmurs catching spark as people glanced about as if trying to see who had cried out, breaking their collective silence.
At least one person in Goldreach still loved her.
But one person was more than enough.
