The strength she needed to do what had to be done.
“With this betrayal, Edmund Hargrave has broken the long-standing treaty between our kingdoms,” she continued, holding her Crow’s gaze as she spoke. “He has declared war—not just on me, but on his own people. He has betrayed the Church. He has betrayed the very ideals of duty and honor. He has betrayed his own brother. Edmund Hargrave is no king; he is merely a coward.”
Another emotion sparked into being within Aldric’s gaze.
Yet one more she couldn’t name.
With an effort, she pried her attention away and met her godfather’s eyes instead. “I want usuri sent out to every kingdom, to every corner of the world, declaring the truth—that Edmund Hargrave is a pretender, illegitimate and unworthy of his throne. Let it be known that yesterday, I married thetrueKing of Drakmor, Aldric Hargrave.”
Duke Percival blinked. Sir Easome continued to stare.
But she wasn’t yet finished. She was nowhere near finished.
“And then I want usuri sent to every great lord and lady within Drakmor, reassuring them that though their false king has declared war on my kingdom, I do not hold them at fault. That I stand beside the true King of Drakmor, Aldric Hargrave, as his lawful wife and queen consort. Tell them that we await their pledges of fealty and promises of aid, both in this war and the next, when we shall reclaim Drakmor and restore King Aldric to his rightful throne.”
The words poured from her lips like a swollen river breaking free of its dam. She couldn’t stop them if she had wanted to. But she didn’t want to stop them. Edmund had brought this on himself. He had dared to declare war.
So let it be war.
But clearly her godfather did not share her fervor. Delicately, he interjected, “I must advise you against trying to incite a civil war against a fellow monarch, Your Majesty. Meddling in foreign politics in this way is generally frowned upon—”
Her fury caught further flame at the duke’s words. “Edmund is a littleworm, Your Grace, and no monarch I recognize.Thatman right there”—she pointed at Aldric—“myhusbandis the only King of Drakmor I know. And the world shall know it, too. Send out the usuri. Tell the city-states. Tell Lothmeer. Tell Kuni. Tell Arath. Tell all of Drakmor. Litter Falwood’s streets with pamphlets if you must. Encourage the bards to sing about it, if they dare.”
Glancing at Aldric, she asked, “Your Master Fitzjesmaine is a former bard, is he not?”
But when she caught sight of the way the Crow was now looking at her—his gaze molten, his stare lingering—she paused. Beneath the heat of his undivided attention, she momentarily forgot how to breathe.
He had never looked at her quite like that before.
Aldric’s answer to her question came in the form of a mere rumble of confirmation.
In the awkward silence that followed, Sir Easome jested, “We might run out of usuri with all these letters you’re sending, Your Majesty.”
Blinking her way back to the moment, she countered, “Then we will breed more.”
Her godfather thinned his lips. She could nearly taste his disapproval. But for once, he did not seek to argue with her further. He merely dipped his head and hobbled from the room without waiting to be dismissed, Rogue happily padding alongside him.
After a few beats of pause, Sir Easome bowed. “By your leave, Your Majesty?”
She dismissed him with a nod and a small smile. “Thank you, Sir Easome, for your tireless service and loyalty. I know…Mysai has not gone the way we had hoped it would, but the Lord willing, you and His Highness will soon show Arath what we’re truly made of in Arlund.”
The Lord Constable’s easy smile returned to his visage. “I have no doubts, Your Majesty. No doubts at all.” With another bow, Sir Easome departed, hurrying after her godfather.
But the moment he left the room, the air seemed to grow close again. The space between her and her Crow crackled, charged with all the things that remained unsaid.
She hadn’t the faintest idea what he thought about all that she had just decreed in his name. Was he displeased? Irritated that she had not spoken with him about it all first? She watched him out of the corner of her eye, studying him where he still stood next to her desk, watching her in turn.
His gaze smoldered in its fixation against the side of her face, but still he said nothing. His silence held. The moment stretched on.
She couldn’t stand it any longer. A peal of nervous laughter exploded from her throat. “What in the world are you thinking about?”
He blinked and looked away, as if only just now realizing he had been staring this whole time. Swallowing visibly, he pushed himself away from her desk and closed the distance between them in just a few steps.
Her breath caught in her throat once again as he reached forward, taking her hand within the clasp of his. He moved slowly, cautiously, like a man trying to stalk a deer through the woodswithout startling it. Bringing her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss there.
No cold nor strange voice accompanied the touch.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. She stared down at him, trying to make sense of what was happening. His hold on her hand was gentle. His lips were warm. But as with his previous stare, his touch lingered far past the point of polite.
