Tense moments ticked by. Silence blanketed the yard.
“Aldric!” Sera’s voice suddenly winged toward him, slicing through the quiet, sweet and bright. Turning his head, he watchedhis wife hurrying toward him as fast as she could walk before she was officially running.
A muscle in Tiberius’s jaw ticked.
Aldric presented a tight smile.
“Aldric,” she breathlessly expelled again the moment she swept in close and came to stand at his side. “What has happened?” Her hand fell to his shoulder, resting there as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Just touching him. In front of everyone.
In front of her once “favorite.”
His thoughts scattered as the warmth of her nearness chased away the biting cold of the day like mist burning up in the light of the sun.Focus. Trouble. There was trouble.
“Beaumont was just about to tell us what happened,” he rumbled, keeping his one-eyed gaze fixed on Tiberius. He wanted to savor every moment of the other man’s discomfort. His irritation.
The way the muscle in his jaw continued to tick with each passing moment.
The way his eyes fixated on the sight of Sera’s hand resting atop his shoulder.
If only another person’s foul mood was something he could bottle to experience again later. Tiberius’s would have made for a particularly good vintage.
While Sir Tristan slipped off just a little ways with Mistress Olivia, the two huddled together like a pair of conspiring thieves, Tiberius finally spoke again to admit, “I had hoped to speak to you in private, Your Majesty.” The insufferable man spared a glance forthe watching crowd. His voice lowered. “This is not a matter made for public ears.”
His kirei’s attack rat lifted her head from her huddle with Sir Tristan. Expression suddenly hollow, she asked, “Permission to summon the rest of the war council, Your Majesty?”
A shiver traced down his spine unbidden when Sera’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “Permission granted,” she whispered, her breath ruffling against his hair with each word spoken. “And Lord Beaumont? Your request for a private audience has been denied.”
The look on Tiberius’s face darkened further when his mad, beautiful, utterly intoxicating kirei added, “But His Majesty and I will receive you in the throne room in exactly five minutes.”
Chapter twenty-eight
Seraphina
Silence blanketed the throne room in the wake of Lord Tiberius’s news. For a moment, the sight of the baron kneeling before her wavered. It blurred. For a moment, she could hear nothing but the rush of her own blood through her ears.
But then the moment passed. The room shifted back into focus.
She was aware of the weight of all their eyes resting upon her. All of them watching. All of them waiting for her to react. To see what move she might play next.
Her Crow. Her godparents. Sir Easome. Olivia. Sir Tristan.
Tiberius.
But there was just one problem.
She had no more moves left to play.
Clearing her throat, Seraphina shifted within her seat. Around her throat, Alyx rumbled with an usuru purr, as if to remind her that she was there. That she was not alone.
For once, the winged serpent’s presence brought her no comfort.
“I beg your pardon?” she whispered, not knowing what else to say.
The baron’s grim expression softened, revealing a glimpse of his true feelings, which obviously lurked beneath: pity.
Tiberius Beaumont pitied her.
“I said that the Duke of Coreto is planning to overthrow you, Your Majesty,” he repeated, carefully enunciating each word, “and that he already has half of the midlands pledged to his cause.”
