“A coup,” Duchess Edith exhaled from where she stood just behind the baron, as if hardly daring to believe it herself.
Swallowing visibly, Sir Tristan stepped forward, finally departing Olivia’s side. “It’s true, Your Majesty,” he rasped, his voice thick. “My own father…” The knight’s words drifted into silence, as if he could not even bear to complete his sentence. But he did not have to. Seraphina understood well enough.
Even House Dacre had abandoned her in her hour of need.
Aldric leaned forward from atop his own throne. “And yet Coreto allowed you both to leave,” he observed on a low growl, his one eye narrowing. Suspicion crackled off her Crow like the crimson bolts of lightning that haunted her dreams every night. “Why?”
Tiberius jolted to his feet and flung his arms wide, as if inviting her husband to challenge him directly, with his glaive rather than his words. “It is generally considered bad form to hold the message against the messenger,Your Majesty.”
A quietboomechoed through the cavernous chamber as her godfather slammed his walking cane once against the floor. “The king is right,” Duke Percival said. His mouth worked, as if uttering those four words had left a bad taste in his mouth.
Through the fur-lined leather of her gloves, Seraphina worried at the arms of her throne, hunting for the familiar grooves there. “You will answer His Majesty’s questions, my lord. And any questions His Grace might have as well.”
She hated the way her voice cracked around those commands. She sounded so soft. So weak. As if Coreto had broken her already.
What am I going to do now?
Hardening his jaw, Lord Tiberius obeyed. But he addressed his words to her rather than to her Crow. “Sir Dacre and I departed from Threston Keep in the middle of the night, and we rode hard straight for Goldreach, Your Majesty. We told no one we were leaving.” Again, he flung his arms wide and glanced about him, as if to illustrate his point. “I did not even bring my guards or my valet, as you can see with your own eyes.”
Duke Percival squinted at the baron. “And did you and Sir Dacre make any pledges of allegiance to the duke before you left?”
“No,” Tiberius and Tristan answered in unison.
The room erupted into conversation, all of her advisors trying to speak to her at once.
Sir Easome called out, “We must have the Duke of Coreto arrested and tried for treason, Your Majesty.”
Duchess Edith sighed. “Arrested? With what men? We have none to spare.”
“Cyneric,” Duke Percival growled. “Our son can arrest him on his march to Goldreach.”
Aldric leaned closer to her and whispered loud enough for all to hear, “You must have Crestley Truth-Read, Sera. To confirm his story.”
“Truth-Read?” Tiberius balked, his voice swelling to drown out all others. “Like a criminal? I am a member of the peerage, and I willnotstand for such insult. Your Majesty, I have spent my lifedevotedto you and your family. I have given you everything I have to give! Why would I betray you now?”
Seraphina shoved herself to her feet. “Silence!” she shouted. Alyx lifted her scaled head and let loose with a sharp screech as if to punctuate the command.
Again, all eyes turned her way. Again, they all waited for her to speak. To direct. To delegate. To say something profound. To turn this latest tide that was so very against them back in their favor.
Arath was on their shores. Arlund was surely soon to fall. Mysai no doubt had fallen already. And now a coup.
A coup with half the nobles of Elmoria’s midlands already pledged to its cause.
She breathed in deep but could no longer catch her breath. The floor seemed to tilt, threatening to pitch her straight off the dais and into Tiberius’s arms. She staggered a single step to the rightand caught herself on her throne. A strong hand wrapped around her wrist as well. Steadying her further.
She did not have to look to know it was Aldric.
“Sera,” he rumbled, his deep voice shuddering into her chest, restarting her faltering heartbeat.
Without glancing his way, she pulled herself from his grasp. “I need a moment,” she whispered, the words so soft she feared she had not even spoken.
As if from far away, she heard her godmother implore, “Your Majesty—”
“I said I need a moment!”
Alyx took to the air with another screech as Seraphina stepped off the dais and hurried toward one of the side doors subtly positioned behind the thrones.
“Your Majesty!” Sir Easome called after her, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t slow.
