“I’m fine,” he rasped, blinking his eye back open and turning his head to stare in disbelief at the sight of pretty Seraphina de la Croix using his leather-clad shoulder as a pillow.
Those storm-gray eyes of hers flew wide the moment they connected with his. Sucking in a sharp breath, his kirei pulled away from him and righted herself at once. He pretended not to notice as she wiped a bit of sleep from her eyes and fussed with her hair.
The back of his neck prickled with an awareness of eyes upon him. He furrowed his brow and glanced over his shoulder to find a good dozen Queensguard and the Lord Chancellor himself standing by the doors leading out of the chapel.
Watching him like a bespectacled hawk.
He shifted to the side, placing a bit more distance between himself and his kirei. “Do you have the answers you need, then?” he asked, if only to break the growing silence.
Sera paused in her attempts to right her appearance and looked toward the altar. Under her breath, she murmured, “I do.” Her gaze slid back his way, almost reluctantly, when she added, “But you’re not going to like it.”
He huffed out a humorless breath and eased himself to his feet with a groan, all the while desperately trying to dash that strange dream from his mind. And the seed of guilt it had left behind.
“I figured I wouldn’t.”
Chapter thirty-one
Seraphina
Her neck protested the moment she squared her shoulders—a sharp reminder that she had not slept in a proper bed last night but had slumped in a chapel pew.
Using Aldric’s shoulder as her unwilling pillow.
Heat crept up her throat as the memory surfaced, the still drowsy parts of her mind recalling her Crow’s warmth, his quiet safety.Stop it, she chided herself, shoving the memory away before it could bloom into something distracting.
Her kingdom already teetered on a blade’s edge. Arlund was soon to be overrun; Coreto was now raising banners of treason. She was a queen.
She had business to attend to.
The light of early morning spilled through the tall windows of the throne room, painting the marble floor in streaks of gold. What remained of her war council gathered below the dais—her godparents, Olivia, Sir Easome, Father Perero—their expressions tight, expectant.
Aldric sat to her right on the king’s throne, but Seraphina kept her gaze fixed forward, refusing to glance his way. She feared what might happen if she did—that her resolve might crack, that it might shatter, that she might give in to the lingering temptation of the offer he had made her just last night.
To hunt down Coreto on her behalf.
To bring her back his head.
“I have prayed,” she informed her councilors, letting the words fill the chamber. “And I have an answer.”Please, Lord. Let this be the right path. Let this be Your will, not mine.
Straightening her shoulders, ignoring the latest twinge in her neck, she commanded, “Mistress Olivia, send word to the Duke of Coreto. Tell him that there is no need for more bloodshed. Tell him that I will surrender to him, north of Goldreach, on the borders of his land and mine, just west of the Whiteford River.”
For a long, brittle heartbeat, silence hung over the throne room.
Olivia shattered it by barking out a laugh. “What?”
Duke Percival swallowed. A muscle ticked in her godfather’s jaw. “You cannot be serious, Your Majesty,” he whispered, taking a single step forward. His cane clacked against the marble floor; the sound rang hollow in the stillness. “You cannot truly be intending to just…surrenderthe throne.”
Seraphina’s hands tightened, fingernails digging into the arms of her throne. “I intend to surrender nothing,” she countered, pushing herself to her feet. “I merely wish to tell him that I mean to.”
Understanding dawned on her godparents’ faces. Olivia cracked a smile. Father Perero frowned. Sir Easome’s expression soured.
She was certain Aldric’s did, too.
“From the very first moment you put this crown on my head, Your Grace,” Seraphina murmured, speaking directly to her godfather, though her gaze swept across the room to include her other councilors, “I have been plagued by…nonsensemy father never had to endure.”
She stepped down from the dais. “Multiple peace treaties—broken. War. Both abroad and on Elmorian soil. And now treason. An impending coup orchestrated by a member of my own privy council.”
Even without turning, even without looking back, she knew her Crow watched her every move as she crossed the scant distance separating her from her godparents. His one-eyed gaze scorched her back like an invisible flame. His intensity charged the air behind her like an encroaching storm.
