He hated her plan. She was sure of it. Because he wanted her to just sit here in Goldreach. He wanted her to look the other way and let him take care of this latest problem for her.
But she was tired of just sitting and waiting.
She was ready todosomething.
Pausing before her godfather, Seraphina met his hazel eyes over the rims of his spectacles. “Why is that, do you think?”
Duke Percival searched her gaze within that nearness. His brow furrowed. “You already know the reason,” he whispered for her ears alone. “Do not make me say it aloud.”
Aldric clearly had no issue answering. “Because they all think you are weak,” he snarled from behind her, where he still sat on the dais. “Any other de la Croix ruler would have had them skewered on a pike for their transgressions, but they know you will do nothing.”
Duchess Edith thinned her lips. Duke Percival’s expression darkened.
Even Father Perero stepped forward to protest, “The queen’s mercy is not weakness, Your Majesty.”
A small smile hitched at the corner of Seraphina’s mouth. “No,” she murmured, turning to face the angry Drakmori now glaring at her from atop his throne. His irritation crackled through the air between them—palpable, electric. Memories of early that morning were far away now. The warmth of his shoulder, cushioned beneath her cheek, felt like a distant fancy. “My husband is right.”
Her words hung between them for a heartbeat, heavier than they had any right to be. Aldric’s rising anger visibly dissolved like mist beneath the sun. In its place, confusion—or perhaps wariness—claimed his features.
Holding his gaze, she agreed, “My enemies do think me weak because they believe I do not have the stomach for this.” She gestured vaguely. “For war. For…difficult choices like Mysai.”
Mysai.
There had still been no word from Mysai since she had sent her last order to evacuate the civilians. No usuri. No ships. No scrap of news. She could only assume the city had since fallen and that the ships bearing the refugees were sailing for her familial home of Dawnspire, as she had commanded.
But what if they were not? What if they had not evacuated in time?
And what of her soldiers? Those brave men left behind…
Squeezing her eyes shut tight, Seraphina tried her best to blot all thoughts of Mysai from her mind. She couldn’t think about that right now; there was nothing more she could do for them beyond pray. But this business with Coreto? With Arlund?
She could still do something about that.
When next she opened her eyes, it was to find Aldric still staring at her. But with a new expression now written across his scarred features. Something almost a little soft. Something that made her heart skip a beat.
Forcing herself to look away, she riveted her attention back on her godparents, back on Olivia, on Father Perero, and on Sir Easome, who stood pensive for once—silent. “And this is surely why Coreto let Sir Dacre and Lord Tiberius ride back here unharmed to tell me of his plans: because he thought he could frighten me into surrendering the throne to him. Because he wants me to think my own people have turned against me and no longer want me as their queen.”
Her gaze cut to Olivia. “Who do you think orchestrated those pamphlets, Mistress Olivia? The ones showing my stag being eaten by Arath.”
Without missing a beat, her friend drawled, “Coreto, of course.”
“Of course,” Seraphina agreed, letting each syllable drip from her lips like venom. “Because he is the one who stands to gain the most by making the people afraid. To make them think I cannot protect them. But if he wants to play that game with me, I am certainly willing to play. Let him think that I truly am weak. Let him think that I mean to surrender.”
Duchess Edith’s brow furrowed. “I will admit that I am a little confused, darling. I gather that you mean to lay a trap for Coreto and arrest him when he meets you to accept your false surrender. But…how?”
By taking a risk.
“One of the reasons Coreto thinks he can frighten me,” Seraphina carefully explained, “is because we have Arath’s army just to the south of us in Arlund and now his to the north—both ready to swallow Goldreach whole should I not bend to someone’s will. But I am not the only one here boxed in by enemies on all sides. If Coreto wishes to declare war on me, he will have my armies pressing at his southern flank and the Umberly forces pressing from the north.”
Sir Easome arched an eyebrow. “You mean this plan of yours hinges on Lord Cyneric?”
“I do,” Seraphina confirmed without pause. “Lord Cyneric is still marching the Umberly forces south to join us here inGoldreach. What if, just as Coreto was meeting me to accept my surrender, the northern forces arrived and forcedhiminto a surrender instead?”
Aldric’s voice rumbled from behind her again, “That’s a big ‘if,’ kirei.”
Duke Percival’s frown deepened. “I like the idea of this plan, Your Majesty.” He spoke slowly, carefully, his reservations plain. “But as much as I hate to admit it, it would be unwise for your entire plan to rely on my son making a serendipitous appearance at the exact right moment. We have not heard from Cyneric in weeks. We do not know exactly where he is on his march.”
A tight smile curved Seraphina’s lips. “True. But Coreto does not know that.”
