The moment that could change everything.
The sun sagged low on the horizon, with only the occasional beam of fading light able to pierce the heavy cloud cover above. But it was enough light to see by. Enough to trace the edges of the farmlands bordering the duchy of Coreto, split by the rushing waters of the River Whiteford off to her right, swollen by all the recent rain.
Enough to see the silhouettes of the men lingering down in the valley—at least thirty by her rough count. Lords and their personal guards rather than any formal army. Their banners fluttered in the wind.
Each heraldic animal she spied emblazoned on those banners was a fresh knife to her heart. House Threston’s boar she had expected, given that the Duke of Coreto was the head of that Great House. But there were others that surprised her—standards of men she had known since she was a little girl. Men who had been loyal to her father before her.
A trout for the Baron of Leinor. A stoat for the Count of Minavale. And more besides.
At her side, Olivia dryly observed, “It looks like a procession of all the midlands lords down there. I see almost everyone besides Wellane and Lord Tiberius.”
Seraphina’s hands tightened on her reins. As if sensing the sudden shift in her mood, her horse shook its head and stamped restlessly beneath her. “Coreto is merely trying to unsettle me by parading his supporters before us.” She swallowed hard. “But it will not work. I do not care.”
The lie was like ash in her mouth. She did care. Very much so.
But her feelings didn’t matter in this. All that mattered was that, at the end of the day, her people were safe. And they never would be under Coreto’s rule. That man cared about one thing and one thing alone—power.
His own glory.
Silence descended between her and Olivia as they sat there, waiting for the treacherous duke to make the first move, to ride away from his supporters and meet her alone—with a single escort—as agreed. She could see him well enough, pacing before the midlands lords on his horse, sitting tall despite his advanced years, looking strong within the steel breastplate encasing his torso.
He watched her just as she watched him, his icy gaze fully fixated on her and her alone. Like that, he waited.
Like a coward.
As if he intendedherto ride to him.
Thinning her lips, Seraphina steered her horse to the left and trotted along the length of the ridge. With each beat of her mount’s hooves against the turf, the chainmail shirt hidden beneath her gown thumped against her. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
“What is the matter, Coreto?” she shouted, infusing every ounce of disdain she held for that man into her voice as her words sailed across the stillness. “Afraid to face two unarmed women alone?”
They were losing the light. She had to bait him into acting quickly. What was the point of any of this if he could not see the supposed threat enough to buy her ruse?
Around her neck, Alyx stirred, disturbed by the sudden noise.
Down below, Coreto finally nudged his horse into motion, cantering away from the pack of traitors that accompanied him. A lone rider swiftly followed—his second son, Bennett Threston. Of course, the duke was not arrogant enough to bring along his heir to such a dangerous meeting.
As much as she hated to admit it, Coreto was no fool.
Seraphina spared Olivia a fleeting glance to ensure her Spymaster was ready before she started down the ridge herself, letting her horse pick its way carefully over the rocky soil. With each step, her pulse surged faster. With each passing moment, her mind reeled more, thoughts flitting through all the various ways this could go terribly wrong.
But it was too late to back out now. She was here.
She was doing this.
The duke and his son drew closer, close enough for her to easily spy the pleased smile curving Coreto’s lips. The very sight of it made her teeth clench.
“Seraphina,” the duke hailed her, so informally, as he drew his horse to a halt several lengths away. Yet more salt the insufferable man tried to rub into what he thought would be her wounded pride. “You have surprised me. I did not think you would actually come.”
She forced herself to bow her head, appearing bested before her opponent. Feigning subservience to Coreto of all people smarted far more than any words he could have flung her way.
“I know when I have been outplayed, Your Grace,” she lied, her gaze fixated on her horse’s neck. “I merely hope for your mercy now. No more bloodshed. I will abdicate my throne in favor of your claim and retire to my family home, a mere lady—”
Coreto’s laughter sliced through her prepared speech, cutting her off mid-sentence. “You are fooling no one, girl,” he spat.
Her head snapped up; her eyes locked with his.
The duke stared back at her with his cold, cruel gaze, dissecting her piece by piece. “You have some scheme, I am sure. Something you have plotted in the scant time I allowed you. Something that makes you feel terribly clever. But whatever it is, it will not work.” Shifting his reins to a one-handed grip, he gestured toward the waiting lords behind him. “As you can see, I have the strength of nearly all the midlands behind me.”
