Please. Please be where I need you.
“I have a counteroffer,” Seraphina proposed, speaking over her adversary. Each word that unfurled from her lips was frosted with all the disdain she could muster for this man—this man who thought he could bully her into committing bigamy to suit his own ambitions.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted some movement from the grove in the distance.
Her heart threatened to wing straight from her chest at the sight.
“Lord Threston,” she continued, lifting her chin, “I stand ready to accept your surrender. If you and your son, Bennett, fling yourselves on my mercy here and now, your lives will be spared. You will be bound in irons and escorted back to Goldreach, where you will await a trial before an assembly of your peers at a time of my choosing.”
Silence blanketed their quartet for the span of a single heartbeat before a laugh exploded from Coreto’s throat. “And why would I possibly surrender to you?” he asked, his gaze sweeping across her and Olivia. With that single look, he clearly dismissed them both. “You and your Spymaster pose no threat to me.”
Olivia offered up a lazy smile. “Want to bet on that?”
“On the contrary,” Seraphina murmured again, relishing the taste of those five little syllables on her tongue. “We pose every threat to you. As you and I have already agreed, Your Grace, the north answers to me and me alone.” With a wave of her hand, she gestured toward the horizon. “Or do you truly think what meager army you have raised in the past week can stand against the full force of the northern armies?”
The blast of a horn rumbled like thunder in the distance, drawing Coreto’s attention toward the grove, toward the crack of the black banners emblazoned with the silver varhound of House Umberly snapping in the wind. Horsemen shifted beneath the deepening shadows of the trees, black tabards covering their breastplates.
For a moment, she almost believed the lie herself.
“Father…” Lord Bennett softly urged.
Far behind the duke, no doubt awaiting his orders, the midlands lords stirred. Their horses whinnied.
A muscle in Coreto’s jaw ticked. “You are bluffing,” the duke hissed, his attention snapping back her way. “You do not have the numbers to defeat me on the open field, and so you are bluffing. That cannot be Lord Cyneric’s full force. My scouts have reported no sightings of his armies this far south. He cannot possibly be here already.”
“And yet he is!” Seraphina shouted over the sound of her own pulse roaring in her ears.Bluffing. Coreto knew she was bluffing.
She glanced past him toward the other traitors, just in time to see the Baron of Leinor wheeling his horse around and riding hard in the opposite direction.
Leaving. One of Coreto’s allies was already leaving.
Her smile deepened. “Your co-conspirators are abandoning you, Lord Threston. Running. Shall you join them? Do you think you can truly outrun a varhound let off its lead?” She skimmed the duke from head to toe, watching him blanch, examining the way his hands tightened on his horse’s reins.
She could nearly hear the gears whirring in his head.
Calculating his chances of survival.
“Boys in the north fell dire bears for mere sport,” she reminded him, trying to drive the point home for the sake of his imagination. “You and your soldiers do not stand a chance against grown northern men.”
The duke’s eyes narrowed, pure malice shining in their depths. Finally, he spoke. “Even if you do arrest me here, girl, even if you do make me and my son stand trial—there is no lord in all Elmoria who will find us guilty of treason save for those in your own pocket. Even if you win here, you will still lose.”
Seraphina’s jaw hardened. “Even those pathetic traitors behind you will name you guilty once I promise to carve up your lands and award them each a parcel like a Wintertide gift.” Raising her voice, she shouted into the freezing wind, “Your time is up, Lord Threston. Surrender or die. Those are your only options.”
Behind the duke, another lord peeled away with his guard and rode hard in the opposite direction.
More urgently, Lord Bennett hissed, “Father, please.”
Coreto gritted his teeth and glanced between her and the false northern forces lingering on the horizon, clearly questioning his scouts’ reports. Clearly doubting his own resolve.
“Now,” Seraphina barked. She had to break him now before he reconsidered, before he looked too closely and realized the men in the grove had no varhounds with them. “Surrender to me now, or I will give the order for the army to advance.”
But still, Coreto said nothing. Still, he hesitated.
“Father!” Lord Bennett shouted, imploring, pleading.
“Very well,” she whispered, passing her reins to a one-handed grip and lifting her arm as if to give some manner of signal. “I see you value your pride more than yours and your son’s lives…”
Before she could blink, the duke lunged for her, driving his horse forward—like a wild animal cornered at last. His hand snaked out and snatched her reins straight from her grip. “Call off your army!” he snarled.
