“Focus on me.” She turns to face him, and he looks at her with wide eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line.
Perhaps if she gives him a task, that will help him think about something other than his fears.
“Do you see my father anywhere?” she asks. “He’ll be surrounded by guards when he exits the train.”
Cerian’s jaw twitches. Is he going to look? Or is that asking too much?
To her relief, he turns his eyes toward the train, and then he tugs her along.
Words must be outside his capabilities at the moment.
He saw something, though. Someone, hopefully. She follows blindly at his side until they almost plow into one of Father’s guards.
“Stay back. The king is—” The guard does a double-take. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”
He quickly steps aside, letting them pass into the circle of guards protecting Father from the hordes, and Cerian’s heart slows as the guards keep the crowd at bay.
“Arisanna!” Before she has time to say anything, Father crushes her to his chest. “Rominy. Is he—”
“He’s sleeping. He’s stable, and so is Elowyn. Tharios is taking good care of them both.”
“Oh, thank the heavens. I’ve been sick with worry all day, but I got here as soon as I could.”
To her shock, he pulls Cerian into his embrace as well.
“I feel the need to hold all my loved ones near today,” Father says as Cerian stands stiffly beside Arisanna. Thedismay in Cerian’s eyes is unmistakable, and she struggles not to laugh.
At least his panic has lessened.
“Your Majesty, we should get you inside,” a guard says, and Father nods as he lets them go.
“They’re in the hotel,” Arisanna says. “Mother is resting. She hasn’t seen Rominy yet. I thought it might be best to—”
“Wait for me to keep her calm?” Father smiles, and Arisanna looks sheepishly up at him.
“Something like that.”
“You’re probably right,” Father whispers to her before turning to his guard. “Take us to the hotel.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
The guards part the crowd so they can pass, and Cerian grips her hand. As they move beyond all the people onto the cobbled street, Grandmera stands patiently waiting and falls into step beside them.
Father looks her way and frowns. Does he know who she is?
“Father, this is Cerian’s grandmother. Queen—”
“Miravel,” he breathes. “Time is kind to elves. You look as young as you did the day I met you forty years ago. And look at me, hobbling along like an old man.” Father winks, and Grandmera laughs.
“You have not changed, Gerault. Your son carries the same twinkle in his eyes as you do. And the same heaviness.”
Father’s smile fades. “Arisanna tells me he is stable.”
“He is. My grandson will pull them both through this. I have no doubt.”
“Then I will take your word for it and attempt to set my worries aside. Are there more apples beneath the mound of candy in that bucket, Cerian? I don’t recall eating much today.”
Cerian looks at what’s left of the apple in his hand before holding the pail toward Father, and Arisanna smiles. He’ssharing his apples. Something about the gesture warms her.
