“Beheading, Your Majesty.”
Of course Koa would armor her in threats. He always did prefer blades to words.
“Where would you like to wait, sire?”
“The library,” we said in unison.
Sebastian fell into step beside me as we followed her through vaulted corridors, his whisper carrying.
“Admit it; you’re relieved. Gives you time to rehearse your ‘gracious monarch’ routine.”
“They asked forme, Sebastian. Not the royal guard, not the intelligence corps. However grudgingly, they acknowledged…” The words congealed in my throat like old blood.
“That you’re still the most dangerous thing in three continents?” Sebastian flung himself into a leather wingback, boots propped on a 17th-century ottoman. “Don’t flatter yourself into thinking they accept you as a father yet. They simply needed someone who’d burn cities to ash if Arabesque blinked at their precious girl wrong.”
Two days since Casimir’s call. Two days since my sons trusted me with their heart’s compass. And still my conscience ached painfully.
It had taken Kaori to pry my eyes open, but now that they were, I longed for a better relationship with my younger sons. Icravedit. I wanted what I had with Sebastian with Casimir, Zane, and Koa, and knowing I might never gain it was devastating.
Still, I’d keep trying. I had decades to make up for, but also decades in which to do it.
“Either she’ll tolerate you for their sake or…”
“Or?” I prodded Sebastian, valuing his opinion.
“You’ll learn what Koa meant when he said some bridges can’t be rebuilt.” He tapped the cover ofVampyr!#37 where a broody vampire straddled a flaming motorcycle. “Bet this was Zane’s contribution. Did you know he owns every issue? Even the rare Italian print where Dracula’s hunting a werewolf Pope?”
“Mmm.”
I selected Machiavelli’sThe Princefrom the shelves, casual irony for whoever might notice. The pages fell open to Chapter XVII:Concerning Cruelty and Clemency. How many times had I quoted that very passage while drilling statecraft into Casimir’s adolescent mind?
Men must be either pampered or crushed.
“Dad.” Sebastian stiffened, nostrils flaring.
I turned as the air shifted. A barefoot shuffle against Persian wool.
She stood framed in the doorway, a sparrow caught mid-flight. Zane hadn’t exaggerated. Five foot six of golden curls and trembling hands. Her lavender collar lay gently against the gray sweater swallowing her narrow shoulders. Her fingers worried the cardigan’s hem, twisting yarn until the knit puckered. Yet her chin lifted as our eyes met, gray irises reflecting the sun like steel daggers.
Sebastian’s book snapped shut. We rose in tandem, decades of protocol overriding modern informality.
“Mrs. Cimmerian,” I went with to be safe. “Forgive us for commandeering your sanctuary.”
“Oh! No, it’s…” Her voice stumbled, soft as dandelion fluff catching sunlight. “Please call me Seri.”
“A beauty my brothers undersold.” Sebastian gave her a tiny bow, his courtly grace softening his warrior’s build.
“King Lucian. Prince Sebastian. Welcome to Evermere.” Her smile flickered, there and gone like candle smoke.
“Might we tempt you to join us?” I gestured to the carved settee between our seats. “Unless Casimir left landmines in the upholstery.”
Her giggle surprised me, a clear bell peal at odds with the shadows beneath her eyes.
“I’d count more on Zane hiding a whoopee cushion.”
She perched on the edge, and I cataloged each sign of abuse: Sunken cheeks, blue veins mapping translucent wrists, the faint tremor in her crossed ankles. My knuckles whitened around my book’s cover.
“First, I owe you an apology, Seri. My blindness to Arabesque’s machinations nearly cost my sons their heart. That error won’t be repeated.”
