“Thank you,” she rasped.
“Of course.” When he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, he wanted to squeeze her hard, to fold her into him and never let her go. But he wouldn’t risk hurting her further, so he inhaled her, all rose and patchouli.
Neck straining, she peered over his shoulder. “Is he...?”
“Not yet.”
Isahn was distantly aware of Ean apologizing to the aide cowering in the opposite corner. Amidst the elf’s ongoing platitudes and promises that she was now perfectly safe, Ean also informed Isahn and George the hall was in allied hands.
Isahn hadn’t felt a jab of touch magic from Dunstan giving the all-clear. He’d probably missed the sign while focused on Georgie. The tiny faerie, on the other hand? The poke had probably launched the poor kid across the room.
George grasped Isahn like her life depended on it. It didn’t any longer, but certainly had a moment before. Her fingertips dug into his shoulder blades like she could slide in beneath them and never forfeit her hold.
He hugged her back, aiming for a gentle grip while pressing more kisses to the top of her head. “Are you all right?”
Bracing her by the shoulders, he tilted George away so he could look her over. Deep bruises already purpled her neck. Her eyes were blackening, and there was blood.
“Where are you bleeding? Do you know? Let me see.” He started to turn her body to get a better look, but she stopped him with a hand to the chest.
“Isahn. I’m fine. It’s the back of my head, maybe my arms. I’m not the person to worry about.” She looked pointedly at her trussed and unconscious father.
“I’ll do it,” Isahn announced with certainty. He stood, and with great care, helped Georgetta to her feet. “I’ll do it for you.”
She shook her head ever so slightly.
He wasn’t sure if it was in denial or disbelief, so he continued to plead his case, “I don’t want you to have to bear the weight of his death on your shoulders alone. If this all goes awry, you won’t be put through a trial for the king’s murder. It’ll be me. Just a rogue watercourser who snuck into Domos and started tupping the princess.”
George snorted. “I won’t let you do that. The second part, I mean. By all means, please feel free to end that man’s life. He doesn’t deserve another moment of my attention. I only stepped up because no one else was getting it done.”
Chuckling, knowing her reasons ran far deeper than that, he kissed her on the nose.
“You won’t be put on trial,” she continued. “I’ll take the blame, or the credit, unless you’re desperate for it. It’ll be easier to ascend if his death is at my hand.”
Isahn could just hear Ean saying to the aide, “Ye’re not paying attention, right?”
“Understood,” he answered into George’s curls. “I couldn’t ask for a better situation. I get to avenge the wrongs he’s done to you—to Domos. And I don’t have to deal with the consequences? It’s perfect.”
“You’re perfect.”
“You are.” Isahn pecked George softly on the lips.
“Are ye serious right now!?” Ean called them back to reality.
“Can you wake him?” Georgetta eyed her father’s form. “For the very end. Wouldn’t want him to miss it, you know.”
“I’ll try.” Isahn crafted his signature knife, a blend of water magic imbued with the most frigid and scorching temperatures he could produce. The weapon was solid, impenetrable, ice, paradoxically tempered by heat. He pressed a gallant kiss to Georgie’s hand before allowing her to lead him to the king.
Isahn felt no fear, no trepidation, only a sense of calm righteousness as he doused the man in a torrent of frigid water.
With a sputtering groan, Gasparo awoke—somewhat.
George used her magic to fling the stunned man onto his back. With his limbs bound up behind him, her father rolled onto his side, a huge gash across his forehead dripping blood down his temple and onto the tiles.
“You fucki—”
“Ah! Silence.” George clamped his jaw shut, and Isahn added his magic to the mix, a watery gag, just to be safe. “You do not get to speak. Not now. Not ever again.” Her foot connected with Gasparo’s nose. Blood spattered across the mosaic.
She began to retreat, but doubled back to crouch by his side. Her voice was low, measured, sure, when she said, “Thank you, Father, for making me queen.”
