“My son,” she cried, slithering from the throne to stride toward us with her arms outstretched. Her voice came out falsely light,threaded with an edge she wasn't quite able to mask. “You’re alive. I'll behead whoever told me of your death.” Her sharp gaze stabbed one high lord and lady after another.
“You will behead no one. I, however…” I noted the faces and names of those present. Greedy things who'd hoped to benefit from my death. They’d soon discover regret.
“And your lovely queen as well,” my mother said. “Alive and well, praise the fates. We feared the worst.”
My hand slipped from Reyla’s as I moved into Erisandra’s path, forcing her to stop short. She dropped her hands, clasping them in front of her, her expression rearranging itself into something resembling relief.
“Is that so?” My tone sliced like a knife through her supposed joy. I'd loved this woman as a child, but even back then, I could see her cutting edge that would allow no one to stand in her way. “And what, exactly, were you doing while fearing the worst?”
Erisandra’s smile faltered, but her recovery was quick. “Oh, my dearest son. Someone needed to maintain order while you fought those dreadful creatures. I was, of course, keeping Evergorne’s interests in mind. Ensuring its legacy.”
“By looting it blind?” Reyla’s gaze flicked to the pile of treasures stacked like long-lost relics along the far wall, servants working feverishly to wrap and secure them in pouches.
Erisandra sniffed, her hands fluttering as if she could wave away Reyla’s accusation. “It’s standard protocol in times of crisis to safeguard the crown’s property.”
“From whom?” I locked my gaze on hers. “The borgons are gone. That leaves only those within these walls. Do you fear your own people,Mother?”
Color flared across her cheeks, and she pasted on a tight smile. “You’re mistaken, son. I would never?—”
“I know exactly what you would never do,” I cut in, my voicepressing into every corner of the throne room. “You would never rally to defend this castle. You would never bleed for this city. You would never lift those jeweled hands of yours to protect anyone but yourself. So tell me, Mother, what exactlywereyour intentions tonight? Speak plainly or I will ensure you do so.”
A few ladies gasped. Lords shifted uneasily on the dais, some slinking down to take seats along the aisle, others fleeing out through the door I and my beloved queen used to depart the throne room. I noted each one and each jerk of my head directed Talvon's way ensured they'd be taken to a secure location where they'd remain until they could be questioned.
Erisandra’s smile cracked, though she tried to hold it steady. “I merely sought to take precautions. You understand. The court was vulnerable with you absent?—”
“You mean with him supposedly dead.” Reyla’s voice gouged through Erisandra’s pretenses like a blade. “We were fighting off the borgons in the city while you…” Her lips twisted. “While you were undermining our rule.”
Erisandra’s lip twitched. “I—I’m insulted that you?—”
“No more,” I roared. “We’ve not only been driving the borgons out of the city, but we’ve also been helping the wounded and mourning those killed by the rampage. While you… You!” I lowered my voice, but it still cut through the room. “While you remained here to plot with a few treasonous high lords and ladies.” I lifted my hand. “Take them all and bind them with magic. Throw them into the dungeons.”
Cries rang out as my guards swarmed the room, securing every single person who'd plotted against me and my queen except my mother. They only hesitated when I twitched my head in the negative. I’d handle her myself.
“Lorick,” my mother gasped, her hands fluttering at her throat. “What are you doing?”
“What I should've done when I wrenched my throne from your grip years ago.” I tilted my head her way. “Talvon? Take her to her suite. No ladies. I don’t trust even one of them.”
“You can’t do this,” she cried, her voice sharp with indignation.
“You will never be the queen of this court.”
“As you wish.” Talvon bowed and rushed toward Erisandra, quickly securing her with magic despite her shrill protests.
Her shriek echoed in the room as Talvon started to drag her away.
“Your reign is over,” I snarled. “The true king has arrived.”
40
Reyla
The door to the throne room hadn't fully closed behind Lore’s mother before Lord Briscalar burst through another entrance, his tunic half-on, half-off, ruffles torn and dangling, and his gray-touched hair sticking up as though he'd tried to wrestle it into submission and lost. He swung his head wildly until his gaze landed on Lore and me, and then he hurried toward us, trying to straighten his tunic as he walked.
“Your Majesties,” he huffed. “King Lorick. Queen Reyla! Apologies for my appearance. Someone,” his sharp eyes flicked toward the now-empty throne, and his voice rose, “locked me inside my own rooms.” He scowled, his face reddening with indignation. “I convinced the guard posted outside to release me and came here at once.”
Convinced, huh? This man could flatten guards with a glare.
“My mother has been secured, as have those standing with her.” Lore’s tone carried the weight of his new name; not quite Merrick’s warmth or Lorant’s jagged ice, but something in between and wholly appealing.
