“And me. That makes six,” I choked out, forcing down my grief. I could not force it down forever; I’d learned that lesson well enough. But I could contain it for now.
“You are not a Knight of the Round Table, you are the High Queen of Annwyn,” Cyara said, wings twitching.
Panic flooded my veins. Another prophecy. Another price to pay.
Arran’s hand landed on the small of my back. I sucked in a breath, centering all of my attention on that steady weight. “What does that make Arran?” I hoped I sounded more flippant than I felt.
“The table was given toyou, Veyka, as was the prophecy,” Cyara countered. “Anyone who sits at it is one of your Knights. Even the king.”
“That leaves two unfilled seats. The Siege Perilous and the one not yet known,” Lyrena mused.
“And who will be this supposed male’s father? Arran? I promise you, I am not with child.” Arran stiffened behind me at the mere mention.
Down, boy,I soothed his beast.I’m sure you will know before any of us when I’m carrying your pup.
I received a growl in response.
I rolled my eyes, returning Excalibur to its sheath as I spoke. “This prophecy could take hundreds of years to come to fruition.”
There was a beat of silence where I thought the topic blessedly dropped.
“What if facing the succubus is not the moment of direst need?” Cyara said quietly.
Then there was actual silence.
Arran’s hand slid from the small of my back to my waist. He was not content to rest it there; his fingertips dug into my side through the draped silk layers of the dressing gown I’d donned.
I will always protect you,his beast growled.
I did not have the heart to tell him that I was beyond his protection now.
I leaned forward, planting the palms of both my hands flat on the rectangular table where my Knights had gathered. “Prophecies can be twisted. Merlin may well have left out a line or two for spite alone. Merlin is lost to us. But Igraine is not.”
Discussion ended.
And another begun.
“Maisri,” Cyara said promptly. “Go find my mother, Minerva. She will have use for your quick hands.”
I waited until the door closed behind the child before lifting my gaze to Gwen. “Tell me how it happened.”
Not the succubus. My mother.
She understood. In painstaking detail, she recounted her own attempts to dismantle the Shadows while Parys researched in the goldstone palace library. She told us about the arrival of the humans from Eldermist and the protection she’d offered in my name. And finally about the night she and Parys had snuck through the secret passageways in a fatal pursuit.
Arran stiffened behind me at the mention of the passageways, but his beast was silent.
Somehow, Gwen kept her composure as she detailed the coming of the succubus to Baylaur. It had begun in the palace guard barracks. Many had died in that first wave of attack. For nearly two months, while Arran struggled to regain his memory and I tried to secure amorite, Gwen had held together a crumbling city.
When she finished, I had but one thought. “Death is too kind a punishment for the Dowager.”
Arran’s fingers tightened to the point of bruising.
But before anyone could murmur assent, a sharp knock sounded from the door.
We turned as one to the sound.
“Enter,” Arran said.
