Rolled his eyes. At the former king and queen of Veyndral fussing over my pregnant belly.
“They do this,” he said. Flat. The tone of a man who’d endured this behavior for hundreds of years.
I looked at Altun, who was now arguing with Farmon about the correct positioning of support cushions beneath a pregnant woman’s lower back. Then at Rheda, who had produced asmall vial from her own supplies and was adjusting Farmon’s counteragent formula.
Where did Lucian get his temper?
Because these two were all warmth and fussing and aggressive grandparenting, and the man with such a short temper he picks fights with ravens was in the corner pretending he’d been raised by wolves. Which, technically, he had. But still.
Spoiled only child. Had to be. As I suspected.
“You’re doing well,” Rheda said, turning back to me. Her hand cupped my cheek and the gesture was so maternal, so unexpected after weeks of political hostility and aristocratic warfare, that my throat closed. “Triplets, a poisoning, and you’re awake and talking. The women in this family are resilient.”
“I’m not technically in the family yet,” I managed.
“You’re carrying three of my grandchildren. You’ve been in the family since conception, darling.”
Altun nodded firmly. As if this were constitutional law.
My eyes burned. I’d read a thousand found-family scenes in the paperbacks I used to shelve. None of them had prepared me for the real thing.
Then Rheda’s hands left my belly.
The warmth drained from her expression so completely that the temperature in the tent dropped. She stood. Smoothed her coat. Turned to Lucian with such eyes.
“Where are the women who did this?”
Lucian straightened off the tent pole. “Being held outside. Dragged back from the portal becauseyoustopped us from killing them.”
“They should be dead,” Solomon said. The way he discussed weather or supply inventories. “The compound in the tea was designed to kill your grandchildren. The appropriate response is execution.”
“I had my teeth on Annora’s throat.” Lucian’s voice carried the particular frustration of a man who’d been interrupted mid-justice. “If you hadn’t arrived when you did, this conversation would be unnecessary.”
“Can I put in my vote for still killing them?” Percy raised his hand. “Because I’d very much love to still kill them.”
Altun looked at Rheda. Rheda looked at Altun. A conversation happened in that glance, the kind that required centuries of marriage and zero words.
“Killing them,” Rheda said, “would be mercy.”
The tent went quiet.
“You want to teach two women the cost of what they’ve done?” Altun’s voice dropped. “Death ends suffering. We’re not in the business of ending their suffering.”
I stared at them. The same couple who’d been cooing over my belly and arguing about calcium supplements five minutes agowere now discussing the inadequacy of execution with the calm authority of people who had done this before.
There it was. The answer to where Lucian got his temper.
“Bring them to the clearing,” Rheda said. “Lycan audience only. This is a kingdom matter first.”
Lucian glanced at Solomon. Solomon looked at Percy. The three of them shared a reluctant agreement that played out in jaw clenches and tight nods, alphas ceding control to an authority they recognized but didn’t enjoy yielding to.
I pushed myself upright.
“What are you doing?” Farmon’s hand was on my arm immediately.
“Going outside. I’m the one they poisoned. I’m the one whose children almost died. I should be there.”
Rheda’s head whipped around and the terrifying former queen evaporated. In her place stood a mother-in-law whose eyes went wide with concern.
