Dornar laughed. “Gods, no.”
“Truth,” Ramiel muttered, frowning heavily, and Dornar turned a satisfied smile on Val.
Val could feel his rage building once more as Dornar dodged the question. If Ballanor had applied the poison himself, then Dornar could argue that he didn’t help him. Or perhaps he meant that since he was standing on the embankment, he wasn’t in the field to help. Or any number of possible meanings.
“Did you or did you not tamper with the king’s sword?” Val demanded loudly.
“I didn’ttamperwith anything,” Dornar replied smoothly as Val cursed his use of the word tamper. If the king knew about it, it wouldn’t have been tampering. Gods the man was slippery.
Ramiel crossed his arms. “Were you or were you not involved in this,” he gestured toward the swords and the dead king, “in any way.”
“Of course I was involved. I was the king’s second.” Tristan took a meaningful step closer, which Dornar ignored as he continued easily, “But I am absolutely not responsible for the death of the king.”
“Truth,” Ramiel replied slowly, still frowning. Fuck. Val knew that the answer wasn’t good enough. Strictly, since it was his gauntlet the sword had caught in, he was responsible for the death of the king.
“Enough of this.” Dornar waved a magnanimous hand over the tournament ground, his lips twisting up at the sides. “As Lord High Chancellor, I can, on behalf of the crown, accept that former Captain Lanval has prevailed through combat.” His nostrils flared slightly. “Apparently the gods and the angels favored him today.”
A ripple of agreement traveled over the crowd, and Val pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to control his outrage at how easily Dornar had dodged any kind of implication of culpability, at the same time as firmly establishing power for himself.
Dornar dipped his chin to the Clibanarii, commanding imperiously, “Someone take the king to the infirmary.” He nodded toward the Hawks and courtiers that had been held back. “You might as well let them through.”
Ramiel’s jaw tightened at Dornar’s audacious assumption of power, but Val didn’t care. They were letting the Hawks through.
Alanna flew across the small space, and then she was there, in his arms, holding him as if she would never let him go.
Her slender body shook as she buried her face in his neck. He hauled her in close against his chest, needing to hold her, needing to feel her, and threaded his fingers into the glossy silk of her short hair, cradling the back of her head.
She was safe and in his arms, both of them alive and, finally, free.
Beside him, he heard Tristan talking quietly to Nim, and he wanted to laugh in relief and joy. He wanted to go down to his knees in gratitude for their safety. Instead, he wrapped himself tightly around Alanna, reveling in her softness and her strength.
But then Dornar started speaking. “That’s enough. Come now, Your Majesty, this is unseemly.”
Alanna turned in his arms, and they both stared at Dornar, who merely smiled patiently as if he was looking at unruly children, and then raised his voice to reach the courtiers milling around the ground. “The king is dead, long live the queen!”
The courtiers immediately responded with their own, “Long live the queen!” Everyone turned to face Alanna, raising their voices, each trying to be the loudest, most ardent supporter.
“Wh-what?” Alanna asked in a shaken voice, the trembling in her body returning with such force that Val thought she might fall.
He wrapped his arms more firmly around her, supporting her as his own heart stuttered in his chest. “What are you talking about, Dornar?”
“Lord High Chancellor,” Dornar corrected as he folded his arms and rocked back on his heels.
Val swallowed his desire to grab a weapon. He was in no state to start another fight even if he thought for one second that Ramiel would allow it. “What are you talking about, Lord High Chancellor?”
Dornar looked meaningfully at Alanna. “The challenge was over the right for Alanna to divorce Ballanor, but since he’s dead that is now entirely moot. They never got divorced, and since the king is dead, she’s his widow. But she’s still the queen.”
“I don’t understand.” Alanna’s voice was soft and uncertain as Dornar sank to his knees at her feet, looking up at her with what anyone else would have thought was genuine concern.
“Your Majesty, I understand that this is difficult for you, but you are now our reigning monarch. Ballanor died with no other relatives. Even if you had never been married, other than your mother, you are the only surviving member of the Royal family.”
“Wh-what?” Alanna asked shakily.
“You are the descendent of Princess Mildritha; you carry the blood of the Brythorian Royal family. And Ballanor made you our queen. With his death, you are the only remaining member of the Royal family.”
“But…I….” Alanna started, her slender fingers gripping Val’s hands hard enough to bruise.
Dornar stood slowly, cutting her off. “Surely you, who sacrificed so much for the treaty between Brythoria and Verturia, can understand what would happen if the kingdom were to be left leaderless at such a sensitive time.”
