“Garet and Jos came back from their search for you via Kaerlud,” Tristan explained, “and the city is buzzing with the news that the queen will soon return. Dornar has built his credibility on the back of your legitimate claim. He has convinced the council to support him on the grounds that he is the only one that can bring back their rightful queen. And now they’re all expecting you.”
Mathos nodded slowly. “Yes, he admitted something like that, but where does that leave Lucilla?”
Tristan dipped his chin, his eyes crinkling at the sides with an almost smile. “That leaves her with all the power.” He focused directly on her. “You have this chance to use all the groundwork Dornar’s already done. You can take the initiative back and simply walk in like you own it—because you do, and everyone already knows it.”
Lucilla gripped her hands in her lap to stop them shaking. Damn wasn’t a strong enough word. This was definitely a “fuck” situation.
Fuck.
Everything they said made sense. If she was going to be the queen, this was her best chance. They could slip in and steal control from Dornar while he was looking the wrong way. Use the plans he’d made but do it without him. Completely avoid any head-to-head confrontation or military battle for power.
But that meant she had to choose. Right now. West up to Eshcol to regroup. Or east straight to Kaerlud. Run and hide or stand up and take the crown.
She looked up at Matt, still hovering angrily at the door. “What do you think?”
He leaned against the doorframe, one leg crossed over the other. He would have seemed relaxed if she didn’t know him so well. If she couldn’t see the way his shoulders were bunched with tension and his scales flickered on his jaw as he folded his arms over his chest. “I think this is your best chance to take your crown back.”
She gave him a half-hearted smile. “I agree. But do you think I’m the right person to be the queen at all?”
He gave her a long look and then looked briefly up to the low ceiling, as if the answer was somehow there among the creaking wooden beams. And then he looked back, held her eyes, and nodded decisively. “Yes. I think you’ll be an excellent queen. You are strong and smart and quick to learn. You have a good heart. And I think your kingdom needs you.”
The kingdom needed her. And Mathos thought she could do it. He believed in her.
In a way, it was a relief. She didn’t have to think about it anymore. She didn’t have to worry, or wonder, or second-guess. She didn’t have to run, always looking over her shoulder. Or hide, always wondering if lives were being lost because of her. She could accept the inevitable and focus on making the very best of it that she could.
She looked slowly around the room and lifted her voice. “Okay, let’s go east.”
Chapter Eighteen
Why didshe have to ask what he thought?
He didn’t want to be the one to tell her that she had to take on the responsibilities she’d been running from. He didn’t want her to blame him for the loss of her dreams of freedom and adventure. And she would—not immediately, maybe, but eventually.
She would realize that she had lost the very things she wanted most, and that he was responsible for that loss. And he knew from bitter experience what would happen after that.
And even worse, he was asking her to do something he knew he couldn’t do. He hadn’t been able to manage one small barony, but he expected her to rule an entire bloody kingdom.
But he’d had to tell her the truth: she would be an excellent queen. Strong and thoughtful. Generous to her people. Quick to learn and resolute when she needed to be. And she would save the kingdom from years of war.
It was the right thing to do, even if it cost her all her dreams.
He only half heard her voice. She made her decision, and she chose to go east. To the palace that she had never seen, in the capital city that she had never visited, and which would now be her home. The place where she sacrificed her life for everybody else’s. And he was responsible. If she had never met him, she would still be free.
Lucy sank back into her chair and ran her hand over her mouth, her fingers trembling against her dry lips as if she was suddenly truly appreciating what she’d just done.
All his earlier anger came back to him in a hot rush of outraged indignation. “Couldn’t you idiots at least have gotten her a drink before you started badgering her?”
“I’ve asked the galley—” Nim started, but it was too little, too late. Lucilla was crashing, and if there was one last thing he could do for her, it was to get her somewhere she could take a moment.
“That’s enough. We’re done here.” He found himself at her side, reaching down to help her stand, pulling her up and then dragging her through the crowd of Hawks and Nephilim and out of the cabin.
If he had stopped to think, he would have realized how possessive he looked, how protective, his scales flickering angrily. How relieved Lucy had looked when he’d arrived, and how gladly she’d put her hand in his. And how the Hawks stepped back and let him pass without comment.
But he wasn’t thinking about that. He was thinking about Lucy and the choice she made. How she was still smiling at him—prepared to follow him—as if she trusted him.
Gods knew she should not. He had already failed her.
He should have been in there with her, not pulling Rafe aside and asking him to take a look at his shoulder. He had thought it would be better to give her a little space, let her get used to the idea of being with the Hawks without him… but it was a mistake. All he’d achieved was to leave her exhausted, dehydrated, and completely overwhelmed, alone, to be grilled by half the squad.
