Silas shakes his head and glances toward Warrick and Larkin.
“Are you going to come, Warrick?” Silas asks.
I fight back the urge to jump with excitement.
“I don’t think I’m ready for a family affair,” he replies. “You two can do this alone.”
“Very well,” Silas agrees. “You two head back to the house and take Fen and my mother. Check on Maines, then fill Oak in.”
They nod.
“Start prepping for what’s to come. From this day forward, every day will count. Gather numbers on how many we will have at our side and help those willing to fight.”
Warrick waves Fenmore over, along with Aerona.
“Where are you going?” Larkin asks.
Silas locks his fingers around mine as we move across the stone streets of the square. He glances down a few alleyways, deciding which one is the right one to explore. He calls over his shoulder to Warrick and Larkin, who are watching us intently.
“We’re going to have a drink.”
Larkin laughs, and we move through the square, ignoring the passing glances we receive. It must seem odd to them, the Queen of Daramveer, hand in hand with their new king. Even more bizarre to me is that Silas just announced we were off to have a drink.
We walk in silence through the crowd, turning a corner that leads down a narrower walkway. The crowd thins out, and soon it’s just Silas and me walking toward a tucked-in door halfway down the alleyway.
“Thirsty, are you?” I finally ask, once we are away from the prying ears of the civilians.
“After that? I’m dying for an ale.” He looks down at me and smiles.
Our pace slows as he takes his time passing the few storefronts in the alleyway. Fabric stores, pottery shops, and other random stands fill the spaces, while the owners either wave at us or quickly turn their heads away.
“You did great up there,” I say. “I’m proud of you for calming down like that. I know it wasn’t easy to control your anger.”
“Thank you.”
“I understand how it feels to have your entire kingdom turning its back on you. I believe we are going to be okay—Andorwood will come around.”
“I don’t feel like I did well,” he responds. “I almost lost it, Briar. How can I rule if I can’t control my anger?”
“But you did control it, Silas.”
“Barely.” He lowers his head and continues to stroll forward. “I considered wiping them all out. I thought they would come for you, and I wanted to destroy them—my own kingdom—for you.”
“But you didn’t.”
“That’s not the point,” he says, looking at me. “I would burn this isle to the ground for you in an instant. If anyone tries to cross me, fine, I can handle it. But if anyone crosses you? I fear that for the rest of my life, I will struggle with wanting to murder any poor soul who dares to speak ill of you.”
“Then, you will have to work on controlling that. You can think what you’d like, but we must control our actions. I can handle myself; you know that,” I reply. “I haven’t felt that rage before over something so small. What was that?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve never felt this angry.”
“Then, tell me when you are feeling close to losing it, and I’ll help you.”
He nods, and the conversation quiets, giving him some space to think and breathe, even in the confined space of the alleyway. Soon, we come upon a wooden sign that hangs from a stone building:Ophidian’s Den.
“Why are we coming here? It can’t be because you want a drink this badly,” I inquire.
“First off, yes, I do need a drink badly. And second, you wanted to meet Cyrus, didn’t you?” Silas smiles.
