Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
Aren twitched each time the fabric stretched taut. With a curse of exasperation, he pulled up the four stakes holding it in place. The white fabric launched into the air, soaring over the Harendellians as they reached the beach. They looked up at it as it flew, watching as it tangled in the rigging of theVictoria.Crew members climbed up to remove it, but the white fabric resisted their efforts.
Jor chuckled. Aren did not.
The Harendellians climbed out of their longboat, then formed a procession up the path to where the table sat.
“The cocky-looking one with the hooded woman on his arm is William,” Jor said under his breath. “The man leading the group is Lieutenant George Cavendish, lord heir to the earldom of Elgin. Good fighter, and right-hand man to Prince James. I don’t know the others in the group.”
“I recognize Cavendish from when they retrieved Ahnna from Northwatch,” Aren replied. “James isn’t here, though. None of them are tall enough.”
Which was probably just as well. Aren wasn’t certain his control over his temper extended to the man who’d been seducing Ahnna while working to stab her in the back.
“Lara told me James is heading up the hunt for Ahnna,” Jor replied. “His absence suggests that he, at least, doesn’t believe she’s here. They can’t start making demands for a woman they know we don’t have.”
Where are you?Aren sent the question onto the wind, willing it to find his sister.Please be safe.
Because the alternative was that James wasn’t here because he’d already captured Ahnna.
Aren silently watched the Harendellians approach. The majority of them were soldiers, and they scanned their surroundings for threats with a practiced eye. In truth, Aren was somewhat surprised that William had chosen to come himself. The seas always presenteda risk, especially at this time of year, and the prince was not known for his bravery. Though Edward had always been one to get himself into the thick of things, so perhaps this was the son trying to live up to his father’s legacy.
Or perhaps it was for another reason entirely.
Lord Cavendish dropped back next to his king, his eyes on Aren as he murmured something. Likely identifying him, though William’s brow only furrowed with annoyance, and he snapped a retort that Aren couldn’t make out.
“William has a hot temper and a reliance on drink,” Jor said softly as they drew nearer. “He radiates pride and ego, but beneath it all, he’s a boy who was never good enough for his father. Some rally in such a situation, but William is not one of them. He’s a mother’s boy who desperately needs the flattery of others, which is why he surrounds himself with sycophants.”
For all Aren had inherited his crown in the same way as William, it struck him how unfair it was to the people of Harendell that they were stuck with such a man by virtue of birth. “So he can be provoked?”
“Undoubtedly, but if he makes a threat, he’ll feel compelled to follow through on it for the sake of his pride, even if he regrets it in hindsight. Tread warily.”
“Understood.”
William walked with a swaggering stride, waving off the soldiers around him as he reached the opposite side of the table, the hooded woman still on his arm. She was looking down, and the fall of the fabric made it impossible to see her face.
William let go of her arm and rested his hands on the edge of the table, the cloth wrinkling under his grip. “Aren Kertell. The Master of the Bridge.” His lip curled into a slight sneer. “Where is your wife?”
Aren met the other king’s stare. “Occupied.”
“Motherhood.” William said the word like it tasted bad, and thehooded woman tensed ever so slightly, making Aren more certain it was Alexandra.
He didn’t blame her for reacting—to be so dismissed by her own son must be infuriating. “Among other things.”
“One hopes that motherhood has tempered her more violent tendencies and turned her into a proper lady.”
“I’ve not found that to be the case.” If anything, motherhood had only made his wife more dangerous. “I’ll leave theproper ladiesfor theproper gentlemenof Harendell.”
William’s jaw tightened, but rather than rising to the bait, he gestured to the hooded woman. “Allow me to present my bride, Queen Lestara.”
Not Alexandra.
Aren managed to keep surprise from showing on his face, but only barely given that Lara’s theories were crumbling before his eyes.
Lestara pulled the hood back and lifted her face, amber eyes meeting his. She wore Cardiffian ceremonial clothes, her face painted and her blond hair braided and affixed with feathers and tiny skulls. No longer the angry, dirt-covered creature he’d seen in the mass grave in Vencia, but Harendell’s queen.
