Noemi smiles at this, blushing prettily.Everythingshe does is pretty. Stark’s barely taken his eyes off her since he sat down, so he’s surely aware.
And that ugly seed of jealousy is back again, coupled with a spiteful voice that says,Good, get the fuck out of my city. Am I jealous of his relationship with her or just…her? Her looks and her grace and her effortlessness?
I might be wearing the crown, but she looks more the part.
“Stark will accompany Noemi on this diplomatic mission,” Siegrid continues.
And my stomach drops to the floor.
Well, that answers that question at least. I am mostdefinitelyjealous of their relationship. The idea of the two of them out on the road together, sleeping under the stars…
Stark’s head snaps up toward his mother, his glower burning enough to singe. “I was not made aware of this.”
Siegrid shrugs. “It’s been decided,” she says coolly. “You’re a necessary component of this strategy.”
The two of them stare each other down so viciously that I start to grow uncomfortable. Surely this is worse than Siegrid’s and my glaring match. Iknow the Sovereign Alpha is also his superior, but is this seriously what his relationship is like with hismother?
The frost between them bites as hard as the worst of winter.
Eventually, Siegrid shifts her attention away from him and back to me, as if deciding that his opinions about this don’t matter.
“Stark’s reputation makes him particularly persuasive in these matters. Certain nobles may hesitate to pledge allegiance to a new queen, but none would dare refuse the Daemos Alpha’s…invitation.”
I glance over to him, only to discover that Noemi’s put her hand on his arm and is stroking it lightly, as if trying to calm him down. It seems to be working; he’s settled back in his seat, brutally stabbing at the meat on his plate but no longer murdering his mother with his eyes.
“If he can be spared here,” I say, “then—”
“He can,” Siegrid interrupts, her tone brooking no room for argument. “As I said, it’s been decided.”
I spend the rest of the dinner living with the unsettling feeling that despite being queen, I am very much not in charge of anything.
After the meal ends, I find Anassa in my chambers, curled up in front of Saela’s door. “Has she fed again?” I ask her quietly.
“No need yet,” Anassa replies.
I open the door silently and duck my head inside. The room is dark. Saela is fast asleep, curled on her side in a tiny ball as she used to do when she was a smaller child.
Asleep, she looks almost herself—a normal girl of eleven without the weight of unimaginable trauma on her shoulders.
I kneel beside her bed and slowly brush a strand of hair from her face, careful not to wake her. When she opens her eyes, the weight will fall on her again. I know that. But for now, her face is relaxed and her expression peaceful.
Hopefully, that peaceful expression means she’s not trapped in some shadowrealm with Killian while she sleeps, or otherwise being manipulated by her Siphon sire.
I sigh and settle my chin on the edge of the mattress. I watch her slowly breathe. When Saela’s fingers twitch in her sleep, I fight not to cry.
A soft knock on the external door has me sitting up.“Anassa?”
She responds without words; she left for the woods again and can’t tell me who’s at my door. I look back to Saela for another long moment, soaking in the quiet, then I stand, leaving Saela’s room and locking her in.
The knock comes again moments before I answer it.
And when I pull it open,Valstarkis standing there.
He’s still wearing his formal wear, except it looks like some of his wildness is starting to tear free from it. His jacket is unbuttoned, as are the top buttons of his shirt, revealing more runic ink. His cuffs are undone. His once neatly arranged hair looks like he’s dragged his fingers through it a few times now.
Or maybe Noemi did, says that wretched jealous voice.
Before I can questionwhymy heart is beating so loud or if he can hear it, Stark lifts his hand to show me the tattoo pen he’s carrying.
