Page 115 of Burn of the Everflame

She chuffed in Tybold’s direction: Are you going to let him fight?

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not the one he wants to fight for.”

I left her huffing behind me as I entered the foyer, now pitifully sparse after my failed attempts to burn all the furnishings into godstone. All my closest advisors were gathered—the usual Corbois cousins, plus my brother and Zalaric, though Lily was at school. It was unsettlingly similar to my Challenging, and my nerves were just as high.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Eleanor prodded.

“Never looked better, Queenie,” Taran chimed in. “Except for that time you punched Jean Hanoverre in the face.” He elbowed Zalaric. “It was amazing.”

Zalaric smirked. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“She clocked Lu, too. They both deserved it.” Taran’s brightness dimmed as his eyes darted briefly to Luther. His teasing was nothing new, but there was an edge to his tone that took me by surprise.

Luther, on the other hand, stared at me as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. He didn’t even spare a glance for my body—his smoldering, watchful gaze was fixed to mine.

I hurriedly looked away. I’d hardly slept last night, tormented by how close I’d come to confessing it all. The only thing that held me back was my certainty that if Luther knew that the spell to kill Ophiucae required my death, he would stop at nothing to prevent it. He’d go to any length to keep Ophiucae and me from meeting, or he’d steal Sorrow’s Edge and destroy it—or, gods forbid, he’d use it to sacrifice himself in my place.

But I wasn’t ready to accept my death, either. With my body wrapped in his sweater and his scent, and the spark of his magic in the pendant branding his heart in my palm all night long, I’d decided I wasn’t giving up without a fight.

Hearts could change. I’d seen it happen. If I could learn to love so many Descended, then Ophiucae could learn to forgive them. I needed to find my sire and convince him to end this war in a way that didn’t put us both in a grave.

“You look the part,” Alixe said with an admiring nod.

Teller looked unimpressed in a way only a sibling could get away with. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” I said curtly. “Well . . . no time to waste.” I started for the door.

“Hey, Queenie?” Taran’s stare shot to Luther before returning to me. “Before we go, there’s something I wanted to⁠—”

“Taran,” Luther interrupted. “Not today.”

Taran’s brows slammed down. “It can’t hurt to discuss it.”

“Not today,” Luther snapped.

I glanced between them. “What’s going on?”

Neither answered, horns locked in a battle of wills. Zalaric curled a hand around Taran’s arm and whispered something in his ear.

“Forget it,” Taran mumbled, looking away.

Luther slid a hand behind my back and nudged me toward the door, leaving me no time to prod further. Once in the corridor, he fell back to allow Alixe and Eleanor to flank me, then joined my brother on my right as Taran and Zalaric gathered on my left. We moved through the palace as a pack, though I wondered if our united front was more fractured than it appeared.

My pulse picked up speed as we reached the ballroom. Loud chatter from within reverberated down the stone halls. Royal Guards lined both sides of the corridor. Though most bore the crests of the Twenty Houses, I nearly stumbled as I passed a guard with no crest at all—and, unbelievably, a pair of brown eyes.

“They’ve been harder to recruit than I expected,” Alixe whispered, seeing my surprise. So much had happened in the months since she and I discussed her plan to integrate the Royal Guard, I’d almost forgotten. “Only twenty so far.”

“And the Descended are accepting them?”

Her features strained in a way I didn’t like. “They will in time.”

Time.

I was beginning to hate that word.

“Push harder,” I told her. “I want a hundred by Forging Day. If the Descended complain, then hire a hundred more.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”