Page 44 of Under the Lion Star

Sanna nodded, but I noticed her chin begin to tremble.

“Hey,” I breathed, pulling her into my arms. “You’re allowed to feel whatever you need, whether sad or happy.”

“I just miss them,” she cried against my chest.

“I know,” I swallowed hard. “Me, too.”

My sister pulled back, wiping at her cheeks with her wrist. She sniffled before finally bringing her eyes to mine.

“Our family is a mess,” she huffed a small laugh.

“To be fair, we always kind of were.”

Sanna laughed again, but her spine went rigid as something caught her attention. I followed her eyes to find Liras walking the outer cloister. He gave us a small wave as he passed by the garden.

“Atlas is with Orin,” I patted her hand. “Don’t worry so much.”

Sanna blinked at me. “Right,” she shook her head.

I gave her a knowing smile, which she responded to with an eye roll before huffing a breath and resuming her reading. Only a few seconds passed before her scowl morphed into a grin. She peeked at me from the corner of her eye.

“Go find someone else to annoy,” she teased.

“You know,” I stood. “I think I’ll do just that.”

I stepped into my bedroom to change into more comfortable clothing. People tended to recognize me less without all the additional trappings of finery. It was hard adjusting to no longer being a soldier. While I had been a leader in that sense, it was much more straightforward than my role as king. I missed it. Not the war itself but the sense of purpose, of belonging. All I felt in Galvord was adrift.

The mattress dipped as I sat on the edge of the bed to lace my boots. Then came a hissing sound that had me shooting upright and staring while the silk sheets shifted slightly.

My hand was steady when I gripped the fabric despite my racing heart. I flicked the top cover off and stumbled backward just in time to avoid the snake that shot toward me.

The red vineyard viper coiled on itself, then lurched forward with another strike. My feet found purchase on the floor as I scrambled backward. I grabbed the ceremonial sword I’d propped against one of the armchairs in my room and swung at the creature. The serpent flinched, moving back and coiling once more as it readied for another strike.

Well, this is new.

Jumping to my feet, I backed up to distance myself from the pissed-off snake. While I didn’t want to kill the animal, given it wasn’t its fault that someone wanted me dead, I was more than willing to free its head from its body if it didn’t halt its approach.

“Oh, wow,” Atlas laughed from the doorway.

“Gods,” I gasped. “Don’t sneak up on people.”

“I was hardly quiet,” he shuffled along the wall until he stood beside me. “Although, it’s understandable that you would be distracted.”

“Can you get behind it if I keep its attention?”

Atlas nodded, moving slowly toward the other side of the room as I tapped the old sword on the floor, drawing the viper’s ire.

Taking silent steps, Atlas lifted a crate from my wardrobe, checked that it was empty, and tossed it over the snake. I let out a sigh of relief.

“I feel like it would be so easy to kill me,” I tilted my head as Atlas shimmied a thin board underneath the upturned crate, trapping the snake inside. “Doesn’t this seem excessive?”

“It’d be easy to kill you if you weren’t also trying to hide your identity,” Atlas flipped the sealed crate over. “Murdering a king while remaining anonymous requires creativity.”

“Like a snake in your bed,” I groaned.

“Like a snake from the sigil of your best mate’s house,” Atlas added.

“You hardly don the viper anymore. That tradition will die with your father.”

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