Page 63 of Glow of the Everflame
I slowed my pace until he caught up to my side.
Acceptance. An unspoken forgiveness.
“Who will attend these House Receptions?” I asked.
“The heads of each House and the Crown Council. Until you appoint your own advisors, King Ulther’s Council will sit in its place to send a message that your reign will be consistent with his.”
I held back a retort. It certainly wouldnotbe consistent—not if I could help it.
“And you’re on the Council?”
Luther nodded. “Along with my father and my uncle, Garath, as well as his sons, Aemonn and Taran.”
I scowled. “Does Garath have to be there?”
“He’s unpleasant, but he is helpful. He knows the other Houses better than anyone.”
“Fine, I suppose. What about Aemonn, why keep him around?”
“I ask myself that every day.”
I stopped still. “Luther Corbois, did you just make ajoke?”
“It’s been known to happen on occasion.” His hand slid to my back to nudge me forward and lingered there as I resumed my pace.
“What about Taran, why is he there?”
“Mostly to keep me from killing Aemonn.”
“Luther,” I gasped. “Two jokes in one day! You’re going to need a nap to recover from this excitement.”
He smiled at me—a new smile, this one warm and humble, but also a little bit triumphant. I was so surprised at the casual sweetness of it that I nearly stumbled.
I tried to look annoyed, though my own smile was peeking through. “How curious that King Ulther couldn’t scrounge up a single woman in all of Lumnos to advise him.”
“Lily would have joined the Council when she came of age, but you’re right. The King was very... traditional.”
“Well, I am not. And I want Eleanor on my Council and present for the House Receptions.”
“Eleanor doesn’t have a title or a formal role.”
“On the contrary. I made her my first advisor, so she’s theonlyperson with a formal role.” I smirked. “The rest of you have yet to earn my favor.”
He nodded gravely, though his eyes kept their amused gleam. “Noted. I’ll ensure she’s invited.”
We walked for a few paces in silence. His hand finally dropped away from my back, though it paused as it fell, twining in the gossamer fabric of my skirts. He stared at it, a slight wrinkle between his brows.
“You dislike my dress?” I asked, feigning offense.
“Not at all. You look...” His eyes slowly lifted to mine. Muscles strained along his throat.
“Let me guess,” I teased, trying to ignore the warmth rushing to my face. “You preferred when I wore nothing but a towel?”
His expression heated, and the flush in my cheeks plummeted straight down to my belly.
I laughed nervously and looked away. “Or maybe you prefer me in muddy pants and a borrowed tunic.”
“Only when it’s mine.”
