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.”

---