Page 78 of Glow of the Everflame

For the first hour, he had burst out laughing every time he glanced at my black dress. After vowing to call me “Her Depressing Majesty, Queen Die-em the Royal Undertaker” for the rest of my life, he’d finally thrown an arm around my neck and turned his teasing on other members of the family.

I had a sneaking suspicion his bold friendliness was an act of mercy to shield me from his family’s cruelty. It didn’t work—I was still acutely aware of every nasty look, every scandalized whisper—but it was a kindness I wouldn’t soon forget.

“So the Challenging is held in this arena?” I asked, and Taran nodded.

I looked around at the blood-red smear of the crowd. I tried to imagine them cheering me on in victory, but I could only picture their faces of disgust when I’d arrived.

“Will they all wear red then, too?”

“Only if they think you’re going to die.”

“So that’s a yes.”

“You’re not going to die at the Challenging,” Luther interrupted.

“You don’t know that,” I protested.

“Maybe he’s planning to kill youbeforethe Challenging,” Taran suggested.

I frowned. “Good point. I’ll have a chat about that with Sorae.”

A muffled growl rumbled from the landing above our heads.

“You’re not going to die because I won’t let it happen.” Luther’s attention stayed fixed on the arena floor, his shoulders drawn tight. “We have a number of tools at our disposal to ensure you are coronated. I’ll use as many of them as I have to. You belong on that throne.”

I pressed my lips together to hold back a smile. While I was still miffed at his scolding of Eleanor, I had to admit the gruff, overprotective champion act was a little sweet.

My knee brushed his, luring his eyes to mine. The hard set of his expression was almost painful to look at now that I knew it had been forged from years of being isolated by his power, his family, and his destiny. This was the public-facing Luther, as heartless as he was matchless.The Prince.

But I knew better.

“You’re not going to die,” he repeated, his eyes blazing.

My gaze drifted to the King’s body. For a moment, all I could see was my own funeral pyre—my corpse broken and bleeding from defeat, my father and brother weeping at my side.

My throat burned. “You promise?” I whispered, remembering his words.

I keep my promises, my Queen. Whatever the cost.

He nodded. “I promise.”

“Luther,” Remis called out sharply. “The poem.”

Luther retrieved a folded paper from an inside pocket and returned to the podium. His voice boomed across the crowd as he began to speak.

“As most of you know, King Ulther’s mate, Rapheol, passed away many years ago. Rapheol was a talented poet, and when his mate ascended to the throne, he wrote a poem to commemorate his beloved’s reign. I would like to read you an excerpt from that poem.”

I sank back against the cushions and closed my eyes, listening to Luther’s deep voice recite the beautiful, lilting verses. Rapheol’s devotion to his husband was clear in every line, and we all laughed and blushed at his catalogue of the King’s best features at court, on the battlefield, and in the bedroom.

“I didn’t even know the King was married,” I admitted. “When did Rapheol die?”

Eleanor leaned forward until her face was close to mine. “Less than a month after Ulther’s coronation. He was poisoned by a rival House. It’s a heartbreaking story.”

“Someonepoisonedthe King’s husband?”

She nodded. “Just as he received the Crown, Ulther was cheated in a trade agreement. He wanted to prove his strength before his Challenging, so he had their entire House shut down. He seized their property and ordered that they all leave Lumnos, join another House, or become one of the Unhoused Descended that live on the outskirts of the realm.”

“All that over a bad business deal?”

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