Page 10 of A War of Crowns

Finally, Sir Easome rejoined the fray when he boomed, “Let the boy king sulk! Not all of us were sitting here lusting for the sight of a foreigner’srearsitting on the Elmorian throne like you were, Coreto.”

Such commentary earned a chortle from her Lord Exchequer, anotherlookfrom Duke Percival, and an exasperated-sounding sigh from Father Perero.

It was an exasperation Seraphina herself felt all the way down to her bones.

“Foreign or not,Sir,” Coreto snarled, again rising from his seat so he could better loom over the still seated knight, "we all know those Arathian devils wouldn’t have daredstrike our holding in Mysai if Her Majesty were wed to the King of Drakmor. Or even if His Highness Prince Hamon was still alive. Long live the queen.”

“Long live the queen,” the entire room echoed without pause.

Seraphina could bite her tongue no longer.

“We could waste the rest of our lives sitting here, considering what might have happened or what could have been, my lords,” she directed to the room, though her gaze was leveled at the Duke of Coreto in particular while she spoke. When he finally deigned to meet her gaze, she arched an eyebrow at him and suggested, “Or we could direct our attentions back toward something actually useful.”

“Well said, Your Majesty,” Duchess Edith sweetly declared.

But along with the rest of her War Council, Seraphina had certainly heard the words that Coreto had left unspoken—blatantly obvious as they were lingering there just beneath the surface of his harsh speech. It was the same sentiment the senior nobleman had always held where she was concerned.

If my brother had survived, if he sat on the throne as was always Father’s intention, the King of Arath would not have dared declare war against us. Because my brother was a man.

And I am awoman.

It was not a new thought. It was a thought that had harried her since the very first moment her godfather placed the crown of Elmoria upon her head.

“You are now the queen, my dear girl,”Duke Percival had whispered to her beneath the cheers of the crowds whilst they made their way from the steps of the cathedral back to the carriage that would carry them home to the palace.

“Beloved, the darling of your people.”She remembered how those words had lifted her heart, had filled her with such hope for the future. A hope that perhaps,finally, she would have a proper place in the world.

A purpose at last.

But it had been a foolish, girlish hope that had been properly tempered when her godfather murmured to her in warning,“But your peers will not care that you are the queen. They will simply care that you are a woman. And they will wish to see how far they can make you bend before theymake you break.”

And they had.

What nonsense.

An Oracle—the most revered and treasured member of the Church, chosen by the Lord on High Himself before birth—could only ever be a woman, after all. If the Lord would choose a woman to carry His miracles into the world, one would think the world would accept the fact that a womancouldrule.

And yet the King of Arath had waited all of a month before sending his men to slaughter hers in the dead of night.

Looking down at the table as the conversation continued to wash around her, she eyed the map of Mysai—Elmoria’s final holding on the coast of Arath. Their final foothold left from the days of the Great Conquest.

Statuettes of war elephants and figures meant to represent Arathian witches littered the outer reaches of Fort Mysai. They had lost the outer ring of the fort that very first night.

But the outer ring was the newest construction. Fortifications put in place once Mysai came under Elmorian rule two hundred years ago. They had been built to protect the edges of the ancient fort from erosion by the desert sands and heat.

The outer ring had not been constructed to keep out people.

And certainly not people wieldingwitchfireand war elephants.

She had far greater confidence in the structural integrity of the mid- and inner-rings. Mysai had stood on the coast of Arath since before the Sundering.

This war in Arathcouldbe won. In written history, the port of Mysai had only fallen the once—to Elmoria—thanks to thecunning of her ancestors. So long as they continued to hold the Gate of Exiles, they would continue to hold Mysai.

But her godmother was right. To continue to hold the gate, they needed to divert Arath’s attention away from the walls, and they needed to do sonow.

They needed Drakmor.

During her silence, Sir Easome and the Duke of Coreto had taken to bickering again—more like a pair of unruly children than two grown men. Lifting her chin, setting her jaw, Seraphina slammed her palm down on the table with such force, one of the elephant figurines toppled from its post. While it still clattered into its new place, she reminded them both, “My lords, wewillhave order.”

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