Page 107 of A War of Crowns

As had Edith’s.

“…weep with joy if she could see you now,” Edith finally finished. “If she could only see the strong and courageous woman you’ve grown to be.”

A small smile trembled its way across Seraphina’s lips at those words. But the expression lasted for only a moment. “My father would weep tears of a far different kind if he could only see me now,” the queen concluded. “Plagued by nightmares. Questioning my decisions at every turn.”

Edith bit the inside of her mouth to keep from proclaiming within the reverent stillness of the Lord’s house that she didn’t care what Reynard de la Croix thought about any of them, and neither should Seraphina. Reynard was dead.

And good riddance.

“Nonsense,” Edith offered instead. She trailed in her goddaughter’s wake as they forged deeper into the cathedral.

Despite the soft cast to her voice, that singular word still sounded entirely too loud to her ears. The cathedral was nearly abandoned at that time of the day, leaving the vaulted spaces primed to catch and amplify even the slightest bit of noise. The pews lay empty. Father Perero was nowhere to be seen.

But no doubt the good Shepherd was back in the living quarters, where Sir Dacre was being cared for. They had visited the young man nearly every day that week.

His condition remained unchanged.

“Your father would be quite pleased that you managed to uphold the alliance with Drakmor,” Edith went on to say. Which was true enough. Reynard would have been pleased about that. Hewould have looked askance at his daughter’s potential groom, but he would have been pleased by the politics.

Up until the moment he realized that a foreigner had been promised a seat on the throne of Elmoria.

But something else her goddaughter had said nagged at Edith while they walked. Frowning, she asked, “But the nightmares are still bothering you? It is still the same one? The vision?”

Seraphina sighed and nodded. Without glancing toward her, the queen confirmed, “It has come to me every night since we returned from Nerina Reef.” Edith’s heart ached when the younger woman turned another hollow-eyed stare her way and whispered, “Sometimes, it even comes to me during the day. I cannot escape it.”

The pain written across her goddaughter’s face was almost too much to bear. If she could, Edith would take that pain from her. She would bear it as her own. “Let us speak to Father Perero, then, after our visit,” she suggested, desperately trying to think of any possible solution. Perhaps the good Father would know of something that could be done.

Visions were far beyond her own understanding. She had never even heard of anyone being blessed with foresight beyond an Oracle of the Lord. And Seraphina was no Oracle.

An Oracle was always born, never made.

When they finally arrived to the living quarters tucked deep within the cathedral, Edith laid a staying hand on Seraphina’s shoulder so they might peek into Sir Dacre’s room without yet disturbing those already within.

There the young man lay, still unconscious. On one side of the bed sat Father Perero, his head bowed in prayer.

But on the other side lingered Olivia, her hand clasped with the knight’s own.

Edith sighed. “If our young friend ever wakes, perhaps dear Olivia will finally admit that she cares for him.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Seraphina softly countered, always eager to rise to Olivia’s defense, “and you know it.”

Edith heaved another sigh. “Yes, yes, I know. Olivia thinks she is too common for him. But a person is defined byfarmore than simply their pedigree.”

As if the Lord Himself wished to test her on that assertion, Edith heard in the very next moment a call of, “Your Majesty!” ring out from just behind them. Within Sir Dacre’s room, Olivia twitched her hand away from the knight and shot them a narrow-eyed stare through the doorway.

But rather than apologize to her other surrogate daughter for spying on her in a private moment, Edith turned to face the king of the common-born upstarts himself who was currently hurrying down the hallway.

Lord Tiberius Beaumont, the Baron of Crestley.

“Not now,” Seraphina hurriedly hissed for her ears alone. “I can’t deal with yet one more man wanting something from me. Not right now.”

“Go,” Edith bid in soft reply. “Hurry. I will take care of him.”

The moment the queen and her Queensguard disappeared into Sir Dacre’s chamber and the door snapped shut behind, Edith pinned a pleasant smile onto her lips.

“Lord Beaumont.” She greeted the young man with all the sweetness she could muster, though he seemed to have none reserved for her. He frowned and craned a look at the closed door over her shoulder while she went on to declare, “How good it is to see you up and walking about. I heard that was a rather nasty hit you took the other day.”

It was a shame she had missed it.

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