Page 11 of A War of Crowns

Silence fell within the room yet again and all eyes settled upon her. Including the cold weight of Coreto’s piercing gaze.

She couldn’t help but wonder just how the duke found her wanting today. That she had been born a woman? That she was her father, King Reynard’s, only heir after the death of her brother?

That I was not the de la Croix sibling who drowned?

Or perhaps that, after her coronation, she had refused to marry the now King of Drakmor, Edmund Hargrave, despite the longstanding promise of a marriage to strengthen the alliance between their two kingdoms? A promise that had first been forged when she was fifteen and Edmund was but a child of five?

Oh, she was sure her father would have preferred to betroth her to the eldest Hargrave son, Aldric. But he'd passed away before such arrangements could be made.

The Duke of Coreto had been right about one thing. Everyone within that room did know the reason why the King of Drakmor now refused to come to Elmoria’s aid.

What twenty-year-oldboywould not feel petty after being scorned and set aside by a woman ten years his senior?

“My lords,” Seraphina repeated, letting her voice carry throughout the room. “Tensions are high and tempers are rising. How glad I am to be reminded of the passion each of you holds for our dear and treasured Elmoria.”

Passionwas the polite word for it. And though she had many other choice words she would have likedto voice in those moments, none of them would have soothed the headstrong personalities of her War Council.

None of them would have helped reclaim her councilors’ confidence in her ability to lead Elmoria to victory in these troubled times.

“Long have your families served this realm and my family—my father before me and his father before him and his father before him.” Her eyes trailed around the table, meeting the gaze of each councilor: Duke Percival, Duchess Edith, the Duke of Coreto, the Count of Wellane, Sir Easome, and Father Perero.

Though her own pulse hammered with the rhythm of all the many thoughts clattering through her mind at present—What if Drakmor continues to ignore us? What if we truly must institute another draft?—she fought hard to keep her voice measured in the midst of her speech.

“Rest assured that your concerns have been heard, though I fear, Your Grace”—Seraphina’s gaze fixed upon the Duke of Coreto—“that your intelligence is lacking.” Ice frosted her tone with those particular words.

The Duke of Coreto’s jaw tightened in reply.

She spied out of the corner of her eye Duke Percival shifting in his chair, his sudden discomfort nearly palpable. But she didn’t care.

She let the double meaning of her words stand.

Eyes still boring into the Duke of Coreto’s own—challenging him, daring him to sayanythingat all further against her in front of her most loyal advisors—Seraphina continued to address the rest of the room. “His Majesty King Edmund of Drakmor and I have been in correspondence.”

A murmur rippled around the table at that bald-faced lie. She simply hoped none of her councilors would call her out on it. “And I will—the Lord willing—have good news to share with you all soon.”

Such words, like so many words spoken within the political realm, were empty ones. Hot air and little more.

But the shift within the room was nigh palpable as tempers were gentled, and worries soothed. Aside from Coreto, who looked as though he had just swallowed an entire swarm of bees.

For a fleeting moment, Seraphina had to smother a smile at having inspired that expression into writing itself across the senior nobleman’s face. But it was an incrediblyfleeting moment.

There were too many unknowns at present for her to sit there feeling smug with herself. Because at the end of the day, she would rather be trampled to death by a horde of Arathian war elephants than prove Coreto right about their relations with Drakmor.

Please, Lord, let my words become prophecy rather than remain sweet lies.

Perhaps the Lord on High would even grant her a miracle and see her calls for aid piercing through the walls of King Edmund’s wounded pride and allow her ex-fiancé to see reason at last. The lives of her people were at stake.

“For now, this meeting is adjourned,” Seraphina concluded, already rising to her feet. Her gown weighed on her almost as heavily as her concerns, the many jewels twined around her waist and sparkling at her throat making her wonder, for not the first time that month, just how many Kunishi mercenaries a single gem might buy.

But Duchess Edith insisted queens didnotsell their mother’s jewelry to back-alley pawnbrokers to purchase mercenary contracts, even as the Lord Exchequer warned her of the royal treasury’s dwindling status, thanks in no small part to her father’s ill-advised investments in his later years.

“Your mother would have wanted you to look the part,”Duchess Edith always advised.“Your enemies have eyes everywhere. Even the smallest crack in the facade gives them an opening with which to wound you further, Your Majesty.”

Which was all well and good, but Seraphina would rather end the war before it could progress much further than have a full jewelry box.

“Duke Percival. Duchess Edith,” Seraphina bid without bothering to look over her shoulder to see if her godparents were following her already. She turned to depart from the council chamber. “Your company is desired. Walk with me.”

“May the Lord on High walk with you always, Your Majesty,” Father Perero softly invoked, extending a hand to her.

---