Page 124 of A War of Crowns

Whereas the Lord on High had cursed Aldric with a stunted form, Seraphina was blessed. Physically perfect in every way. Beautiful.

But she wasn’t nearly as serene in her sleep as he had thought she would be. Her features pinched. Her breathing hitched. Her muscles twitched, as if she were caught in the throes of a bad dream.

He frowned as he watched her. It was strange to think that one who had led such a privileged life could even have a bad dream. What manner of nightmare did Seraphina de la Croix even entertain?

She tried to kill you, he reminded himself, shifting his thoughts back to the work he still had to do. His lips thinned as he crept closer still, wondering all the while just how he was going to make his way onto the bed without waking her and starting a ruckus.

There.

Beneath the table stood a low stool of all things, as if the Lord Himself had ensured he would have just what he needed that night. Except Aldric knew that was impossible.

The Lord on High had abandoned him long ago.

Aldric slipped forward and carried the stool all the way to the edge of the bed. Still, his fiancée slept on. Fitfully. Her breathing shifted further when he stepped onto the stool and crawled his way onto the mattress, joining her at last.

He had to move quickly. She might wake any moment.

But he hesitated.

Up close, it was so easy to see her distress. He was no stranger to nightmares. They had come to him often during all the long, lonely nights of his life.

For one wild moment, his fingers twitched with a desire to reach out and stroke her cheek, to try to bring her some comfort. But what would be the point?

There he stood, a nightmare made real.

She used you, he desperately reminded himself.She hates you. She is sleeping while she thinks you are being murdered in your own bed.

Aldric was acutely aware of the witchblade tucked against his waist, thrumming with some cold power all its own. Again, the nearness of it made his stomach roil in a way he didn’t like. He wanted to be rid of it. He wanted to get this over and done with and then never see such a dagger again.

But still, he didn’t yet draw the blade. He didn’t yet take it in hand and drive it into Seraphina’s heart.

Edmund was right. He hated it, but his brother was right.

Hewasgrowing soft in his old age.

And the thought of just what his Sons would do once they realized saw Aldric’s pulse quickening and his mouth going dry. He knew perfectly well what they would do if they ever learned theCrow of Drakmorwas losing his edge.

They would abandon him. As all others had.

It was too late to turn back now, though. He had come too far. The timing was entirely too perfect.

He had an assassin in his room. He could say another assassin came for the queen, should anyone choose to question him about her death.

Who would know any different? She would be dead. And he intended to be long gone before anyone could question the matter further.

Swallowing hard, Aldric reached for the blade tucked into the waistband of his trousers. But just as his fingers brushed against the cloth-wrapped hilt, the room suddenly swam. He swayed on his knees as darkness threatened at the edges of his vision. His torso ached with the reminder of his wound.

Still he bled.

When the bedchamber finally came back into crystalline focus, he found himself staring down into his fiancée’s beautiful gray eyes, which swirled in those moments with a mix of confusion, anger, and fear.

She was awake.

“Aldric?” Seraphina gasped as he flung himself on top of her and crushed his hand against her mouth.No.

He didn’t want to do this.

He had killed many women before, but never an unarmed woman. Never a woman lying in her own bed.

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