Page 143 of A War of Crowns

Even stained as it was, that marble beneath his feet looked so terribly cool and inviting. For a moment, he considered letting himself go. He could collapse there in a heap and just bask in the cold expanse of that fine stone.

But then he remembered who he was.

He wasAldric Hargrave, the rightful heir of King Warwick II. The Bane of the Kunishi. The Crow of Drakmor.

And he had just been tortured in front of a room full of witnesses for the amusement of that woman.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet. He spat a final mouthful of blood and bile right there on his kirei’s pretty marble floor before turning and stalking toward the dais onstill shaking legs. His left thigh burned with every step—a lovely reminder of howshehad stabbed him.

A cry of alarm went up from the closest Queensguard when he took that first step. The Elmorians moved in on him, blades still drawn.

For whatever reason, the queen held up a hand to stay their blades.

And Aldric stalked on past.

He climbed the stairs in a slow procession, his one eye fixed on Seraphina’s gray. He focused all his energy on each step he took, hoping all the while he didn’t crumple and fall flat on his face now.

He had other hopes as well.

He hoped she could see the malice burning within his gaze—a malice burning for her and her alone. Just as he hoped she could taste how much he loathed her in that moment.

He didn’t stop in his approach until he reached her and her lofty perch. He didn’t stop until his hands jolted forward and gripped the arms of her throne.

That hold helped to keep him upright when he tilted his face toward hers and growled, “Are you satisfied now?”

“Yes,” the queen whispered back, her breath caressing against his face with that single word. After a brief pause, the woman informed him, apropos of nothing, “Arathian ships have landed on our coast. The enemy is now raiding our border with impunity.”

Our? Aldric peeled his lips back in an open sneer. “That sounds like ayouproblem, Your Majesty.”

He was aware of the queen’s godparents glaring daggers at him in that moment. He was aware of her lanky weasel, too, standing close just behind the throne.

Given her stance, the Spymaster clearly had a blade secreted on her person, which she was on the verge of drawing.

But Aldric was beyond caring at that point. Let the weasel stab him. It would just add a bit of further excitement to his already riveting morning.

The queen seemed to likewise be ignoring her councilors, given how her eyes remained fully hooked upon him. Arching an eyebrow at his assertion, she softly countered, “It isourproblem, Your Highness, given the binding contract between us.”

The laugh that escaped his lips bordered on the hysterical.

And it seemed her Lord Chancellor shared that borderline hysteria, given how the older man shrilly voiced, “Youcan’t be serious, Your Majesty. This man just admitted he wanted to kill you last night.”

“I did,” Aldric openly agreed once his laughter had subsided. He was all too happy to remind the queen of that little fact.

Tightening his grip on the arms of her throne, he leaned in just that much more and quietly imparted, “Ididvery much want to kill you last night.”

He hadn’t, though. Not truly.

But she didn’t need to know that. The question that had been asked was why he had entered her room. And he had entered to kill her.

No one had bothered asking how he had felt about it all.

Her Majesty thinned her lips and jutted her chin forward in that obnoxious way of hers when she pointed out with the utmost of blasé attitudes, “And yet you took a dagger for me.”

Now it was Aldric’s turn to thin his lips. She wasn’t wrong.

“And besides,” the queen continued, “I stabbed you first, so I suppose we’re even in wanting the other dead.”

She wasn’t wrong about that either.

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