Page 144 of A War of Crowns

“Get to your point,” Aldric demanded on a low hiss.

“I know whyyou saved my life last night,” his kirei insisted.

Which certainly made one of them.

“I finally understand now,” she whispered. “Why you have yet to hurt me. Why you have been so desperate to marry.”

Those final words slammed into his skull, bringing with them a sudden realization. He didn’t have to marry her anymore. If Edmund wanted him dead, what was the point in it all? The false wedding? The political games?

He could simply…leave.

And yet he continued lingering there for the moment, listening to the queen when she whispered, “It’s because your ambition outweighs your bloodlust. In your mind, you were always meant to be a king.”

Leaning forward a little as if she was imparting some great secret to him, she concluded on another hushed breath, “Which means you need me alive, so I might make you a king.”

The very idea he needed this woman for anything at all left a bitter taste in his mouth. Beyond that, Aldric wanted to argue against her points.

Ambition?

If he was an ambitious man, he would have usurped his brother long ago. He would have marched straight into Falwood and shoved his glaive straight through Edmund’s face.

But he hadn’t. He should have, but he hadn’t.

Who would have stood with him during such a coup? He didn’t possess Seraphina’s natural charisma. He hadn’t been blessed with Edmund’s kingly appearance.

“Therefore—” His kirei was talking again, and he pulled himself back into the present moment, to focus on her words. He stared at her mouth as she whispered, “You will fight on Elmoria’s behalf now. You will ride south to Arlund and drive the Arathian horde from our borders, and then…”

She lifted her chin again, challenging him. “…I will give you what you want. What you truly want. Iwillmake you king.”

His traitorous heart skipped a beat when the vexing creature clarified, “The King of Drakmor.”

Chapter thirty-nine

Seraphina

Every inch of her sparked with an awareness of the Crow’s nearness.

Sweat glistened on the man’s brow. Blood stained his lips. He looked pale. Disheveled. A strong breeze might have very well knocked him over. But he clung to the arms of her throne so tightly, his knuckles were white.

Like that, he lingered on within her personal space. Staring at her mouth.

Her stomach fluttered as she sat there, waiting for him to look elsewhere. To say something. She didn’t understand why he was even looking at her lips in the first place when she knew he was more likely to return the favor of a dagger to the leg than try to steal a kiss.

In the wake of her latest words, the Crow dragged his gaze away from her mouth at last to stare straight into her eyes instead. As ever, she couldn’t quite read the expression written there.

But she could hear the disdain edging his words easily enough when he whispered, “By what authority do you claim to be able to name me King of Drakmor?”

Seraphina swallowed and pressed herself deeper into her throne, trying to escape his continued nearness. It wasn’t unpleasant, that nearness. Even bloodied and unwashed, Aldric didn’t make her skin crawl as Edmund had.

But that was what frightened her the most. The fact that she didn’t mind him standing so near she could feel the heat radiating off his body. She was becoming too familiar.

And familiarity with such a dangerous man surely brought more risk than reward.

“I would support your own claim,” she whispered, luring a sneer from her betrothed. She continued all the same. “I would appeal to the High Shepherd on your behalf. The Church would support your claim as well.”

“The Church cares nothing for me,” the Crow hotly countered.

“The Church cares for the truth,” Seraphina insisted. “And the truth is that youarethe rightful King of Drakmor, as revealed by the Lord’s light. You were written out of the line of succession on false pretenses.” Her eyes searched his face when she softly added, “And I imagine your mother was divorced on equally false pretenses.”

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