Page 149 of A War of Crowns

No. Alyx was in the Roost, resting.

Disoriented, exhausted, all Seraphina could see in that moment was him—the man destined to help her save the world.

She still didn’t understand it. She didn’t understand any of it. But clearly, there was a plan. And she was not the navigator. Nor was she the compass.

She was but a player in a much larger game far beyond her understanding.

“What?” Aldric repeated, his single eye wide as he stared at her.

But Seraphina was having none of it. He had heard her the first two times, she was sure of it.

Twisting her mouth, she looked away long enough to reassure her godparents, “I’m fine,” before she turned her attention back to her Crow.

It was a lie, of course. She wasn’t fine. How could she possibly be fine?

Her kingdom was at war. Her enemies were nearly at her doorstep. A short time ago, she had been attacked. She had nearly been killed.

And now, there she was, on her knees. Begging a man for aid who just a short time ago had declared, under the compulsion of a Truth-Reading, that he had entered her bedchamber last night to kill her.

But that was the funny thing about Aldric Hargrave. Dangerous man he was, ruthless he was rumored to be, and yet he seemed to do a lot of talking about how easy it would be to kill her without ever getting around to doing it.

“You need me todiefor you,” her Crow abruptly hissed, though she could see the uncertainty within his gaze.

Setting her jaw, lifting her chin, Seraphina corrected him, her voice little more than a thread of sound, “I need you tosurvivewith me. No games. No loopholes. You have my word.”

He frowned at her, and his one eye searched her own. “Your word means nothing to me, kirei.”

“Then you will have my hand.”

Behind her, Olivia insisted, “You don’t have to do this, Your Majesty.”

But she did. She knew now that she did.

“Marry me, Aldric Hargrave,” Seraphina softly commanded as she extended her hand to him. “Marry me and help me save Elmoria. And then I will help you claim your rightful throne. You may mistrust my words, but you can trust this: as your wife, I will bind my fate to yours. If you fail, I fail with you.”

Again, the Crow responded with yet more silence. His frown lingered on. His gaze searched her features. After a time, he sat back on his heels. “I have already asked too much of my men,” he rasped, shooting a look over his shoulder toward where his Twelve Sons stood, watching. “I can’t ask them to go to war for me. I can’t just ask them to die for me in some ill-fated coup.”

The oldest of them—the one with too few teeth—cocked his head to the side and asked, “Well, what if we want to die in some ill-fated coup?”

The largest Son nodded his head and agreed, “It seems we should have some sort of say in the matter, boss, since it’s our lives on the line.”

Seraphina looked in between each of Aldric’s twelve fighting men, breathless, as she waited to see what they would decide.

The fate of everything hung in the balance.

It was the half-Kunishi one, Master Fitzjesmaine, who decided first. Lowering himself to a knee, he saluted with his fist over his heart and said, “You havealwaysbeen my king, Aldric Hargrave.”

“And mine,” the large one added, also sinking to his knees.

“And mine,” Master Kyn agreed, following suit.

One by one, every Son to a man knelt and swore his allegiance to the true King of Drakmor.

Seraphina’s heart threatened to wing from her chest. She barely dared to breathe when she looked back to her Crow to see what he might say.

But he remained silent, his head bowed.

She softly prompted him, “Well, there you have it.”

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