Page 18 of A War of Crowns

And yet, Tiberius had found a true and good friend in the now queen. She had never minded the fact that he had been born the son of a mere mercer.

Even in his wildest dreams, though, he had never imagined the little friendship he had first forged as a boy would one day lead to him being considered the favorite of the Queen of Elmoria.

When the double doors finally flung open to reveal Queen Seraphina I and her entourage departing the West Wing, Tiberius’s eyes burned a trail straight toward her like twin moths racing to toss themselves upon the pyre of her beauty.

The queen was as pale as any northerner despite having been born and raised in the midlands, but even her pallid complexion did not stop her from being particularly radiant on that day. She was a vision in gold and blue satin with jewels spun through her chestnut locks and a string of sapphires twined around her soft waist.

The only thing that could possibly detract from her appearance was the sight of that crippledusurudraped about her shoulders. He had never understood the appeal of carrying one of those winged serpents about, like a mere scribe from the Royal Roost.

But Seraphina had always been partial to her quiet little rebellions.

Even from that distance, though, it was easy enough for him to spy the tightness of her smile. The weariness shining outward from the depths of her gray eyes.

His muscles tensed from the effort of keeping himself pinned in place. He wanted to rush to her side.

But he could plainly see she was busy, given her current company.

The queen’s godparents ignored him as ever, their eyes not so much as deigning to shift his way for a single moment. And yet that kitchen rat Seraphina had raised to the post of Spymaster was quick to spear him with her amber-eyed disdain.

Under the right sort of circumstances, Olivia the no-name bastard of a no-name kitchen wench, might have been pretty. She was nearly as tall and statuesque as the Duchess of Varoa herself.

But the woman slouched far too much. She only ever wore the color black, which lent an entirely too monochrome quality to her appearance, given her complexion. And she always insisted on dressing like a man.

A fashion-illiterate man.

He flashed the rat his brightest smile and doffed his cap, earning a huff and an averted glance from the woman. But for the queen and the rest of her entourage, he reserved a low bow.

When he rose from that bow, he caught Seraphina’s eye. She gifted him a warm smile and lifted her hand to her right earlobe to briefly toy with the sapphire dangling there.

He bit back a chuckle and nodded in acknowledgment of their childhood signal. When they were younger, that sign had almost always meant, “Come whisk me away from my governess and let’s go riding instead.”These days, “Meet me in the library later for a game of cards,”was more apt.

The knowledge he would see her later was enough to take away at least some of the early spring chill nipping at him through his velvet and furs. And the knowledge that his jeweler should have averyspecial present ready for her within a couple of weeks warmed him even further.

“Don’t you ever grow tired of looking so smug, Crestley?” Lord Bennett asked with all the cheer of a coroner.

Tiberius turned back toward his fellow noblemen and returned his cap to its perch atop his honeyed curls, a laugh in his throat. “Oh, never, my lord. You should try it sometime. But one would need something to be smug about to begin with, I suppose.”

“My father is well respected among the nobles of the realm,” Lord Bennett sneered. “And you would do well to remember…”

Tiberius stopped listening.

“Where are you off to, then?” Sir Tristan asked him, stopping Tiberius in the very midst of his abrupt, albeit aimless, egress.

He paused and racked his brain for an answer.

Wherewashe going?

He had time to kill and nothing of import to do for the rest of the day until he met the queen later for that game of cards. But he wasn’t about to tell the young buck that.

The queen’s favorite surely had an agenda full of thingsto do. Important luncheons. Secret teas. Mysterious political plots to be discussed in dusty corners of the royal library.

“I am going for a ride,” Tiberius decided on a whim. He swiveled to face the direction of the stableyard. “A spot of fresh air will do me good,” he added as if he hadn’t just been loitering in the courtyard for some hours already.

Lord Bennett snorted. But Sir Tristan was already in motion.

“Shall I accompany you, my lord?” the knight suggested, as warm and friendly as he ever was.

But the very idea of spending evenmoretime in the company of that cheap imitation of his own person made Tiberius want to scream.

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