Page 61 of A War of Crowns

Watching her through painted canvas.

The memory of the queen’s voice ghosted through his mind in that moment.“Who are you?”she had demanded.“Tell me.”

The sight of her eyes crackling like storm clouds was burned into his thoughts. The feel of her fingers brushing his throat haunted him still. Pretty, Calix had called her. But no. The Queen of Elmoria wasn’t pretty.

She was beautiful.

Setting his jaw, Aldric peeled himself away from the woman’s pavilion and set off through the jungle again, making for his own ship. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

Not their history together. Nor the queen’s unparalleled beauty.

She had asked him who he was, and he had merely given her his name. But he should have told her the truth. He should have warned her then.

He was her undoing.

Chapter eighteen

Seraphina

That morning, Seraphina dressed for war.

Her gown was sapphire blue and beaded across the bodice with the gold de la Croix stag. Around her throat, she wore the bright sun of the Lord on High. On her right hand rested Olivia’s poison ring. Inside her bodice was hidden both the dagger her godmother had gifted her when she first came of age and the parchment packet Olivia had insisted she carry.

And painted on her lips was her most brilliant smile.

She had exactly one opportunity to win back Drakmor’s affection and secure King Edmund’s aid against Arath. She couldn’t fail now.

“Have we considered advising Sir Tristan to perform poorly?” Seraphina asked her godparents as they strolled toward where theday’s festivities were to be held. “To ensure His Majesty is in a good mood for the negotiations tomorrow?”

Duchess Edith crinkled her nose. “The Drakmori have long admired their own prowess on the battlefield. No doubt they’ll see our losing on purpose as a sign of weakness.”

Duke Percival rumbled his agreement. “We should encourage Sir Tristan to eviscerate whichever champion they present. The king might very well be less inclined to play coy tomorrow if we remind him of our own ferocity today.”

Doubtful. From what she understood of Edmund Hargrave, there wasn’t a force in all Avirel that could keep the young man from playing coy.

But she supposed she would see for herself soon enough.

The blare of a trumpet heralded their arrival to the tournament grounds, and Rogue barked in reply while loping on ahead. With a bright chirp, Alyx swiftly followed.

Though it was only late morning, the day was already hot and bright, with little shade in sight, making her even more grateful for the parasol her godfather held aloft for both herself and Duchess Edith.

Banners boasting the gold stag of House de la Croix and the silver griffin of House Hargrave decorated the tournament grounds. Ropes sectioned off a makeshift tiltyard for the joust and an arena for the melee that was to follow. The Viscount of Arlund’s assistants had even erected wooden seating for each side of the pitch, with a royal "box" to match.

Drakmor’s box still stood empty. Clearly, the king and dowager queen had yet to arrive. Likewise, she didn’t see Oracle Tsukiko and her Redguard anywhere, though she supposed that was to be expected. The Kunishi woman had departed from the pavilion they shared earlier that morning to introduce herself to King Edmund before the festivities began.

“I do wish Olivia were here,” Duchess Edith sighed while they all settled into their seats within the Elmorian royal box.

Seraphina’s heart ached in agreement. It was strange being away from Olivia. They had been nearly inseparable ever since they were girls.

Lifting her eyes skyward, Seraphina watched Alyx swooping through the air alongside the black usuru again and agreed, “I do so enjoy her ruthless commentary during these sorts of things.”

Duke Percival grunted and laid his cane across his lap. “She’d just spend the entire time complaining about how hot it is.”

Duchess Edith arched an eyebrow and countered, “As if you’re not?”

A sudden blare of a trumpet drew Seraphina’s attention away from her godparents and back toward the tourney grounds, just in time to witness the King of Drakmor’s arrival. Even from that distance, it was easy enough to see he had been blessed with every physical advantage where his elder brother had not.

Edmund Hargrave was tall and broad-shouldered, with a head of ebony curls and a complexion of burnished bronze. He was beautiful—gloriously beautiful—and the smile curving his full lips strongly hinted that he knew it, too.

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