Page 70 of A War of Crowns

The usuru finally took to the air with one last annoyed hiss, and Edmund immediately ceased with his spectacle. As applause rang out all around, he pulled Her Majesty into his embrace and let his fingers glide upward toward the siren’s call of the queen’s bare skin in her low-backed gown.

“What are you doing?” she gasped when his fingertips made contact with the expanse of her mid-back at last.

A smile toyed at the corner of his lips when he bent his head to whisper back, “We’re dancing, remember?”

“This isnotthe way one dances in Elmoria,” she complained while the fingers of his other hand tightened their grasp around her own.

“What luck, then, that we’re not in Elmoria.”

As a crescendo from the orchestra swelled to fill the entire pavilion, Edmund swept Her Majesty out onto the dance floor in a lively Drakmori waltz. The crowd parted for them. The music shifted to match the pace he set. And together, they dominated the room.

For the first and no doubt the last time.

Edmund pressed in close for their dance and let himself drown in all that was Seraphina de la Croix. The scent of her. The warmth of her. The way her gasp bathed his jaw when he stroked a single fingertip down her spine.

“Don’t,” she warned him on a whisper.

But he pretended to not hear. He had been waiting months for this—an opportunity to vex the woman who had dared toy with him.

And yet now that he had her within his arms, he found the taste of his near victory more bitter than expected. She was beautiful. He was handsome. She was passingly clever. And he was ruthless. What a powerful pair they would have made.

What a powerful pair theycouldhave made.

An abrupt question of, “Well?” from the queen lured Edmund out of his swiftly darkening thoughts, and he looked down to find her storm-gray eyes staring back up at him. Expectant.

His eyebrows knitted together. “Well, what?”

“Are we not going to talk about it?”

A quiet huff escaped Edmund’s nose. But he played coy and twirled Her Majesty about in a renewed swirl of beaded chiffon. “Talk about what, my dear?”

“Don’t play games with me, Edmund,” the queen hissed again when he spun her back into his arms. Her free hand dug into the emerald satin covering his chest, threatening him with the bite of her long fingernails through his clothing.

His smile turned tight as he curled his own fingers into her back, seeking to bruise the tender flesh there. “And here I rather thought you were fond of playing games. Or so my spies tell me.”

The queen stumbled over the unfamiliar steps of the Drakmori dance in that moment, but his tight grip kept her firmly lodged within the frame of his arms. The look she gifted him was particularly venomous.

He basked in it, savoring each and every drop of distaste that oozed off her.

“Cardgames,” she corrected, clearly choosing not to acknowledge the revelation there were Drakmori spies embedded in her court. “Not…whateverthisis.”

“I believe it’s called engaging in a flirtation, if we wish to put a name to it.”

“I believe it’s called being vexing,” the queen snapped back.

A low chuckle rumbled from Edmund.

But his amusement didn’t last long.

Here she was—the little wench who had made a fool of him in front of all of Avirel.The Queen Who Dodged the Ring. That was what they called her, the bards frequenting the taverns of Falwood. Oh, yes. They had sung a little ditty about his humiliation until they could no longer sing or speak at all.

And now the time for his revenge had come at last. He should be laughing. He should be savoring the moment.

But all he felt was a sudden and voracious…anger.

“You are the vexing one,” Edmund snarled into the queen’s ear while digging his fingers all the deeper into her back. His sudden ferocity lured another gasp from the woman’s lips.

“You’re hurting me—”

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