Page 97 of A War of Crowns

The strangely familiar ship. The black stallion. She had not recognized them out of context. But now she had the context, everything swiftly fell into place. Save for one piece of the puzzle.

How had the Crow beaten her there?

It was Wellane who answered. “The last time I saw him, he and his men went for a stroll while they waited for their rooms to be prepared.”

Duke Percival’s voice was particularly brittle when he echoed the Lord Exchequer with an indignant, “His men?”

Seraphina forced a smile to her lips and hastily said, “Thank you for all your kind words, my lords. I am looking forward to a fullreport of all that happened in my absence. But for now, I must go speak with, ah…” She hadn’t the faintest idea what to call the Crow in polite society.

Monsterwould be rude.

But she would rather spend an entire day doing nothing more than flattering the Duke of Coreto’s ego than call Aldric Hargrave her betrothed.

“…the prince,” Seraphina finally concluded.

Before she could properly excuse herself, though, Alyx let loose with a happy screech that filled Seraphina’s stomach with anxious butterflies. She knew what that call meant even before she glanced up and spotted the Crow’s dark-scaled usuru now cavorting gracefully with her own.

“Presenting His Highness, Prince Aldric Hargrave of Drakmor,” a court herald cried, and the excitement already buzzing through the gallery rose to a fever pitch.

Seraphina turned to face the little man stalking his way toward her. Twelve other men fanned out behind him as he went. All thirteen of them were still dressed in black traveling leathers, suggesting they had not been within Goldreach much longer than she.

Or perhaps this Crow owned nothing other than black leather.

She was beginning to suspect the latter.

Though many questions burned on her lips as the prince paused in front of her and sketched a shallow bow, she met his marred gaze with a smile she hoped was warm enough to sate Coreto’s curiosity, and held her tongue.

She was not about to give this Crow the satisfaction of realizing he had already put her on the back foot, and in front of almost the entirety of her Privy Council, no less.

“Your Highness,” Seraphina greeted him, her smile kept firmly pinned in place. “There you are. And here I thought I had lost you.”

“Never,” the Crow rumbled in low promise. “I hope you will pardon my rudeness in leaving you at the docks. I was simplysoeager to tell your Privy Council the happy news.”

Seraphina’s smile sharpened at those words. “Oh, no doubt.”

“Indeed.” The Crow slid his one-eyed gaze past her for a moment, as though searching for something. But it soon returned to pierce her with its flat stare all anew. “There was some question as to when the wedding will be.”

“Surely, there is no rush,” Seraphina insisted with another smile. While she spoke, her fingers unhooked her folding fan from its place affixed to the gold chain belt twined about her waist. The tactile sensation of the silk and sandalwood accessory in her fingers gave her something to ground herself with as her mind whirred through the many ways this little interlude might play itself out. “Given that you are here already—”

“I had suggested as soon as possible,” the Crow continued in his dark rasp of a voice, rudely speaking over her.

Seraphina narrowed her eyes at the shorter man. He met her gaze unflinchingly. After a few moments of tense pause, she asked, “Might I speak with you a moment?”

Though the question was met with a quirk of his left eyebrow, the Crow eventually dipped his head in agreement and moved to follow along.

“Do excuse us,” she murmured to her Privy Council, though she didn’t bother to wait for their replies before she slipped off through the crowd choking the palace gallery.

Her invitation for a private word had included none other than the Crow himself, but Seraphina soon realized Duke Percival and one of the Crow’s dark-clad shadows—the monochrome man painted in shades of bronze—followed them after she had positioned herself into a corner of the gallery with the once exiled prince in question.

Her godfather she allowed a brief glimpse of her displeasure, but the other man she fully ignored as she turned and whispered to the Crow, “I do not remember giving you leave to follow me.”

The Crow countered in his harsh rumble, “I do not remember asking.”

“Now seehere,” Duke Percival interjected with a scowl. His walking cane thumped against the floor between her and the Drakmori prince. “Surely evenyouknow, Your Highness, that landing an army on Elmorian soil without receiving prior permission from the Crown constitutes an act of aggression. Andthatis something we will most certainly not tolerate.”

The Crow frowned. Craning his neck, he looked back toward the rest of his men stood. When his attention returned to her and Duke Percival, he dryly questioned, “Are Elmoria’s forces trulyso depleted that a mere thirteen men can now be considered an entire army?”

“Now see here,” Duke Percival began again, but Seraphina cut him off by raising her hand before he could continue.

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