Page 138 of A War of Crowns

Aldric had been sure, beyond any doubt, that the Queen of Elmoria had been the one behind the attempt on his life. Right until he saw an assassin had been sent forheras well.

Which left just one other suspect.

There was only one person in all of Avirel who could have possibly wanted them both dead. His brother.

The King ofDrakmor himself.

He should have known. He should have realized there was another plan in play when his brother exiled him to Elmoria. It was so much easier to kill one’s enemies when they were all piled in one place.

Hunching his shoulders against the pain radiating throughout his entire body, Aldric glanced about his bedchamber at his Sons who lingered there. The mood was tense. His men quiet.

In the wee hours of the morning, Aldric had finally called them together for an impromptu meeting so he might tell them all that had happened. The whole truth, at last.

Aside from the part about the witchblade.

He had lost it at some point, that blade. It was still somewhere in the queen’s bedchamber. But no one had yet mentioned it. Perhaps no one had yet found it.

He could only hope that was the case.

Even so, he had stripped the dead man now stuffed beneath the bed within that room of his ripped shirt and burned it in the hearth. It would be easier to pretend the intruder had arrived shirtless than try to explain how a piece of the dead man’s bloodied garment had ended up wrapped about that unholy dagger.

Rakon was the first to pierce the heavy silence shrouding them all when he abruptly asked, “So, what’s the plan, boss?”

From his place sprawled upon the bed, Eisway quipped, “Clearly, we’re just going to wait for them to come behead us.”

Leif shook his head and dug a bit of earwax out of his right ear. “They’ll hang us, boy. Beheadings are only for the fancy folk like our Crow.” The older man squinted at Kyn. “And maybe Kyn.”

Kyn simply shrugged, looking far calmer than Aldric would have expected in that moment. The younger man jested, “Perhaps they’ll let me choose how I wish to be executed, since I’m a little more noble than the rest of you.”

Aldric stared across the room at his soft-mannered Son—the only one of them who might very well be spared from his fiancée’s wrath, should it come to further violence.

Aloud, though, he reminded his men, “We’re playing this one by ear. Let me do the talking.”

He still needed to figure out what to do. Where to go. If Edmund was out for blood, Drakmor was no longer an option.

Perhaps they could find a ship heading west to the city-states. They could find work there as proper mercenaries.

From his place standing behind the chair Aldric currently occupied, Calix muttered, “We should haveleftalready,” as the doors to the suite they occupied suddenly exploded inward.

A pack of Elmorian guards had come for him at last, with the queen’s Spymaster and none other than Sir Dacre himself leading them. The latter narrowed his eyes when Aldric’s gaze met his. The young knight looked terrible.

But the queen’s Spymaster smiled.

It was Sir Dacre who spoke first, though. He announced, “Her Majesty requests the presence of His Highness in the throne room.”

In no mood to stand and strain the stitches holding him together like a patchwork doll, Aldric asked, “Does sherequestor does shedemand?”

He had his answer when the Elmorians all drew their weapons and leveled them at him. The queen’s Spymaster offered a bright smile and a clarification of, “Most assuredly a demand. You can either walk on your own two feet or Sir Dacre can drag you. It’s your choice, Crow.”

Aldric’s lips twitched into a mirthless smile. “We will come,” he declared before his Sons could retaliate and turn the entire interlude into a bloodbath.

But the Spymaster was quick to correct, “Her Majesty stated you are to come alone.”

“Where His Highness goes, so too do we,” Calix snarled without a moment’s hesitation, leaving the queen’s puppet going quite still. The woman ticked a look amongst the thirteen of them.

Aldric could only imagine she was calculating the chances of them all making it out of the guest suite alive should his Sons choose to defend their right to accompany him to the gallows.

After a few more tense moments, the Spymaster finally conceded, “Come along, then. The lot of you.”

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