Page 79 of A War of Crowns

Now he realized he was not meant to die a bachelor. He was meant to die a widower.

And it was to be a tragedy of his own making.

Assuming the Queen of Elmoria was foolish enough to walk into his brother’s trap.

Chapter twenty-three

Seraphina

Brisk steps carried Seraphina through the darkness as she fled from the Crow with her godparents and her Queensguard.

The heavy skirts of her gown thumped against her ankles with each step. The air was humid and thick. The night was choked with the tang of woodsmoke.

She couldn’t breathe.

The Crow’s words haunted her. They buzzed within her ears as she raced toward her own pavilion, desperate to see Sir Tristan.

King Edmund desired her to marry his brother? To name him king?

Never. She would rather rot.

“There is always Lothmeer,” Duke Percival reminded her between his gasped breaths. He struggled to keep up. “We do not have to do this, Your Majesty. There is still Lothmeer.”

“Lothmeer?” A bitter laugh escaped Seraphina’s lips.

Mysai could not wait for Lothmeer. Elmoria could not wait for Lothmeer. The very stars would fall from the heavens before the Emperor of Lothmeer would even consider raising his sword and coming to their aid.

“Or we can seek a loan from the city-states and hire a mercenary army,” her godfather suggested next.

“Or simply an alliance with the city-states,” Duchess Edith interjected. “You are young and beautiful, Your Majesty. You could easily win the aid of any merchant prince from Fortuna.”

Seraphina stopped dead in her tracks and whirled to face her godmother. “Shall we leave now then, Your Grace?” she asked, her tone scathing. “So I would have time to sit for a fresh portrait with which to entice a merchant prince?”

Was that truly all she was good for? Batting her eyes and attracting a husband who might save her from Edmund Hargrave’s petty games?

Her godmother frowned at her, but she let the words stand.

“How much more time would you both have me waste while Drakmor declares war on us?” Seraphina whispered, starting toward her pavilion again. “While the people of Mysai slowly starve?” Or worse?

She couldn’t rid herself of the memory of that black smog hanging low over her city across the Straight. The death. The screams.

The bloodied crow.

Duke Percival laid a hand on her arm, stopping her again with his touch. “We are not your enemies here,” he whispered, eyessearching her face in the darkness. “We love you. And we are trying to help you.”

Seraphina pulled her arm from his grasp and snapped, “Then help me think of a proper solution instead of more ridiculous ideas.”

Duke Percival flinched away from her words, as if the very syllables had struck him across the face.

She regretted them at once.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, as Duchess Edith stepped forward and wrapped an arm about the duke’s waist. “I’m sorry. I’m just…” Seraphina trailed off and rubbed her face. Sweat clung to her brow as if she were breaking free from a fever.

Her godmother shot her a look. “Moody? Well, one can hardly blame you. But our point stands, Your Majesty. There are other options available to you.”

Duke Percival let loose with a long sigh. “There isalwaysanother way.”

Seraphina offered another quiet, “I’m sorry. You’re right.” Stepping in close, she wrapped both her arms around her godparents, careful not to squish poor Alyx in the process. Physical contact was still unpleasant in such humidity; everyone was far too sticky and warm.

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