Page 27 of The Cursed Crown

“King Titus is Mab’s own son—her third-born,” Khal lectured patiently. “I would not underestimate him.”

“Then why has he not claimed Denarhelm?” The spoiled princess shrugged. “It’s his birthright. He must know he can’t handle it.”

In the distance, the sun palace appeared. It was a golden monstrosity with slim towers stretching up so high they seemed to touch the clouds. As they approached, the scent of roses hit Rydekar, overwhelming yet strangely agreeable.

He’d been put out with this expedition since he was ordered to go, but now, a strange excitement crept into his bones.

Darkness claimed the sky in the horizon. They’d planned on reaching Volderas—the city of sunlight—by nightfall, because unseelie folk thrived in darkness. He didn’t want to reach the house of strangers when he was exhausted.

The sandy path gave way to paved streets. Still looking out the carriage, Rydekar took in the rows of almost-identical houses, growing larger and higher as they traveled closer to the keep.

Boring. Everything, from the perfect lawns to the beige doors and plucked trees, deserved a degree of contempt. Nature had no place in this land. It had been tamed, structured.

Rydekar had to admit that he sometimes felt exasperated with the way of the unseelie folk, who rarely saw a rule they weren't inclined to ignore, but the sheer perfection of this grayish, bland world made him crave a degree of freedom. A touch of color. One branch out of place.

The horses slowed at the gates; after his driver exchanged a few words with the guards, they flew right to the entrance of the palace—colossal hideous doors painted white with curved columns supporting their weight.

One night. He only had to put up with this place for one night.

He stepped out of the carriage, a hand automatically sliding upward to assist Siobhe’s descent. But his attention was on everything except his wife.

There was something about this impossibly insipid place—something that had caught and was retaining his notice. A scent, perhaps. Something warm and sweet underneath the roses.

Corridor after corridor, introduction after introduction, he grew more frustrated, needing to find whatever had claimed his curiosity. He wanted to look for it, like a wolf hunting fresh prey, but all eyes were on him.

Titus Braer was a tall, handsome man blessed with the mark of Mab, like Rydekar himself. “Greetings, cousin,” the king told him with all the civilities.

Rydekar wanted nothing more than to snub him and investigate.

“I’m here with the goodwill of Queen Charlotte.”

“And who would this be?” The king glanced at Siobhe.

Rydekar should have introduced his wife right then, but he couldn’t. A scent hit his nostrils, a scent of apple and pine, with something sweeter. A floral undertone. It definitely wasn’t roses. He turned moments before a girl—little more than a child—burst in, running barefoot, in a light blue gown, hair flying out of her braids.

She was color splashing over a blank canvas. A touch of chaos. A breeze in this stuffy hall.

No one hindered her path to the front of the room, till she reached the king’s side.

For one wild moment, fury gripped Rydekar’s bone as he saw her kneel at the king’s feet. If she was the king’s lover, he would murder him. He’d murder everyone in this room and drag her to safety.

“Father, please, tell Morath I don’t need more etiquette lessons.”

She was Titus’s child.

Of course she was.

“I’ll die if I have to listen to her tell me what’s expected of aproper lady.” The last two words were flung like she could think of no greater insult.

And Rydekar smiled.

“I’ll do no such thing, petal.” The king smiled fondly. “Perhaps when you cease to run in half-dressed while I’m entertaining guests, we might discuss how such lessons are superfluous.”

Only then did she turn her attention to them—tohim.

Her lips parted as she took him in, and she never looked away, unmoving.

“Rydekar Bane, my daughter Serissa.”

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