Page 3 of MidKnight
“A gambling whoremonger?” I bit out, grabbing onto one of the chairs surrounding the meeting table. I squeezed the chair back, willing it to absorb my distress. If I’d have been Ryan, the chair would have splintered under my fingers. It had zero reaction to my abuse, which only made me squeeze harder in frustration.
Jorad’s face twisted into a bitter grin. “It was her way of deterring the other nobles from assassination. Their choices became her or him.”
“Sard. Well, it did its job then.” I felt like yanking at my hair. But my mother’s voice sounded in my head. ‘That wouldn’t be seemly for a queen.’ Her voice was a bit late. I’d already struck her butler. I clenched my skirts in my fists and paced.
What the hell am I gonna do? First day as queen, and sarding up all over the place. Well done, Bloss, I grumbled internally as I walked.
Jorad asked, “The question is, do you want to leave your people subjected to the whims of that man while you leave?”
It was a good question. My heart tightened at the thought. No wonder Jorad didn’t want me to leave.
I turned to Connor. “Who else? We could assign someone from your family, right?”
Jorad shook his head. “The laws of Evaness say no extended family member of the royal family can be the regent.”
“What the hell?” I gritted my teeth. I should have known that. If I’d been at the palace the last four years, I would have. Hellfire, there was so much I didn’t remember.
Jorad cleared his throat in a clear sign of disapproval. “Your Majesty, you’re more likely to all be assassinated at a family gathering.”
I hated when idiotic rules actually made sense.
I turned to look at Connor even as I kept pacing. “Who can we put—”
His brow furrowed as he thought. He opened his mouth once, but then shook his head and closed it. My eyes traced the handsome lines of his face, silently willing him to know something about the nobles I didn’t. To know someone trustworthy enough to—
A knock at the door interrupted us. My hands clenched into fists. “Not now!” I yelled.
Shite, Bloss. Not queenly. Not queenly, I scolded myself.
Part of me didn’t care. But another part of me argued with that part, stating I had to care. My life was all scrutiny all the time now.
Jorad ignored my glare and primly walked over to the door.
“Don’t—” I started.
He opened the door. “Yes?”
A nervous messenger shuffled from foot to foot as he handed Jorad a sealed scroll. Jorad thanked the lad, took the scroll, and turned to me. With a defiant glare, he broke the seal, stating, “It’s from the royal house of Rasle.”
His eyes scanned the scroll and his lips thinned. He glanced up at me. “Her Majesty, Queen Isla and her entourage are already airborne on a sleuth of winged bears, on their way to congratulate you on your coronation. Ready to reinforce ties and discuss treaty terms.” Jorad handed the unfurled parchment toward me.
It felt as if I were reaching for my own death certificate. Or Avia’s. My hazel eyes scanned the document.
Sard.
Mother’s greatest ally. The country that stood to the west, between us and Sedara, the bully of the seas.
Isla was a salty, crusty old queen if there ever was one. And a clever bitch. Right now, she was a walking typhoon, heading this way to blow me down with terms and conditions that would exploit my ignorance.
My eyes flashed to Connor’s. My best friend since childhood, he’d cowered with me under tables and behind curtains whenever Rasle’s queen had come calling.
But my sweetheart just stared placidly back at me, his blue-green eyes an undisturbed pool of calm.
“What the hell am I gonna do?” I whispered.
Avia, my heart clawed at my chest. The need to find her, to protect her was a living thing inside me, writhing, demanding I chase after the dragon.
Connor could feel that. He strode to me and grabbed my hand. He linked our fingers. His thumb stroked the side of my wrist.
