Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Seraphina
“And to think: all that ridiculous chaos over a mere pickpocket,” Duchess Edith murmured in her ear for a third time, as if reminding her that her people hadn’t been rioting against her—merely a boy with sticky fingers—would make her feel better.
But it didn’t.
Her nerves were frayed. Her mind was now a tangled snarl of worry and fear.
Her cheeks hurt from pretending to smile at all the wedding guests stepping forward to offer their congratulations and gifts.
Her only comfort was the fact that, while seated upon her throne, at least her feet were no longer aching.
But it was a small comfort.
Voices. She was now hearing voices while awake and aware rather than caught in a dream or vision. A dark voice. A cold voice. A voice that taunted her and said she could not save him. Who? Aldric?
Discreetly, she slipped the Crow a sidelong glance where he sat on a matching throne to her right.
But when she caught the gleam of his one-eyed gaze and realized he was watching her in turn, she swiftly looked away.
Her attention drifted to where Alyx and his black-scaled usuru, Soot, cavorted together before the warmth of the hearth.
Unbidden, the Crow’s words from the carriage roared back to the forefront of her mind: “I just mean that you seemed to be enjoying it.”
Inwardly, she groaned. She wanted nothing more than to melt into the floor. Or to disappear into her room with a cup of hot tea and some chocolate imported from Lothmeer and never be heard from again.
Why was he staring at her? What was he thinking?
But more importantly, what had truly happened back there in the cathedral? With the voice from her vision and the strange cold? What did it all mean?
Father Perero. She needed to speak with the Shepherd. Surely he would know.
As the last guest stepped forward and offered up their well-wishes and present, one of the court heralds slammed his stave against the floor to call the crowd within the throne room to order. “It is now time for the royal gift exchange!”
A dry smile quirked her lips at that announcement. There was no telling what Aldric had procured for her for this portion of their marital production.
Probably a dead animal.
Maybe even the severed head of one of her enemies.
When Duchess Edith leaned forward and slid a small, narrow box into her hands, Seraphina had to fight hard to keep her smile from turning wicked. Her own present for him was positively perfect.
“Your Highness,” she sweetly murmured, extending the box his way.
He studied it warily, as if it might contain a deadly Elmorian harlequin viper. Finally taking it in hand, he wasted no time flipping open the lid to reveal the golden sun pendant lying within—a pendant that was a direct match for her own.
Confusion etched itself into her Crow’s scarred visage until he flipped the pendant over and spied the inscription etched into the back: You, Aldric Hargrave, are in desperate need of the Lord.
He snorted and snapped the box back closed. “How considerate.”
Passing the pendant off to Master Fitzjesmaine, he exchanged it for something small and slender wrapped in a length of black cloth. The moment he settled it into her outstretched hand, she knew it for what it was.
A knife.
The moment she unwrapped it, though, she realized it wasn’t just any knife. It was her bodice dagger. The very one that had been embedded in her Crow’s thigh a mere week ago.
A scrap of parchment resting atop the blade read in a cramped, masculine hand: Just in case you felt like stabbing me again, kirei.
Surprised laughter escaped past her lips before she could stop it—a giggle no doubt borne of sleep deprivation and nerves. A smattering of uncertain applause soon followed. Though their wedding guests weren’t privy to the joke, they knew the role they were meant to play today.
Just as she knew hers. “A very thoughtful present,” she graciously decreed, passing the dagger and note off to her godmother just as the musicians seated in the corner of the throne room started up with a stately tune.
It was time for their first dance as husband and wife.
Seraphina’s chest tightened. This was it: the final piece of their public performance.
She should be glad that it was almost over.
That soon she could drift away from his side, find Olivia wherever she was in the crowd, and merely distract herself until enough time had passed for her to retire for the evening.
But she wasn’t.
What if the moment she touched him, the voice returned? What if the cold swept over her again? What if she were pitched into the throes of a vision here before her entire court?
No one knew about her visions. No one beyond her innermost circle—her family and Father Perero. No one could know. Ever. Only Oracles and the occasional Shepherd received visions from the Lord.
Anyone else who claimed such things was simply mad.
The music continued. Her courtiers looked on—watching, waiting.
Pinning a smile to her lips, she pushed herself to her feet and turned toward Aldric, bracing herself to receive more of his ungentlemanly teasing during their time on the dance floor together. More of his verbal abuse.
Instead, she found him still seated, frowning to himself while subtly massaging his left thigh. Her resolve wavered as she watched him. Her thoughts flitted back to her birthday celebration, to when he had claimed he could dance but simply did not.
Had he been lying then? Perhaps he had never learned how before his father disowned and exiled him? A strange ache twisted in her chest.
Had no one ever taught him? Had no one cared to?
“Aldric…” she whispered, angling her body to obscure the sight of him from the rest of the room. She didn’t know why she cared. Still, she tried to spare him from their judgmental stares.
The man lifted his gaze to her, his features hard, his single eye cold.
She wet her suddenly too-dry lips, wavering further in the face of his clear disdain for her. “We do not have to do this—”
He was on his feet in the next moment, his hand laying claim to hers before she could even think to twitch away. His grip was strong. Warm. And brought no hint of strange cold or voices.
“Do not,” he snarled under his breath while carefully stepping down from the dais and taking her with him, “pity me, woman.”
Irritation caught flame within her heart, swiftly devouring what small sympathy she had felt for this angry man mere moments before.
Why did she bother trying to be nice to him?
No good ever came of it. “Kindness is not pity,” she bit out around her brittle smile as he led her deeper into the crowd.
Her courtiers parted around them like water against the prow of a ship. She was glad the Duke of Coreto wasn’t here to witness this. Nor Lord Tiberius.
Another small comfort.
An awkward silence descended between the two of them as Aldric shifted his grip on her—passing her right hand into the clasp of his so that her arm now crossed his body as they stood side by side—and started them off into the steps of a slow promenade.
A fairly simple dance, but a dance nonetheless.
She made an effort to mask her surprise.
She supposed he hadn’t been lying.
His left hand rose to cradle her elbow as they swept about the dance floor together. Three steps forward. A pause. A step to the side. And back together again.
For such a rough, hard man, his touch on her was gentle. For all that he was clearly angry with her again about something, he held his tongue. And after a few more moments, the silence between them tempered itself into something almost…comfortable.
Her anxiety quieted. Her worry stilled.
Were she more awake, she would have laughed at herself for once again finding comfort in such close quarters with a murderer. But right now, she was simply too tired to care.
There was something oddly comforting about being with the Crow. Though she would deny it aloud to her dying breath, she could no longer deny it to herself.
Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he could not loom over her and try to intimidate her with his height as so many men were wont to do.
Or perhaps it was the fact that even though he had great strength, he never wielded it against her.
Aside from that time he tried to smother you in your bed, she dryly reminded herself.
But now, he did not seek to bruise her as his brother had when they had danced together on Nerina Reef.
He just…held her and waited for her to come to him.
Or perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he always seemed so honest with her, even when he was merely spitting abuse. He did not seek to flatter her as so many others did. He simply said what he was thinking.
…Or perhaps she truly was going mad.
That seemed like the most logical conclusion.
Suddenly, Aldric broke the silence between them. “What is next on the itinerary, wife?”
His deep voice rumbled through her with that question, the words vibrating straight into her chest. Unruly and traitorous organ that it was, her heart fluttered in reply.
She ignored it. “We will mingle for a time, and then we shall retire for the evening.” The very mention of the word evening was all it took to remind her of the horrible truth she had learned just the night before: what her Crow liked to do with his evenings.
Her heart stopped its erratic beating at once.
Unable to keep a cold edge from seeping into her voice, she added, “After which, there will be no need to see one another again until the next war council meeting.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched his lips twitch—whether into a fleeting smile or a grimace, she couldn’t tell. His features soon smoothed. He said nothing.
But he didn’t have to say anything for her to be able to guess what he was thinking.
“You still do not agree with my plans for Arlund?” She kept her voice low, her words meant for him and him alone.
“No,” he growled, distaste dripping off that single syllable. “I do not.”
For a time, she thought that was the end of it.
Their dance continued, nearing its conclusion.
Through the crowd, she caught sight of Olivia, looking like a mourner dressed all in black.
Leaning against the wall, arms folded over her chest, her best friend watched her like a mother hen keeping an eye on its straying chick.
But then Aldric added under his breath, “Now is not the time you should be sending your allies away, kirei. Now is the time to keep your friends close.”
She bit back the mad laugh seeking to bubble up from deep within her throat as, together, they drew to a stop, their dance at an end. Polite applause rang out through the room. Her godparents smiled.
Blind to all else, she turned to face her husband, her hand still held in the clasp of his. “Friends?” she echoed, arching an eyebrow. “Is that what we are, Aldric? I did not realize. Is it not a prerequisite that we simply like one another first before we make such claims?”
“Like?” He nearly spat the word as if it were a curse. His features twisted—annoyed. He was annoyed with her again. “How I feel about you is irrelevant, Seraphina. You are my wife. For that reason alone, I’d die for you.”
She froze, those last four words stealing the breath straight from her lungs.
Did Aldric Hargrave just quote from the Scriptures? Specifically from the passage that commanded all husbands be willing to die for their wives?
Her Crow went quite still. His own breath audibly hitched. And for a single moment, she caught a rare glimpse of true, raw emotion within his one good eye before he managed to snuff it out.
Surprise.
He had obviously surprised himself to the same degree he had just surprised her.
Without another word, he jerked away from her as if her touch had scalded him, letting her hand hover awkwardly in the air between them as he just…turned and walked away from her. Just like he had the night of her birthday party.
Retreating as if the Enemy himself were nipping at his heels.