Chapter 21 Seraphina #2
She flinched, waiting for the verbal abuse to begin. But he didn’t laugh as she had expected he would. Nor did he taunt her. He simply stared.
His silence was even worse than his mockery.
Pressure built within her as she stood there, waiting for him to say something. Anything. When he did not, she finally shoved away from the table and turned to make for the kitchen. She might as well fetch Olivia and get out of there before her Queensguard realized she was missing.
But before she could take that first step, Aldric’s hand captured hers, his grip somehow both gentle and strong at once. “You thought I was spending our wedding night with another woman,” he rumbled, carefully sounding out each syllable.
It wasn’t a question. Merely a statement.
A statement to which she didn’t know how to respond.
His touch was warm, his skin pleasantly rough against her own. But with her Crow’s nearness came the memory of her latest vision-dream. The voice. The cold. The laughter.
She withdrew her hand from his and edged away, placing the table between them. “What are we doing, Aldric?”
His one eye narrowed as he cautiously sounded out, “You tell me.”
“I just mean…” She glanced away, looking about the little cottage—at the worn floorboards, the battered furniture—anywhere but at him.
“We swore to do this together that day in the throne room. And yet we’ve still been at each other’s throats ever since.
Thinking the worst of each other. Bickering like children. ”
She lifted her chin and clarified, “I am not absolving myself of blame either. I know I have been doing it too, just as much as you have.” Cautiously, she dared to peek back his way to gauge how he was taking her speech thus far.
His right eyebrow twitched, but otherwise, he had no reaction to her words.
Wetting her lips, she suggested, “I propose a truce.”
Aldric expelled a humorless breath. “I didn’t realize we were at war.”
“You know what I mean,” she snapped, already losing her patience.
What was it about her Crow that she found so utterly maddening? His taciturn demeanor? His seeming determination to goad her at every available opportunity?
“Very well, wife,” he rasped without a single trace of emotion. “Name the terms of your peace treaty.”
She narrowed her eyes. Was he mocking her again?
When his deadpan expression didn’t shift in the slightest, she murmured, “No more baiting the other. No more being rude on purpose. Accidental rudeness is acceptable, within reason, so long as it is accompanied by an apology.” After a moment’s consideration, she tacked on, “And no more secrets.”
Aldric’s lips pressed into a thin line at that.
She raised her eyebrow, inviting his input. “Did you wish to add something, husband?” That word tasted strange on her tongue, but she might as well get used to that, too.
A thought clearly brewed within her Crow’s eye, something he was mulling over. Finally, he spat out, “I want you to start listening to my opinion on matters where I know more than you do.”
He might as well have slapped her across the face. Her initial reaction was to balk, to protest. But she knew that was just her pride talking. There were certainly…some things on which he knew more than she did. War for one.
Probably…horses, for another.
As if he was determined to test her resolve on their truce, he added, “I know you like being right, Sera, but you don’t know everything.”
She gritted her teeth and gave a sharp nod, agreeing to his terms.
But still he continued. “I am your consort, and I wish to be treated like a consort.”
“Very well,” she said, louder than she intended.
Expelling a slow breath through her nose, she repeated in a quieter—calmer—tone, “Very well. You will be treated like a consort. You can start by inspecting the troops tomorrow with Sir Easome and the Lord Chancellor and then sharing with me your thoughts, to which I will listen and take your advice into account.”
He nodded, the set of his shoulders relaxing a little. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Clearing his throat, he added, “And thank you for tending to my foot. You didn’t have to.”
She glanced away again and whispered, “Yes, I did.”
Dame Florence, Reyla, and Olivia finally returned—the first two bearing cups of tea, the latter watching her and Aldric with open wariness.
With so many people crammed into the tiny room, Seraphina began to feel claustrophobic. She drifted closer to the Crow, no longer knowing where to stand. Silent, he eased himself from his chair and offered it to her instead. But when he placed weight on his wounded foot, he hissed in pain.
Olivia’s lips twitched into a smile, as if she found his suffering amusing. “Sorry about the foot.”
Aldric’s expression soured. “Sorry about the hand.”
Dame Florence shook her head at the two of them before offering her a cup of tea. “Will you be staying long, Your Majesty?”
Seraphina smiled and murmured a word of thanks, accepting the drink. “We shouldn’t stay too long, I’m afraid.” It was a long day, after all, and she hadn’t slept well last night.
More like not at all.
Exhaustion weighed heavily upon her already.
How long had she been asleep before Olivia woke her?
A few hours at most? The wisest course of action would be to leave right now.
But she couldn’t leave just yet and miss this rare opportunity to see her Crow being…
normal, spending time with his little sister.
Her gaze found Reyla, where she sat across the table, sipping her tea. Seraphina tried to catch the Drakmori woman’s eye. “Lady Reyla? I heard you like to play Sovereign. Perhaps you might like to play a few games with me before I go?”
Her sister-in-law had no reaction to her question, choosing to stare at the table rather than at her. After a moment, though, she rose to her feet, drifted off just long enough to fetch a writing slate, and returned. She scratched out a message and flipped the slate around for her to read.
I hope you’re a better player than my brother.
Seraphina choked on her tea.
Aldric barked out a laugh. “She is, don’t worry.” Gathering up the cards, he started shuffling them. “I’ll deal for you both.”
Slowly, Seraphina sank down into her Crow’s previously occupied chair so she was no longer looming awkwardly over them all. When she gestured for Olivia to come join her, her friend slumped into the seat right next to her, nursing her own cup of tea with a frown.
Seraphina leaned in close and whispered, “How is your hand?”
Olivia gave her a slow blink. “It hurts, that’s how it is. But I’m glad to see you’re enjoying yourself.” Her tone was sharp, moody. But no doubt that was the pain talking.
Or perhaps her foul mood had something to do with one Sir Tristan Dacre requesting leave to journey to the duchy of Coreto with the duke and Lord Tiberius just that morning.
“I’m sorry,” she softly apologized. “I know you were just defending me.” Reaching over, she laid her hand atop Olivia’s uninjured one. “I appreciate all that you do for me, you know.”
With a sigh, her friend’s features softened. Her posture relaxed further.
And as they settled in to play a few games of Sovereign with Reyla Hargrave, sipping tea and making idle chatter with Dame Florence and Aldric all the while, a strange sense of belonging settled over Seraphina.
As if, as odd as it sounded, she had finally found her way home.