Chapter 3
Chapter three
Seraphina
Despite Alyx’s comforting weight around her shoulders and her godmother’s stalwart presence at her side, her skin still prickled with an awareness of the Crow and him alone.
The weight of his gaze bored into the side of her face. His nearness lingered as he engaged in quiet conference with Master Fitzjesmaine and her godfather.
What could they possibly be discussing?
“Your Majesty,” Father Perero murmured, drawing her attention back his way. With a kind smile on his lips, the Shepherd held out his hand. “Your mercy is a great gift to us all. I merely pray that the Lord will grant you discernment always so that the Enemy cannot use your mercy against you.”
Making an effort to return the holy man’s smile in spite of the trepidation weighing on her heart, Seraphina extended her arm toward him. “Thank you, Father, for both your prayers and your counsel. I am in dire need of both at this time.”
Duchess Edith leaned in to press a kiss against her cheek. “Well, I think you’re doing wonderfully, Your Majesty.” Softer still, she added, “And I am so terribly proud of you.”
Father Perero’s fingers gently alighted upon her wrist; his touch brought the familiar and calming sensation of the Lord’s blessing—warm and bright, like sunlight seeping into her soul.
Seraphina breathed in deep and fought against the desire to let her eyes flutter closed and simply bask in that glow for the rest of the morning. There was still so much she had to do. Another letter to Lothmeer begging her last ally, aside from Drakmor, for aid.
She would certainly need it the moment she betrayed Edmund in favor of Aldric.
Father Perero’s touch lingered for a few moments longer than usual, an odd expression caught somewhere between wonder and relief flickering across his features—so like the look he gave her the night of the assassination attempt, after administering his Truth-Reading.
Her brow furrowed. “Is something the matter?”
“No,” the Shepherd exhaled, retracting his hand and taking a step backward. He bowed his head. “I am merely honored to serve you, Your Majesty. By your leave? The Lord Chancellor and I have some last-minute preparations to discuss for the wedding tomorrow.”
At the mention of the wedding, her stomach twisted itself into knots all over again.
She was going to marry the Crow.
In the grand cathedral of Goldreach.
Before thousands of witnesses.
“Of course. The Lord bless you,” she dismissed him with another attempt at a smile.
But when her gaze slid past Father Perero to spy Lord Tiberius Beaumont lingering near the door, clearly waiting to speak with her, her half-hearted smile immediately evaporated.
She couldn’t even begin to imagine what her former “favorite” wanted with her now.
“Come, Father,” Duchess Edith murmured, taking the Shepherd by the arm. “Let us go and retrieve my husband together before His Grace says something to Prince Aldric that he will surely regret.”
Her godmother and Father Perero drifted away, leaving Seraphina alone with only Alyx for company. And no excuse for further avoiding the Baron of Crestley’s company.
You’re being ridiculous, she chided herself as she raised her hand and gestured toward the baron, signaling that he could approach. It is only Tiberius.
The man who had been her friend since they were both children.
The man she had pined for so desperately as a teenager; the memory haunted her still, even now as a woman of thirty.
The man whose proposal of marriage she had rejected just this spring.
The man who now expected her to broker a marriage between him and another lady of the court instead. As if any noble family would accept a self-made man for a son-in-law.
Seraphina painted another smile across her lips as she tracked her once-dear friend’s approach. Well-tailored blue damask shimmered upon his tall frame. His honeyed curls tumbled loosely across his shoulders. His emerald eyes sparkled, mirroring the warmth of the smile he reserved for her alone.
She knew what that smile meant. He wanted a favor.
“Your Majesty,” Lord Tiberius purred as he drew to a pause before her and swept into a low bow. “How well you look today.”
Seraphina’s smile tightened. “Liar. I look dreadful, and we both know it.”
“Never,” he breathed. Rising back to his full height to loom over her, he extended his hand, unmistakably seeking to claim a hold on her own. “Even at your most dreadful, you easily outshine every woman in Elmoria.”
Alyx flapped her wings and hissed at the baron’s sudden nearness.
Seraphina’s right hand twitched where it hung limp at her side. A part of her wanted to hiss right alongside her winged serpent. But she fought hard against the desire to retreat from Lord Tiberius’s nearness—to deny him what he so clearly wanted: to kiss her hand.
She didn’t dare cause a scene, not in front of her councilors.
Not in front of the Crow.
A masculine hand abruptly wrapped itself around her fingers, laying claim to them before Lord Tiberius ever could. It was a strong hand.
Rough. Warm.
Her breath hitched as she turned her head and looked down to find Aldric of all people now standing beside her, looking as he always did: like a battle-hardened mercenary rather than a prince. Dumbfounded, she glanced down further.
To the sight of her hand now captured within the firm grasp of his.
“Wife,” he growled in way of greeting, his one-eyed gaze all for the baron.
What was he doing now? She couldn’t even begin to understand. His heavily scarred features were carved from stone—impossible for her to read.
But though she never would have admitted to such a thing aloud, there was something oddly comforting about having him here. Beside her.
Keeping her company while she dealt with Tiberius.
Seraphina bit back the peal of hysterical laughter lurking in her throat. Comforting? The word hardly belonged in the same breath as Aldric Hargrave. He was a hard man. Ruthless.
Rude.
And yet the mere sight of her scarred betrothed was enough to see Lord Tiberius retreating, no longer threatening a kiss she had no desire to receive.
“Your Majesty,” the baron protested around a tight smile, his hand awkwardly dropping back to his side. “I had hoped to speak with you in private.”
Before she could even begin to formulate a diplomatic response to that particular assertion, her Crow rumbled, “I can think of no reason you would need to be alone with the queen, Crestley.”
Seraphina gently extracted her hand from the clasp of his so that she could rest it on his forearm instead—a courtly enough gesture. Just a queen letting her future king consort support the weight of her fingers.
Truly, she was trying to pinch him through his sleeve to warn him to behave but could find no grip on his arm through the heavy leather of his brigandine armor.
Her gaze flicked about the room, taking quick stock of all those who still lingered—merely her Queensguard and Master Fitzjesmaine at this point. Her godparents and Father Perero seemed to have disappeared at some point.
And only the Lord knew where Olivia had slunk off to.
“There is no one here to eavesdrop, my lord,” she observed as her attention returned to Lord Tiberius. “You may speak freely before His Highness. My future husband and I…are of one mind.”
It was the proper thing to say. The expected thing to say.
But the words still left a bitter taste in her mouth. They rang false in the air.
Alliance of convenience or no, she hadn’t the faintest idea what went through Aldric Hargrave’s mind. Nor was she sure she ever wanted to.
In the wake of her claim, Lord Tiberius indulged in a shameless laugh.
A particularly saccharine smile claimed his features as he edged closer to the two of them and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Oh, but of course. How silly of me. I merely wished to ask your permission to leave court at any rate, Your Majesty, so I might accompany the Duke of Coreto on his trip to his home province.”
“Oh?” she asked, careful to keep her tone neutral and her visage smooth despite the sudden racing of her pulse. Tiberius and Coreto? What business could her former close friend have with her political opponent? “And for what purpose do you wish to accompany His Grace?”
While her thoughts raced, rapidly exploring the various possibilities, she rubbed her fingertip against the rough stitching of Aldric’s brigandine sleeve, tracing the diamond pattern there.
Beneath her touch, his arm tensed.
“I wish to keep an eye on him, of course,” Lord Tiberius lowly explained. “For your sake.”
Despite her best efforts to have no reaction at all, her eyebrow arched.
Again, she flicked a glance toward the door, but the Queensguard standing sentinel there were careful to keep their gazes averted, feigning disinterest.
Even so, she lowered her voice further until it was but a shush of sound shared among the three of them. “Are you accusing the Duke of Coreto of harboring ill intentions against the Crown, Lord Beaumont?”
The baron was quick to shake his head. “I can make no formal complaint. Not yet. But I wish to ensure he is no true enemy of yours in his time away from court. Your safety is my primary concern.”
Aldric snorted.
But Tiberius ignored him and continued, “Surely, you have sensed the unrest here in Goldreach of late. Surely, you have heard the whispers. Coreto has never been your friend, least of all now.” His lips turned down into a frown when he asked, “Would it not be in your best interest to keep a set of eyes on him while he is away from court?”
Unrest. Whispers.
Suddenly, Seraphina longed to fling open a window and let some of the unnatural chill of this midlands autumn flood the room.
Yes. Of course she knew of it. Of course she had heard.
Her people were frightened. War had come to their shores at last. And now even the weather seemed to be conspiring against them.
But their faith in her would be restored the moment she recaptured Arlund.
She could only pray that would be soon.
“Very well,” she exhaled, earning a sidelong glance from her Crow. “You may go.”
Lifting her chin, she added with renewed authority, “But be careful and take no unnecessary risks. Write no letters. Merely report back to me the moment you return to court.”
Lord Tiberius doffed his flat cap and swept into another low bow. “I am always careful,” he teased, another of his smiles curving his lips. “But how sorry I am that I will miss the wedding. Alas! I am sure it will be a…historic occasion. At least you have already received my gift.”
“Yes,” Seraphina agreed, her own smile turning brittle. “And how generous a gift it was.”
A bribe, more like it.
When the baron had gifted the entirety of his precious shipping fleet to the war efforts just two days ago, she knew what it had meant. He wanted to remind her of her promise to consider finding him a wife just as soon as her own wedding concluded.
She needed the ships. Desperately so. Adding the Beaumont Trading Company’s fleet to the Elmorian navy might very well help them turn the tide of this war.
But now Tiberius’s latest favor hung over her head like an executioner’s blade.
She could not leave it unrepaid forever.
The beginnings of a headache bloomed just above her eyes, making the light in the council chamber a little too bright.
Seraphina winced.
“You may go,” she dismissed the baron before he even had a chance to ask for permission. She was beyond ready to be out of the public eye. To no longer have to smile until her cheeks ached. To no longer have to pretend to be anything other than tired and worried.
As if in need of a change of scenery herself, Alyx abruptly spread her wings and took to the air. Without a single chirp goodbye or even so much as a backward glance, the usuru followed Lord Tiberius from the council chamber.
Leaving Seraphina alone.
With the Crow.
The moment the baron stepped past the threshold and disappeared from sight, she twitched away from Aldric’s side. Her hand slid from its perch atop his arm. Without the warmth of her fiancé’s body heat keeping her company, the cold of the season rushed in.
Ridiculous. She was being ridiculous again.
“What was all that about?” she bluntly asked while hurrying away from him, making for the door. “With you taking my hand?”
With a grunt, her Crow followed, having to take brisker strides to keep pace with her own. “And here I thought we were one mind,” he rumbled, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.
Her Queensguard and Master Fitzjesmaine fell in with them, making for a formidable entourage that filled the hallway.
Ever since the assassination attempt, her godparents had insisted she quadruple her guard.
It seemed like a defeat in some way—the actions of a queen who feared a knife around every corner rather than one confident and secure in her rule.
But am I not the former rather than the latter?
“How droll,” she muttered, not daring to spare him a single glance as they stepped out into the corridor together.
She feared her dream from last night might come rushing back to her if she did.
And she refused to relive last night’s rendition of the vision the Lord had plagued her with before witnesses.
“You know I must say these things,” she whispered to him sidelong. “You know we must appear to be a united front.”
Under his breath, Aldric muttered out of nowhere, “You place entirely too much faith in a man who cares more about his appearance than anything else.”
Seraphina thinned her lips. “I place just enough faith in a man keen on keeping himself in my good graces,” she whispered back, aware of the curious eyes of the courtiers they passed.
With an effort, she forced a smile back to her features for their sake. An expression perfectly at odds with her next hissed words. “And yes, you have made your dislike for the Baron of Crestley perfectly well known. What with that…idiotic duel of yours on your first day at court.”
When the Crow had no retort to that, she glanced his way sidelong and studied the hard planes of his face. A muscle in his jaw now ticked, just barely visible beneath his silver-speckled beard.
She sighed. “What is it? If you want to say something, Aldric, just say it—”
“I want to speak to you about your plans for Arlund.”
Her smile died. Stopping mid-stride, she brought the entirety of their entourage to a halt with her.
“What about them?” she asked with a frown.
Her Crow heaved out a breath through his nose and rumbled, “I think you should assign Sir Easome to lead the campaign in Arlund and let me stay here. In Goldreach.”
His single dark brown eye pierced her straight through with the sheer intensity of his gaze, stealing her breath all over again when he softly added, “With you.”