42. The King of Ashvold #2
Selene thinks she understands. It’s always meant to have been her who went back in time, not Dorian. It was her mother she was meant to stop, these plans she was meant to undo. Granted, Dorian would never in a million lifetimes have come up with this idea. She already knows he’d hate it.
But the idea is hers, and she must attempt it.
She slips into the stables and demands a horse. A carriage will take too long and draw too much attention. She’s certain to draw heads either way, but this will be faster.
Selene races off through the streets, surprised by how sturdy she feels in the saddle, even when nothing else in the world feels solid. She’s never thought of herself as a skillful rider, but she wonders now if half of riding is just believing you won’t fall.
Half of doing anything, being anything, just seems to start with believing in possible.
What could she have been, if not for the people around her telling her what she was? The dreams she could have had if she’d only been allowed to dream them.
It’s too late, now.
She stops before the gates of the palace, skidding to a halt. This is a terrible, risky idea.
But it will buy her time. Time to build a case against her mother. To build King Alden’s trust.
Time for Dorian to come back to her.
Please, please come back to me.
She’d married the Duke. She has endured far worse than what’s about to follow. Hopefully.
Guards bar her entrance when she walks up the gates. She has no invitation .
“I seek an audience with King Eirik of Ashvold,” she tells them. “Tell him the heiress of Nocturne Hall wishes to speak to him regarding a business proposition.”
One of the guards raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t question. Selene is clearly a fine noble lady, despite her unusual entrance. He opens a door and whispers to a servant there, who rushes off. Selene is left on the steps, waiting. Pacing.
She has to assume that the Duke—or her own mother—told the King of their exact plans. This request will not be granted if they haven’t.
But finally, the servant returns, nodding to the guard. Selene is allowed inside and escorted into the foyer.
The foyer of Summerfold Palace is just as Selene remembers—vast, imposing, its vaulted ceilings held aloft by towering pillars of gold-veined marble.
A great chandelier of silver and crystal looms overhead, casting light that shimmers like frost upon the polished floors.
The air smells of cold stone and candle wax, a scent that speaks of old power, of history stretching far beyond her years.
She barely has time to take it in before her escort urges her forward.
They move at a brisk pace through the palace corridors, past towering windows of darkened glass and tapestries that tell stories of Haverland’s conquests.
Even with her nerves fraying, she cannot help but admire the craftsmanship, the sheer weight of legacy in each step she takes.
Then, the doors to King Eirik’s chambers swing open.
Selene swallows hard. The room is vast, lined with high banners bearing the wolf sigil of Ashvold. Braziers flank the dais where a mock throne sits—an imposing seat of carved stone, draped in furs. And there, seated like a figure cut from iron and ice, is King Eirik.
His presence is a storm contained within flesh.
Tall and broad-shouldered, his fur-lined cloak sweeps over the arms of his chair, the dim firelight casting deep shadows across his sharp features.
He looks a little like Soren—not enough to be family, but in the way people from the same place often share a colour palette.
His hair is pale and silvery, and his eyes are like chips of ice.
Selene bows deeply. “Your Majesty.”
“Lady Selene, I believe,” he says. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
The door closes behind her, but they are not alone. A few attendants line the room. His own, she realises. Not Alden’s.
She forces herself to stand taller, to meet his gaze with all the steel and charm her mother ever instilled in her. This is not a man to show weakness before.
“May I speak freely?” she says.
Alden turns to the people around him, and dismisses them with a flick of his wrist.
“Thank you for seeing me,” she says.
The King gestures to a seat nearby. “Sit with me, Lady Selene.”
It’s a good start. She sits carefully, smiles purposefully. She takes the glass he pours for her.
“I understand that you and the Duke have an arrangement,” she tells him.
“That may or may not be.”
“I understand that it concerns Nocturne Hall,” she carries on. “My birthright. I believe that its location is of interest to you.”
The King says nothing.
“I imagine that the Duke has offered it to you, but it is not his to offer. Not his, of course, unless he’s my husband, and my grandmother is dead.
” She takes a sip of her wine, pursing her lips.
She makes sure the King is watching her when she does, and angles her body towards him to show herself off.
It’s a careful maneuver. The trick is to do it without making it look obvious.
“Now, my grandmother is not in the best of health, that much is certain. What is also certain is that I have no plans of accepting the Duke’s hand. ”
King Eirik’s eyes raise from his glass. “No?”
“No.”
“Is there any particular reason? ”
Selene hides her careful intake of breath. She remembers what Soren said, about Ashvold being more equal for women. Eirik, she hopes, has no qualms with powerful women.
I can be a powerful woman.
“I do not like being controlled,” she admits. “I prefer being the one in charge. I am not a pawn in the Duke’s game.”
The King seems amused by this. His lips smirk, his eyes glint. “Then what piece are you, Selene Duskbriar?”
The next intake of breath, she can’t disguise. “The queen,” she tells him. “If you will have me.”
The King regards her carefully for a moment. “You wish me to marry you?”
“I believe a marriage will benefit us both,” she tells him.
“It cuts out the middle man, as it were. You will immediately gain control of Nocturne Hall and all its assets upon my grandmother’s death, and, on top of it all, you gain a Haverlandian bride with influences in society.
Influences that will serve you well, should you wish to expand your own. ”
“My alliance with the Duke—”
“Is a bought one,” Selene goes on. “He has no loyalty to you, only your crown. And I think we both know he was never the one pulling the strings.” She hopes he knows that, or at least has an inkling.
If he knows it’s her mother straight out, he may be suspicious as to why Selene hasn’t come with her.
Or perhaps he won’t. Perhaps he’ll admire her tenacity in coming by herself.
The King regards her for a long moment. His gaze is a strange one. He doesn’t stare at her like the Duke did, like she was meat. Nor does he look at her like Dorian, like he can see beneath her bones. It’s more like a painting he’s debating the meaning of.
She turns her face towards him, not smiling this time, not quite. She wants to give him the full view.
“What kind of marriage would you expect?” he asks finally.
“Whatever suits Your Majesty,” she replies. “If you wish it to be like any other marriage, so be it. I’m sure I could bear you many fine children. However, if you wish us to be as acquaintances and have our own dalliances, I shall respect that too. ”
The intensity of his gaze doesn’t waver. “Why? Why betray your kingdom?”
The next words she utters don’t feel like lies. “Because it betrayed me first,” she tells him. “It offered me no protection when it ought to have. It is not power I crave with this alliance, only freedom.”
“For yourself?”
“For everyone. Ultimately, I believe Haverland will be a better place with you in charge.”
The King ponders this for a moment, and finishes his drink. He smiles at Selene, then steps up, taking her hand.
“Very well, Lady Selene,” he says. “We have a deal.”