Chapter 12 #2
Her humming stopped mid-note, and she turned, her eyes widening.
“Kieran.” She smoothed her hands down her dress. “I didn’t hear you.”
“You were busy.” I lifted the tray. “I brought you breakfast.”
Her gaze flicked from my face to the tray and back again. “You brought breakfast?”
“You need to eat.” It was ridiculous, really, this urge to make sure she ate, to see color in her cheeks. But I’d tasted that joy once, and now I wanted to feed it, guard it, claim it as mine.
A smile tugged at her mouth. “That’s sweet of you.”
Sweet. No one had ever called me that before.
“I’d assume something like this was beneath a king’s dignity,” she said with a sparkle in her pretty eyes.
I set the tray on the one clear corner of the table. “There’s very little beneath my dignity when it comes to my queen’s well-being.”
Her cheeks flushed.
“Well.” She moved to the tray, picking up a raspberry and popping it into her mouth. “Thank you.”
I watched her eat, oddly satisfied by the pleasure she took in the food. She noticed the daisy, touched its petals, but said nothing.
“So,” she said after a moment, “are you going to tell me what happened after you left me last night? Or do I need to piece it together from the terrified glances of your advisors and family this morning?”
“You’ve seen them?”
“I took an early walk in the gardens. I couldn’t miss them cringing in dark corners.”
My laugh burst out, startling us both.
“As for last night,” I leaned against the edge of the table, “I clarified certain expectations.”
“Mmm.” She poured and took a sip of her tea, regarding me over the cup’s rim. “And these expectations involved…?”
“Respect for the queen.”
“Ah.” She set down the cup. “And your aunt?”
“Has been granted a month of reflection away from court.”
Cyrene nearly choked on a bite of pastry. “You banished her?”
“Temporarily.”
“Because of me?”
“Because of her disrespect.” I frowned. “Does that bother you?”
She considered, tilting her head. “No. It doesn’t. Though I’m surprised you went that far.”
“They needed to understand.”
“What, exactly?”
I held her gaze. “That you are my queen. That anyone who forgets it answers to me.”
The air between us thickened, charged with something neither of us was ready to name.
She broke it first, clearing her throat. “Well, you certainly made an impression. Cordelia said that half the court couldn’t sleep last night. They were convinced your shadows would crawl under their doors and strangle them.”
My smile came out thin. “A creative but unnecessary concern.”
“So you say.” She studied me. “Was there shouting involved?”
“I never shout.”
“Right. The deadly whisper is much more effective.” She lowered her voice, mimicking me. “I’m not angry, just disappointed. And also, you might wake up entombed in shadows if you misbehave.”
My laugh burst out again. Twice in one morning. That was more than I’d laughed in months. Years, probably. “Is that your impression of me?”
“It’s fairly accurate, right?” She grinned but quickly sobered. “Thank you for defending me.”
“It was nothing,” I said.
“It wasn’t nothing.” Her eyes held mine. “Not to me.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and silence stretched between us.
“I should go,” I finally said, easing toward the door. “My advisors are expecting me, and you need to work.”
“Of course.” She lifted her teacup in a salute. “Go be kingly. I’ll be here, turning water into wine. Or possibly just making it sparkle.”
“I’d like to see that. Later, perhaps?”
Her smile lit something in my chest that would burn for this woman until my final day. “Yes, later.”
The dining room fell silent when I entered. My advisors and family members sat at their usual places at the table, clutching goblets of warmed blood, a few picking at plates of rare meat. Their conversations died mid-sentence, replaced by the scrape of chairs as everyone rose and bowed.
“Sit.” I took my place at the head of the table.
“We didn’t believe you’d be dining,” Lord Broadworthy said with a subtle upward twitch of his lips. “Or we would’ve waited.”
“Yes.”
A servant hurried forward with a crystal goblet on a silver tray.
Taking it, I raised it, meeting each pair of eyes around the table. No one spoke. Lord Rathley cleared his throat, then immediately looked as though he regretted drawing attention to himself when my gaze snapped to him.
“Do you have something to say?” I kept my voice mild.
“No, Your Majesty.” He studied his goblet with complete fascination.
I sipped the blood, letting the silence stretch.
Lady Aragorn kept her eyes downcast. Uncle Prentiss examined the ceiling as though it contained the secrets of the universe.
He could’ve left with my aunt, but if I knew him, he wouldn’t want to miss out on the chance to scoop up gossip he could share with his wife.
I’d do my best not to provide it to him.
I set my empty goblet down with a click.
Half the table flinched.
“I trust everyone slept well?” I asked.
They murmured assent, none sounding convincing.
“Excellent.” I rose. “I have matters to attend to. Good day.”
As I left, I could almost taste the relief in the room. My shadows trailed behind me in a warning.
The council chamber was equally silent when I arrived, though for different reasons. The round table dominated the room, four high-backed chairs equally spaced around it. Light filtered through tall windows along one wall, casting elongated rectangles across the polished wood.
Lord Broadworthy entered first, followed by Rathley and Lady Aragorn. They took their seats, arranging papers in front of them with intense care.
“Shall we begin?” I asked once they’d settled.
Lord Rathley nodded. “Your Majesty, we have several matters to discuss, but first—” He hesitated, glancing at the others.
“Yes?”
Lady Aragorn leaned forward, her face creased with concern. “The display near the maze yesterday, Your Majesty. It was unseemly.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Truly?”
“Such public displays are not…” Lord Rathley paused, blinking fast, not meeting my eye. “Traditional.”
“Neither is peace with the witches,” I said. “Yet, here we are.”
“Indeed.” Lady Aragorn’s lips pressed together. “Which brings us to the matter of the treaty timeline.”
Lord Broadworthy shuffled his papers. “As you know, Your Majesty, the terms the elders agreed upon require proof of unity between yourself and the witch queen within the lunar cycle.” From the way he stated and the expression in his eyes, I got the impression he felt it was a mere formality.
Not so for the others.
“I’m aware of the terms.” My voice cooled.
Lord Rathley inclined his head. “We merely wish to remind you that the clock is ticking. Without concrete evidence of a true union, the elders may be forced to appeal for dissolution.”
“And yesterday’s display was not evidence enough?” I asked.
Lady Aragorn sniffed. “A kiss can be manufactured.”
“As can many things,” I replied. “Including loyalty.”
She paled but pressed on. “There are concerns, sire, that the witch’s magic may be influencing you. We’re not alone in this.”
The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Shadows lengthened across the table, reaching toward her with grasping fingers.
“Explain yourself, Lady Aragorn.”
She swallowed. “Joy magic is known to affect emotions. To create feelings where none exist. We must consider the possibility that her magic manipulates your perceptions.”
For a moment, I considered having her join my aunt in exile. But banishing everyone who questioned me would only feed the rumors.
“My perceptions are perfectly clear. And my control remains absolute.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Lord Rathley said, his spine stiff. “No one doubts your strength of will. We merely raise the concern out of duty to the crown. The elders have given us the final say in this matter.”
“Alright.” I sat back, letting the shadows recede. “Your concerns are noted. And dismissed.”
They exchanged glances, but none dared argue further. They worried her joy would make me weak. Instead, it made me want things some might say a vampire king like me didn’t deserve.
“Now, can we discuss actual matters of state? Or would you prefer to speculate further about my marriage?”
The meeting proceeded in a normal way after that, discussions of border patrols and harvest preparations filling the next hour. But beneath every word ran an undercurrent of tension. They believed Cyrene was trying to control me, that her joy magic could compromise my self-discipline.
How ironic. If they only knew how hard I’d fought against the pull she exerted. How even now, with politics and power at stake, I found myself thinking of her smile, her defiance, the way she’d felt in my arms.
What I hadn’t said was how much I’d enjoyed our kiss. How for that short time, the weight of the crown had lifted. How the taste of her magic had awakened something I’d thought buried forever.
I ended the meeting. As they filed out, I stayed seated, staring at the empty chairs.
I rose, determined to go to my study to work through the afternoon.
Instead, I found myself walking toward the tower room, drawn by the memory of golden light and the promise of seeing one particular witch’s magic at work.