“Forgive me, Your Majesty. I, um...I was...overwhelmed. With gratitude and excitement. The honor you bestow upon us is so great.”
“The Revenant herself,” said the king, only the barest shake to his voice. With a hand, he waved off the still-approaching guards. Lord Church, who had taken several steps forward, eyes wide, retreated as well. The crowd began to settle within a few more moments, and the king continued. “Well, certainly we now see how you earned your reputation. And what a credit it is to you, Sir Thorne, for having held your own against power like this in the Celestial Sanctum.”
Some emotion flashed across Cedric’s face, and Elyria hoped he wasn’t thinking what she thought he was: That he didn’t hold his own. That it was thanks to Elyria and Thraigg and, well, Zephyr, that he’d survived the Crucible at all. That he was not deserving of his title.
He didn’t know just how wrong he was.
“You are every bit the legend they say,” continued the king, an indulgent smile curving his mouth as he continued addressing Elyria. “And far, far lovelier than the stories make room for.”
The compliment was delivered with charm, and Elyria thought he might even have been sincere. But it made her skin crawl all the same.Not because she thought his intent to be malicious, not exactly. But there was something cold there. Detached. She felt like she was being watched, observed, scrutinized.
She did not much care for that.
Still, Elyria said nothing, only offered another practiced smile. And out from the corner of her eye, she noticed how Kit’s shoulders dropped, her palpable relief.
The king returned his attention to the crowd, raising his arms. “Let all here tonight bear witness to this union of realms,” he proclaimed. “Let the triumph of our champions be but the first occasion celebrated within this new peace between our peoples. And may their unity serve as a beacon for all still trapped in the hatred and division of old. This is a new dawn!”
Elyria couldn’t help the slight turn of her head, seeking Cedric, his reaction. The knight continued staring forward, eyes pinned on the king, his hands pressed firmly against his legs as though he was trying to keep them from curling into fists.
Disappointment sunk Elyria’s heart into her stomach.
An attendant handed a goblet to the king, and he raised it high. “Tomorrow, we begin the true work of healing our lands. Of preparing to reclaim what was lost to Varyth Malchior’s treachery. We shall retrieve the Crown of Concord, and we shall do it as the Guardian of Balance herself intended—together.”
Elyria swallowed the laugh that threatened to burst from her. Together. She had absolutely no doubt the humans would keep the crown firmly in their own grasp if they could. If they thought they could find Malchior and get it back without the Arcanian’s help. Just as King Lachlandris made no attempt to hide his own similar motive.
Too bad for both of them that Elyria had no intention of letting either side wield the crown.
Still, she nodded and clapped as King Callum continued his speech, and she had a gracious smile on her face when he said, “But for now, we celebrate. And I cannot think of a better way to honor Aurelia than with our victors leading us in a dance.”
10
THE DANCE OF DIPLOMACY
CEDRIC
He didn’t remember agreeingto it.
One moment, King Callum was summoning Cedric forward, beckoning him toward the dais. The next, the words “our victors leading us in a dance,” were drifting across the room like spilled ink.
If His Majesty said anything else in between, Cedric hadn’t heard it, so focused was he on controlling the heat flaring under his skin, the flames that threatened to burst from his palms the moment Elyria’s hand had brushed his.
It was instantaneous, irresistible. The spark of power, the surge of magic. And it was only the commotion caused by Elyria’s own magic flaring in a similar response, the way it pulled all focus on her, that gave Cedric the space to smother it, to keep it locked down,locked inside. He spent the rest of the welcome speech steeling himself, trying not to react, his gaze locked on a spot just beyond the king’s crown. He hoped Lord Church would chalk up his strange behavior to nerves. Hoped he didn’t see straight through him.
He supposed if he didn’t get a handle on his reaction to Elyria’s touch, none of that would matter in a moment.
The quartet in the corner began playing again—a slow, regal tune. Elyria turned back toward the dance floor, her golden gown rippling with each step, her brows lifted in question as she looked at him, arm extended.
She was so stars-damned beautiful.
He took a breath.
And then he took her hand.
Her skin was cool against his, that spark flaring back to life the instant they touched. Heat crackled down Cedric’s spine, sharp and bright and hungry. For a heartbeat, he feared it might leap free of him entirely.
Not now. Not here.
Elyria’s fingers tightened around his, and as quickly as that burst of power came on, it calmed, settled. The room fell away again. And Cedric moved without thinking, his palm finding the small of Elyria’s back, grazing—celestials help him—the bare skin there. She laid her free hand on his shoulder, and they began to dance.
