Cedric nearly balked under the weight of the glares that Kit, Dentarius, and Elyria alike were now giving him.
“That way,” he continued, swallowing hard, “no town constable can claim they weren’t informed.”
There was a long pause. King Callum looked thoughtful. Lord Church looked...fascinated. As though Cedric had surprised him with the suggestion.
It was Elyria who broke the silence. “Such a generous proposal,” she said through gritted teeth, “but I thought we established during the Crucible that I donotrequire a babysitter.”
Her words sparked a memory that threatened to break Cedric’s focus entirely, very nearly rushing him back to the Sanctum, to their exchange at the beginning of the Trial of Spirit. Before either of them had been forced to unveil their personal truths. He cleared his throat. “That’s hardly what I suggested.”
“Pray, tell, then, Sir Knight,” she said, lavender eyebrow arching. “Whatareyou suggesting?”
“Do not pretend like you don’t understand the point His Majesty is making,” Cedric said, tone tightening. “It has been mere months since the Crucible was conquered. A lifetime of enmity is not soeasily reversed.”
“You didn’t seem to have that much trouble with it,” Kit muttered.
Cedric inhaled sharply through his nose, resisting the urge to check Lord Church’s reaction to her comment. “This”—he waved his hand toward Elyria, then back at himself—“is only the first step in showcasing the peace between our realms. We have far to go before the people accept this new status quo.”
Elyria sunk into her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “You,Sir Victor,may be perfectly content being trotted out in front of the people like a trophy on display, but I?—”
“You would deny us the chance to show the accords in action? That this peace is real? The people of Havensreach still hold real fear toward Arcanians. You’ve seen the way they stare, the fear in their eyes.” Cedric shook his head. “Half the guests at the ball acted like they’d seen their own deaths when your shadows appeared.”
“Myshadows may very well have saved their lives.”
“I know that.”
“Thendo not pretendlike I require a chaperone.”
“I didn’t say?—”
“I mean, the very idea that we needyou peopleto?—”
“That’s not what I?—”
“I swear to all four celestials and the banished star god herself, Cedric, if you think?—”
“Enough!” barked the king.
Silence slammed down on the room like a hammer.
The king’s gaze cut to Elyria. “Lady Lightbreaker. Your presence in Kingshelm is most welcome. Your presence here during a meeting ofmycouncil, however, is a courtesy.”
“Indeed,” agreed Lord Church. “If you cannot contain yourself, perhaps you are better served waiting outside until you’ve remembered how to behave like a proper representative of your realm. Like a true victor.”
Elyria inhaled—one quick, sharp breath through her nose.
The tension in the room was so thick, Cedric was sure the dagger still stabbed into the tabletop could have cut through it.
Kit’s mismatched eyes widened. She laid a soft hand onElyria’s forearm.
Wood scraped against stone as Elyria rose from her seat, pushing her chair behind her.
For a split second, Cedric saw fear flash in the king’s eyes.
But there was that mask, already sliding into place, burying Elyria’s ire beneath a placid smile. Nodding, the Revenant simply said, “Of course, Your Majesty. My deepest apologies. I shall take my leave so Lady Ravenswing, Lord Jaen, and the council can discuss these logistics in peace.”
Cedric’s heart thudded as she exited the room, the strength with which she wrenched the door open—and subsequently slammed it—the only sign of her true feelings.
An awkward silence settled over the chamber. Lord Church watched Cedric with a raised brow. He gave a faint shake of the head, the meaning behind it clear: Cedric was not to pursue her.
