“By the way,” she eventually says, “you look, and smell, absolutely disgusting.”
I almost laugh, oddly relieved by her comment; at least her bitchiness feels familiar, even as everything else I thought I knew about the royal family seems to have been upended.
“I have this situation under control, if you’d like to go deal with…” She gestures to the entirety of my muddy, disheveled appearance. “…All of that.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, rising to leave—not because I care about dealing with my appearance, but because the space feels like it’s closing in around me.
Once outside, I pause, leaning against the wall and closing my eyes for a moment.
I should go to my bedroom and lock the door.
I should take time to calm myself down, maybe discuss everything that’s happened with Briar, or with Sesca, or with both of them. I should sleep and collect myself, and I should make some sort oflogicalfuckingplanabout how to proceed from here.
I don’t do any of this.
Instead, I slip into one of the powder rooms and splash cold water on my face, rinsing away the dried streaks of sweat and flecks of mud...
And then I give in to the insistent, foolish pull of my heart, letting it drag me toward the king one more time.
The door to his office is cracked open slightly, just enough that I can tell a hushed conversation is taking place inside. The guards at the door exchange a glance as I approach. They’re as unsure as I am, I think, about where I truly stand and what authority I hold—particularly when it comes to the king they’re sworn to protect.
“I have a message for His Majesty.” I make my voice loud and clear enough that it carries into the office, bringing the conversation inside to a halt.
Reave appears in the doorway a few moments later. He’s put on a clean coat, one free of tears and bloodstains, and otherwise looks remarkably well put-together compared to the last time I saw him. I don’t want to think about how many times he’s had to practice nights like this. How often he’s had to go straight from cradling his little brother’s broken body to dealing with other demands.
He temporarily excuses himself from everyone around us, pulling me to a relatively private alcove a short distance down the hall. There’s a hint of panic in his eyes—though I know he’s trying not to show it—as he quietly asks, “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I tell him, quickly. “But I assumed you wouldn’t be able to get away from your royal duties for some time, so I…I wanted to come tell you that he’s okay. He’s resting. The doctor assured me he’s stable, and Kestrel is with him now.”
He stares at me just as he did outside earlier—like he still hasn’t figured out why I would want to help him, to reassure him, to offer him any comforting words.
“Anyway, I’m sorry I interrupted. I just…I’ll be going now.” I turn to leave.
He catches my hand and draws me back to him. He stillcan’t seem to find words, but he cups the side of my face and leans closer to me, his eyes shining with obvious gratitude. We stay like that for a moment, his thumb thoughtfully tracing my cheek, before he seems to remember his other obligations.
“Come with me.” He squeezes my hand and nods back toward the office. “No more secrets between us; whatever my allies tell me, I want you to hear it for yourself.”
It’s not an apology. And it doesn’t make up for the things he’s kept me in the dark about, but it feels like a peace offering, at least—an attempt to prove that he sees me as more than a clueless pawn in whatever plans he’s making.
So I agree to stay with him. For now. We walk side-by-side back into his office, and he pulls up a chair for me right next to his own. I’m exhausted, but I try to keep my head up and meet the eyes of the two people he’s been meeting with—a dark-haired, sharp-eyed man, and a woman who sits with the unnerving stillness of a statue, both of whom regard me with a look caught somewhere between reverent and wary.
“Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of her,” Reave tells them, sitting down beside me. “So, where were we?”
It takes them a moment to loosen their tongues. But eventually they stammer out their introductions—Selwick and Brynn, emissaries of the Baroness of Gault, which is a small territory in the foothills of the Grimfell Mountains that lie to the northwest of here. A territory that has apparently been crucial in securing Mouren’s northern borders for some time. The Baroness, Serath, is Reave’s distant cousin, if I recall correctly.
“Perhaps since she’s here…” Brynn begins, trying and failing to settle her gaze on me. She has to fully avert her eyes before she can keep talking—as if she’s afraid I’m going to set my dragon upon her if she says the wrong thing. “Perhaps…we should move on to the other matter Lady Serath wanted us to speak with you about.”
I can sense the unease that rolls through Reave’s body, but he nods. “By all means.”
Brynn takes a deep breath before continuing. “We all know that Mouren is still not recognized as a legitimate, divine-sanctioned kingdom by any of the other four kingdoms. And this means you can’t claim this woman, or her dragon, by those ancient laws that so many rulers in this empire still adhere to. A point which is already causing tension, as news of her and her dragon’s emergence spreads; the baroness continues to try and keep the peace as your devoted liaison, but you can’t claim?—”
“I haven’t claimed her.” Reave’s voice is low and bristling. “Because she is not an object to be bartered over. And the Flamebound laws are both archaic and barbaric.”
“Most of the rulers in our empire think otherwise,” Selwick says.
“That doesn’t make them right,” I say.
Brynn lays a hand on her companion’s wrist. He snaps his mouth shut, swallowing whatever reply he’d started to give before getting to his feet and pacing the room.
