Page 8 of A Courage of the Chosen

“The throne belongs to my family. My mother is dead. Màiri is dead.” I beat down the emotions that come with the statement, the ever-present ache of them not being around anymore. “Tavish killed them both. I’m here to claim what is rightfully mine, and bring an end to this war.”

Everyone pauses, staring at the space where my magic sat on the table moments before. Their eyes lift to me collectively, and we wait. I refuse to be the first to break the silence. They either accept what I’ve told them, or they don’t. I observe each of them as they process the information. It’s clear none of them want to believe any of what I said, but they at least can’t deny that connection to the Darrows.

A second later, Lord Haddow leans back as he runs his thumb and forefinger over his mustache, that’s the same light brown as his hair. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could do with something very strong to drink.” The humor falls flat, but it snaps the tension, and agreements from the table are uttered. Lord Haddow steps out of the room to request refreshments be brought in as soon as possible.

The rest of them keep their attention locked on me, and the woman, whose name I really don’t want to learn, places her hands flat on the table as she leans forward. “That magic does nothing to prove your story.”

Hume grins in her direction. “Well said, Lady Navin.”

I really hate this guy, and the sigh from Rach behind me tells me she’s about three seconds away from breaking her uncharacteristic silence and tearing into him.

“Seems like an elaborate lie created by someone very desperate if you ask me,” Hume says in Lady Navin’s direction.

So the loop continues, and it’s enough to snap Rach’s restraint.

She saunters forward, dropping one hand on the back of Hume’s chair, and bracing the other on the table in front of him as she lowers so they’re eye to eye. “Listen to me, buddy. Insult her again, and we’re going to have a problem. Got it?”

She looks so much like her brother in that moment, her gray eyes clouding over the same way his do when he’s about to unleash a world of pain on someone.

If Callahan were here, he’d have silenced every last one of them, and they’d have heard him by now.

His absence throbs painfully, that bond connecting us quiet and lifeless as the way I miss him starts to overwhelm me.

Not now. Keep it together, I reason with myself.

“You dare to threaten me?” Hume arches a brow, and the rest of us seem to hold our breath as the already tense room grows unbearable.

“Yes. I dare,” she bites back instantly.

I place a hand on her arm, tugging her away. “Rach, leave it.”

Her gaze shifts to me, questioning, and I respond with a subtle shake of my head.

I speak to the room as I say, “I’ll tell you everything, all I ask is that you listen.”

“I don’t see why we should,” the man on Hume’s right chimes in.

“For fu—”

Rach’s expletive is cut off as Hector bursts through the door, followed by a Seelie dressed in a white shirt and gray pants, pushing a cart with water, wine, and decanted spirits laden on top of it.

The general’s face is grave as he grabs a glass tumbler off the tray, and pours himself a generous measure of amber liquid that he downs in two mouthfuls.

“What is it, General Macleod?” Lady Navin asks.

“Raghnall isn’t in the palace,” Hector admits.

His words cut through me like a blade.

Of course he isn’t.

Eyes turn to Hume, who’s fallen very quiet for once. As his advisor, he would be the closest to him, and likely aware of his movements.

“Where is Raghnall, Hume?” Hector asks in a threatening manner, looking every bit the fearsome warrior.

“I have no idea. He requested to be left alone after you’d all ridden out.”

Hector stares him down for a long, tense moment before bringing his gaze to mine. “We’ll send search parties out for him, Your Majesty. We will find him.”