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Voices hushed when we entered, but not as intensely as during our first entrance upon our arrival.

Roark’s shoulders were stiff and straight, and he strode forward with a sneer on his lip. I despised how he could not be free, not even among his own clan. Here meant bitterness, torture, and mistrust for my husband.

I did not know if the wounds carved into a young boy’s soul would ever truly heal.

Instinct urged me to drop my chin, to look at my feet and avoid every stare, but Emi nudged my ribs gently.

“You are Draven,” she whispered. “Royal, a powerful crafter, the wife of the future king. You look down for no one.”

Three pulses squeezed my palm. Roark did not look at me, but he was there, steady and sure. Not letting me fall.

I would do the same.

Elisabet rose from her seat and stepped to the edge of the dais. Roark pressed a palm to his chest and lowered his head.

We will greet the queen first, he’d told me earlier as we dressed. It is symbolic for her to invite us to sit with her. It shows that the queen accepts her heirs.

I dipped my head in a small bow the same as Roark, waiting. For too many breaths, Elisabet said nothing, she did not move.

I knew of her vow to Roark, but nowhere in the promise to keep me alive had she agreed not to humiliate me by not allowing me a seat at her side. Did I even desire a seat?

If the Norns had not been so vicious in their schemes, I would prefer if Roark and I had slipped away somewhere no one knew us. A simple life, perhaps a small cottage by the sea. Peaceful. Safe.

“Join me.” After a dozen heartbeats, the soft, low hum of Elisabet’s voice came. “Sit beside me, my son and heir. And…my daughter.”

A slow build of cheers echoed in the hall. Some horns clanked on the tables. Boots stomped over floorboards.

My heart dropped back into place when I stood. The word daughter had been said without emotion, flat and dull, but it was absent the bite of hatred.

Roark studied my face for a breath, a calm smile there to reassure me, but the hunter he was burned behind the ease. A man always on watch, always ready to strike, to slaughter should those he love be threatened.

Emi was seated protectively between Auki and Gunter at the smaller table nearest to the dais. Brynn stroked Òlmr’s head, her watch on Virki, who had not bothered to look at the dais. His hooded stare was locked on his daughter.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek to stifle the smirk when Emi tilted her head, never lowering her eyes from her father, and took a methodical, slow drink from a horn. She didn’t blink as she wiped her chin with the back of her hand, and there was a bit of delight in my chest when Virki was the one to relent first.

He turned away with a furrowed scowl and offered his scrutiny to one of the men who’d sat at the úlfur council table.

“Melder.”

I jolted when Elisabet touched my arm.

Roark frowned, and his hands moved swiftly and furiously. Address her properly.

Elisabet studied his ire, then faced me. “It breaks a mother’s heart not to hear her son. Would you mind?”

I swallowed, flashing a quick glare at my short-tempered husband. “He does not like me being addressed as Melder, my lady.”

Elisabet’s lip twitched. “Ah. Forgive me. Habit, you see. Lyra, you are to take Roark’s far side. I will take the other. The center is the symbol for the future crown. And you are to become king.” The queen spoke to Roark with a sharpness, almost scolding him.

We will see was all Roark gestured, but his hand was low to his side, meant for no one to see save me.

He handed me toward my seat and waited for me to settle, then his mother, before taking his place. Almost at once, Roark had a drinking horn in hand and slumped low. With a single glance one could guess that the prince desired to be anywhere but here.

I chuckled and leaned in to whisper. “This reminds me of when we were honored at Stonegate.”

I left out the reminder that the honor came from saving Prince Thane after he was attacked by Skul Drek. I did not think Roark had forgiven himself just yet.

He rolled his head to the side, speaking against my cheek boldly. When we both wanted to fall through the cracks of the floorboards to escape.