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Larylis met the man’s shrewd eyes and saw disapproval in them. His councilmen may have deferred to Larylis, but that didn’t mean they ceased questioning some of his stances. Still, this was something he wouldn’t budge on.
Sitting tall, he addressed the table in his best King Marsov voice. Or what he imagined his voice might have sounded like. Confident. Steady. “Prince Lexington came to our aid when my brother was captured by Duke Morkai. He fought at our side at Centerpointe Rock. His kingdom deserves to be rewarded for their prince’s valiant efforts.”
He didn’t add that Teryn had promised the prince as much when they’d made a secret alliance during the Heart’s Hunt, though he would if it came down to it. He’d learned that declaring something assupported by Terynhad its merits, for it proved that a change of heir would have made no difference.
Silence echoed over the table, and he felt his confidence waver. Then his eyes met those of Lord Hardingham, the councilman who had supported Larylis the most since he’d taken the throne. Hardingham had been his father’s most trusted advisor, and unlike most of the others, he respected Arlous’ dying wish to see his bastard son legitimized. Hardingham gave a subtle nod of encouragement.
With his confidence bolstered, he met Tolbrook’s gaze without falter. “I will not yield on this.”
“Very well,” Lord Tolbrook said, tone grudging. “For the first time in forty years, we relinquish our exclusive rights to Aromir wool.”
* * *
Evening had fully fallenby the time the meeting came to its much-welcome close. His feet felt as heavy as bricks as he climbed the stairs to his sleeping quarters—chambers that once belonged to his father. Four guards followed in his wake, but he dismissed them once he reached his bedroom, along with his valet and other attendants who were ready to prepare him for bath and bed. Despite his fatigue, he wasn’t ready for bed. His mind was simply set on being alone for the first time all damn day.
Alone yet far less lonely.
Part of his motivation was tucked in his waistcoat pocket, inaccessible beneath the royal coat he’d worn to the council meeting. As soon as his guards and attendants exited the room and closed the doors behind them, he stripped off his jacket and extracted the piece of parchment that had been nestled against his heart all day. It was a letter from his wife. He’d gotten one almost daily since she’d left for Ridine, and they were the highlights of his days. This one, even before reading a single letter of her elegant, achingly familiar script, was no exception.
With a heavy sigh, he broke the seal and sank onto the bed. It was twice as large as the bed he’d had in his old chambers, which only made it feel emptier without Mareleau. But as he unfolded the letter and took in her words, a smile curled his lips. He could almost hear her voice, could almost pretend she was relaying her day’s woes from beside him.
Ridine is a dark cruel place, my love. Is this a prison or a castle? I insist it’s the former because they are highly lacking in sweet treats.
Larylis snorted a laugh at that. He’d have to send his reply first thing in the morning along with a jar of the finest cocoa. He knew how much she liked chocolate. With the speed a messenger horse could travel, she’d have her sweet treat in less than three days. His heart ached with envy. What he wouldn’t give to travel by messenger horse himself. At least he didn’t have to wait much longer to depart for Ridine; in two days, he’d start his journey north for the peace pact signing. But with the size of his retinue and the ridiculously slow agenda his council had planned for him, he wouldn’t arrive until at least a week later.
He finished reading Mareleau’s letter, then started over at the beginning, once again imagining every word in her sometimes playful, sometimes haughty voice.
My dearest Larylis—
A shuffling sound drew his attention from the letter. Sitting upright, he glanced around the room, seeking its source. The room still felt alien to him with its ample space, luxurious rugs, and elegant tapestries. Sound didn’t travel the same way it had in his former bedroom. There could be a servants’ passage behind one of the walls, for all he knew.
He heard the sound again, but this time he knew it was coming from his balcony. Frowning, he set down Mareleau’s letter and approached the doors. The curtains were drawn shut, so he couldn’t see the balcony beyond. He set his fingers on the handle, pausing to consider if he should call one of his guards inside instead…
Another sound, and this time it carried a note of familiarity. It was the telltale flap of…wings.
Larylis pushed the door open and found Berol staring up at him with what was undoubtedly an impatient look. Her wings were splayed, beak open, and before he could step out onto the balcony with her, she darted inside. She launched from the floor to one of his towering bedposts, then to his desk.
Larylis approached her, noting something tucked inside one of her talons. “Did Teryn send you?” From the agitated splay of her wings, he guessed she’d struggled to find him. It made sense considering she was used to the location of his former chambers. But why did Teryn send her? She could travel far faster than a messenger horse, and he was known to utilize her to send messages now and then. Regardless, her flustered state unsettled him.
He extended his hand and took the missive from Berol’s talon.
Only it wasn’t a missive at all.
Larylis stared at the piece of torn fabric, at the rust-colored splatter that looked an awful lot like blood.
His throat went dry as he was forced into a memory from not long ago.
It reminded him of…
Gods, he didn’t want to think it.
But it was impossible not to see that scrap of fabric, the frantic splay of her wings, andnotrecall what had happened the last time she’d brought Larylis something while Teryn was at Ridine.
Why did she bring a scrap of cloth? Was this a piece of Teryn’s shirt? Someone else’s? Was he in trouble?
He sat at his desk and took out a quill and sheet of paper. He hadn’t intended to write any letters until the morrow, but this one couldn’t wait. Not with the dread sinking his heart.
It’s nothing, it’s nothing, he told himself again and again as he penned his inquiry to Teryn, asking if he was all right. If it truly was nothing, then he’d receive confirmation in less than three days’ time. Sooner, actually, for he’d send a copy with Berol. There was a chance he’d get a reply as early as tomorrow evening.
