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When she asked if his reign would be fair and just, he made a promise to everyone in that room—and beyond it—that it would be so.
And when she asked if he would give his life, breath, blood, and soul to Mortise, he vowed he would.
Yahri asked him to kneel, then she placed the heavy crown on his head.
When Desfan rose and faced the applauding crowd, he did so as Serjan Desfan Saernon Cassian, Ruler and Caretaker of Mortise.
Chapter 8
Serene
ThefeasttomarkDesfan's coronation was more celebratory than Serene would have imagined, considering it had only been last night that many of the people in this room had been attacked. But the people of Mortise, she was coming to realize, were resilient. And they rarely let anything interfere with a good party.
Serene sat at Desfan’s side during the meal, though they barely had a chance to talk. And once the meal concluded, the nobles began to mingle.
She didn’t feel like talking to anyone. She was exhausted after sitting beside Imara for most of last night, and she was anxious to check on her cousin again.
Around her thumb, she twisted a simple silver ring. It had belonged to Dirk. She had never learned the story of its significance; she’d never bothered to ask him where he’d gotten it, or why he always wore it, and he’d never shared. Dirk had been private, but unfailingly kind.
Fates, she missed him. It felt like she’d been missing him for an eternity already, but he’d only been gone for a month. He’d been her bodyguard since her birth, and the grief of his loss was a constant weight on her heart. It was a familiar pain, reminiscent of what she’d felt when she’d lost her mother. From that experience, she knew the pain would never truly end; time simply dulled it sometimes, allowing life to creep back in. But the loss was always there. The grief became a part of you.
From across the room, Desfan stole a glance at her. Concern was in his gaze, as well as a silent question.
A part of her remained upset with him for letting Grayson out of prison. Liam and Grayson were responsible for Dirk’s death, and she didn’t think she could find peace until both Rydenic princes paid for what they’d done. But she didn’t blame Desfan for doing whatever he deemed necessary to save his sister, even if that meant sending the Black Hand to rescue her.
Justice would wait for Grayson—if he ever came back.
Desfan was still watching her.
Serene shook her head a little and forced a smile. It felt thin, but the new serjan must have accepted it, because he didn’t leave his conversation with Serai Essa and Ser Anoush.
Serene was proud of Desfan. He’d been undeniably handsome and regal during his coronation, and the throne room had hummed with charged energy. When he’d spoken his vows, his words were full of strength, hope, and duty. Any doubts she’d once harbored about Desfan’s ability to rule Mortise were laid to rest in that moment. He would be a good monarch; perhaps even a great one. She was lucky to be engaged to him. She knew that.
She just didn’t feel it.
Her attention wandered to Cardon, who stood near her. He was observing the room, his gaze intent. His brown hair was neatly arranged, and his dark blue uniform fit his sculpted body perfectly. A pale scar cut diagonally across his right cheek, and it caught her eye as it always did. Not because it was an imperfection—it wasn’t—but because it reminded her of the day so long ago that they’d saved each other. She’d been fourteen, but her young heart had fallen into his hands that day. He just hadn’t known it at the time.
Wilf stood on her other side, and it was feeling his gaze on her that made her straighten.
She couldn’t stand alone any longer, and she certainly couldn’t allow herself to stare at Cardon. She’d avoided even being alone with him since she and Desfan had signed the betrothal agreement, and she couldn’t let herself become distracted now.
So, even though she didn’t feel like approaching anyone, Serene surveyed the room. Spotting Tamar Nadir, she moved forward with Cardon and Wilf trailing behind her.
The middle-aged Mortisian woman looked beautiful as always as she sipped a glass of wine in the corner, overlooking the festivities. When Serene reached her, Tamar dipped into a curtsy. “Princess Serene.”
“Serai Nadir,” Serene greeted, following the woman’s lead in the formalities, since it was a formal occasion. Despite that, they’d become friends while staying at the widow’s manor, and on their journey to Duvan. “I hope you’re well,” Serene added.
Tamar’s smile was a little strained. “As well as I can be.”
Serene’s heart felt suddenly heavy. Tamar and Dirk hadn’t had enough time to explore the love that had been growing between them. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” Tamar said gently. “For both of us.”
Serene glanced down at the ring on her thumb. She spun it once with her forefinger, then removed it and held it out to Tamar.
The woman blinked, but her confusion fled once she touched it. Holding it with her fingertips, her face softened. “Dirk’s ring.”
“I think he’d want you to have it,” Serene said.
