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“Normally, the king and queen. It is a grand affair of sorts, and an honor for the mortals to be selected by the royal family. Given the wedding, I may assign the task to my sister.” He frowns. “Why?”
“If my children are to be auctioned off—”
“Your children will not be taken from you. I can promise you that.”
A wave of relief washes over me, though I’m not without worry. If Saoirse is queen, my family and I still have plenty to fear within these walls. At least we’ll be together. It sounds like not all families will be as fortunate. “What about the seamstress, Dagny?”
His frown turns curious. “What about her?”
“Her son has just come of age, and I know she would be thrilled if there was a way to keep him within the castle’s employ, even if he is not a fit tributary.”
A slow, teasing smile stretches across Atticus’s lips. “Are you trying to wield your power and influence over me, Gracen?”
“Your Highness?” I stammer. “I do not have either of those things over you.”
He steps closer, tossing the wooden swords, his hands seizing my waist. “Don’t you?” He leans in and for a moment, I’m sure he’s going to kiss me out here in the middle of the sparring square. But he stops short, mere inches away, and studies me, his eyes dark with want.
For me?
For my blood?
For all of it?
The heat from his grip sears my skin through my dress. Every nerve ending in my body thrums with heady anticipation as I hold my breath and my lips part, and I wait for him to do something. Anything.
I don’t think I’d mind whatever he chose.
“Your Highness! Will you be joining us in the war room?”
Captain Boaz’s gruff voice seems to break the spell that hangs between us.
Atticus releases his grip and steps away, his breathing uneven. “Your timing is impeccable, but, yes, I suppose I should get to work.” He sighs and adds quietly, only for my ears, “Before things get out of hand here. Until next time.” Casting a lazy salute, he turns and strolls off.
And I release a lungful of air, wondering myself what the next encounter with Atticus will bring.
Kazimir closes in to collect the wooden swords. He holds one out. “Care to go a few rounds with me?”
I’m so flustered by the last few moments, I can only stare at the hilt.
“I promise, I am not as unskilled as the king would suggest.” He winks.
Something tells me Kazimir isn’t talking about swordplay.
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, I have work I should return to.” And a baby to feed.
And my sanity to regain.
I back away.
He throws his hands in the air. “Why does no one want to spar with me?”
“If you’re looking for a playmate, I’m sure my son will oblige,” I throw over my shoulder as I move away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ATTICUS
“Is this a joke?” I inspect the black-and-silver-flecked wax seal more closely, and the emblem branded into it. “Did my brother claim a cave and name it for a kingdom?”
“That is from Zander?” Boaz’s voice marks his shock.
“Or someone with identical handwriting.” After decades of messages from my brother while dealing with one skirmish or another around the realm, I easily recognize my name in his scrawl. But it’s the intersecting crescent moons branded into the hard wax, the same symbol that Wendeline marked those mortals with the night of the royal repast, that is most jarring.
“What does it say?”
I shake my head, not having read past the first line of address. “‘Dear Atticus, I know we are presently at odds”—I snort—“but for the sake of Islor, I share my knowledge and pray you heed my guidance. Much has happened since we saw each other last. Hopefully, there will be time for harsh words later. But now, you and I must unite in the face of the coming trouble, some of which you cannot begin to fathom …’” My voice fades as I read the rest of the sobering words quietly. There are two different hands writing to me on this page, the top one Zander’s, the bottom with a feminine touch.
Romeria’s.
The tension in my limbs grows as I read each line.
Is this another one of my brother’s ploys? A scheme he has spun to win favor and control the narrative for his means?
Not fifteen minutes ago, I was standing around this map, scouring my mind for what reason Zander could have to go into those mountains. Now it’s all laid out for me in black ink, by his hand, and I could not have imagined it had I tried.
“Anything vital I should be aware of, Your Highness?” Boaz is practically dancing from impatience.
I’m not sure yet. I clear the worry from my throat. “Zander and Romeria are deep in the Venhorn Mountains, at Stonekeep.”
