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Marc blinks as if he didn’t realize his dour mood was visible but then lifts his chin with a defiant air. “I’m not sure straining yourself among the common soldiers is the right way to impress her.”

My eyebrows rise. “Why not? I impressed them , and I’ve barely gotten started.”

“You’re the empress. Why should you worry about impressing those louts? You don’t want them to see you on their level and?—”

“But I do,” I interrupt. “I’m not going to rule like you did, acting as if the gods have raised me above all other citizens of the continent.

The soldiers are people , just like we are, just like every noble in the court is.

And they’re the people who are going to be my best defense against any attempt to dethrone me. ”

Marc grimaces. “Then you want them to respect you, to see you as a figure worthy of all their protection.”

“Why wouldn’t they respect a ruler who’s doing all she can to be able to protect herself and her country? I’m recognizing the work they put in and showing that I don’t take their skills for granted.”

“You should be able to take them for granted,” Marc mutters. “It’s their blasted job—not yours.”

I wave my hand vaguely in the air. “Didn’t you want me to get confident wielding a sword?

It’ll be a lot easier if I have all the skills leading up to swordplay.

The point is to actually deserve Sabrelle’s support, not to put on a sham of strength.

She’s never going to respect that. Did you consider that fact? ”

My husband opens his mouth, but all he lets out is a sigh. He rubs his face. “I’m not out to undermine you. You should know that by now. But I do have years more experience in the role. I’m trying to help.”

For a moment, he looks so lost that my heart squeezes. He’s been displaced from so much of the world he knew and understood.

He’s actually adapted rather admirably and with more patience than I’d have expected.

My voice softens. “I believe you. But my approach isn’t the same as yours, as you’ve known for a long time.

If you have practical, logistical concerns, I want to hear them.

When it comes to what kind of relationship I’m going to have with the people I’m ruling over…

I don’t know if we’re ever going to see eye to eye. You’ll just have to accept it.”

“I don’t want to be at odds with you.” He pauses, and the intensity in his eyes heightens to a smolder.

“I still want to make us work, Aurelia. No matter what’s gone on between you and my foster brothers.

No matter what lies you told before. I will make up for all the wretchedness I put you through. ”

His tone has gone raw. Whatever words I might have said snag in my throat. I don’t know how to answer the longing in his promise.

Marc doesn’t move, leaving me all the space I might need, but his gaze trails over me like a stroke over my skin.

“I still treasure every affectionate moment we shared. Your heart might not have been in them, but mine was. If I can ever accomplish anything beyond seeing you hold on to the empire, it’ll be finding out what it’s like to kiss you when you really mean it. ”

An unwelcome heat flares under my skin. I can remember too well what his kisses feel like—all over my body, provoking more pleasure than I wanted them to.

Does he really think we could get to the point where I do want him that way?

Do I ?

The second question sends an unsettling shiver prickling under my skin, but his passion is so earnest I can’t simply dismiss it.

I grope for the right response. “Marc, there’s been so much— I don’t know?—”

A shout reverberates from outside my window. I cut myself off, tensing instinctively, and a couple more hollers follow the first.

With a skip of my heart, I hustle to the door.

The natural part of Marc’s face pales. He stays at his post on the threshold. “Aurelia…”

I motion him aside. “I need to know what’s going on.”

His jaw tightens, but he opens the door for me. The rest of my guards still stand tensed in the hall outside.

“Let’s see what the commotion is,” I say, and set off down the hall.

By the time I’ve made it to the central staircase that leads to the palace’s main entrance, several nobles have emerged from the common rooms around me. I’m halfway down the stairs when a few imperial guards burst through the doorway.

At the sight of me, they stall in their tracks.

“Your Imperial Highness,” one says, and seems to falter.

I draw myself up with all the fortitude I have. “What is it?”

Her stance stiffens, but she forces out the words. “A convoy’s just arrived from Lavira. Tribune Valerisse is declaring war on you as a false empress, on the grounds of ineptitude and that… that you faked your confirmation rite for Sabrelle. They say they have evidence to prove it.”

My guards’ heads tick toward me, even Marc’s, probably expecting me to deny the accusation as ridiculous. A queasy chill sweeps through me, pooling in my gut.

I can’t deny it, not honestly. I did fake my completion of Sabrelle’s confirmation rite.

How could Valerisse know that?