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Aldric

The King of Drakmor.

His kirei’s words rattled through his mind. He heard them. He watched her lips move around them.

But they made no sense.

He continued to stare, dumbfounded, at Seraphina’s mouth for a few moments more before he realized what he was doing. Suddenly peeling back his own lips in a sneer, Aldric whispered, “By what authority do you claim to be able to name me King of Drakmor?”

She was bluffing again. Trying to trap him. Playing a new game.

He understood her well enough to know that.

And yet, knowing that didn’t stop the ache within his chest, nor the way his heart skipped as he considered the possibility. King of Drakmor. At last.

A foolish hope he had snuffed out long ago.

His kirei leaned back from him and pressed herself deeper into her throne while she whispered, “I would support your own claim.” His sneer deepened. “I would appeal to the High Shepherd on your behalf. The Church would support your claim as well.”

Lies. If the Church cared about him at all, they would have intervened long ago. “The Church cares nothing for me,” he hotly countered.

But the queen was quick to snap back, “The Church cares for the truth. And the truth is that you are the rightful King of Drakmor, as revealed by the Lord’s light. You were written out of the line of succession on false pretenses. And I imagine your mother was divorced on equally false pretenses.”

She stole the very breath from his lungs with those words.

His mother. His poor mother.

Rosa Hargrave had never deserved her fate. What had been her crime? Beyond birthing him?

It had all happened so quickly, Charlotte Dufort’s seduction of his father. Aldric had been twenty. Charlotte had been eighteen.

His mother had just assumed House Dufort kept pressing Charlotte upon them all out of a hope their daughter might one day be queen via marriage to him. But he had known better.

His mother finally discovered the truth for herself when she found Charlotte Dufort sitting on the throne in King Warwick’s lap some small time later.

The divorce proceedings were swift—a ridiculous farce littered with accusations of infidelity on his mother’s part. His father even tried to suggest he was a bastard, sired by a servant.

An idiotic lie. Aldric was the very picture of King Warwick in miniature.

It had been another five years before his father found another way to be fully rid of him, though. And how easily he was replaced by his five-year-old little brother when the physician his father bribed declared him mad.

His kirei spoke again in that moment, luring him out of his thoughts and back into her nearness. He stood so close, her warmth radiated against him and her words caressed his cheek when she whispered, “Which means…Edmund is illegitimate.”

Yes. Yes, it did.

But he had never known anyone bold enough to utter such a thing aloud.

Not that it mattered. The truth hardly mattered in those sorts of things. Edmund was the Hargrave griffin and Aldric was merely the outcast Crow. Edmund had the armies. Edmund had the crown.

And Edmund was the one to whom Seraphina had pledged her loyalty with that idiotic treaty of theirs.

Aldric was quick to remind her of that fact. “If you support my claim to the throne of Drakmor, you will break the treaty you signed with my brother.” He searched her face, drinking in how much more peaceful she looked now than she had just the night before while sleeping.

Strange, how she didn’t recoil from him, how she lingered with him even though she now knew he had come to her room with the original intention to kill her.

“Edmund will declare war on you in retaliation,” he further warned the woman. “I saved you from one blade, kirei, but I can’t save you from all of Drakmor’s armies.”

Some color returned to Seraphina’s too-pale cheeks in the wake of those words. Offering a tight smile, she needlessly explained to him, “As a part of the treaty I signed with your brother, I promised to name you king after our wedding.”

“Yes,” he hissed. He knew. He had been there when this new treaty was signed into being. “The King of Elmoria.”

But his kirei countered his assertion with a swift, “No.”

His brow furrowed.

“I simply promised your brother I would name you king, Aldric,” Seraphina whispered down to him. “But I never specified what manner of king. Nowhere in the treaty does it state I will name you King of Elmoria.”

Aldric froze in place. His thoughts ricocheted off of one other as he wracked his brain, hunting for every memory of that day. The lawyers had bickered amongst themselves for a few hours over the treaty’s final wording. Edmund’s one concession he refused to yield was the matter of Seraphina one day naming him king.

But she was right. Edmund had never specified what manner of king.

A sudden laugh exploded from his throat, unbidden, and a hint of hysteria escaped with it. That cheeky minx. His clever kirei. Edmund had thought he could best this woman so easily in a battle of wits.

But now Aldric saw Seraphina and his brother weren’t even fighting on the same battlefield. She was far above him, already plotting her next move while Edmund still scrambled to process the last.

It was too funny.

When his laughter finally died, he observed, “You’re a good deal more clever than my brother gives you credit for.”

Seraphina actually smiled at him with that compliment. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He wanted to ask her what her original plan had been, if they never arrived at this very moment. Was she intending to name him King of the Sewers? King of the Dung Heap?

Not that it mattered. Her cleverness aside, he was tired of being used as a pawn in other people’s games. He knew what sort of woman she was. He knew what she wanted.

She wanted to win. And she would use any means necessary to achieve that goal.

Including him.

“But your plan will never work,” he snarled, all his amusement gone in an instant. “What? You think you can just sit there and dangle my stolen birthright in front of me and I will melt at your feet? Swear my blade to your service?” He should have known there was a reason behind her suddenly feigning a familiarity with him. No sane woman would pretend to be so comfortable in his presence after the events of the night before, unless she wanted something from him. “What if I die on the front?”

His kirei arched an eyebrow and asked, “Do you have so little regard for your infamous prowess on the battlefield?”

Aldric twisted his lips. “War is unpredictable, woman.”

Her frown was immediate. Her eyes searched his face.

And he searched hers in turn. She was so beautiful, Seraphina de la Croix—a light shining amidst all the darkness which plagued their world. He had thought her a fool, but now he saw she was far more clever than he had ever given her credit for. Far more clever than Edmund had given her credit for.

She could easily outwit them both.

What was he even doing with such a woman? Their betrothal was a farce to begin with. A means to an end. But what was the point in it all now, with Edmund having sent a blade for them both in the dark?

Seraphina’s frown deepened. She whispered, “…Is this your final answer, Aldric?”

That question made his stomach roil. He wanted to say no. He wanted to continue to linger near her.

But it was all a lie. She didn’t want him there. She didn’t even need him there. She might think he could aid her in pushing the Arathian troops from her shores, but there were many other ways she might save her Elmoria.

Deals she could strike with the King of Arath, if she could stomach it.

Mercenaries from Kuni or the city-states.

She could dangle herself before the Emperor of Lothmeer’s son.

Or her precious Church might even lend her aid, if she asked nicely enough.

“It is,” he rumbled, no matter how much those words tried to stick in his throat. His one-eyed gaze found her mouth again and he let the soft curve of her lips brand itself within his memory. The fantasy that he might one day know the taste of her kiss on their wedding day, he smothered and set aside. The game was over now. “Enjoy your war, kirei, but I want no part in it.”

This was wrong, to trap such a woman in a false marriage with him. She had many better prospects before her. He brought no gold with him. No troops beyond his Twelve Sons. He brought no advantageous alliances.

She was better off without him, so she could attract a more suitable partner.

Drawing in a deep breath, Aldric pulled away from her at last and relinquished his grip on her throne. Without that added support, he shook like a leaf in the wind, weak and tired after all his many ordeals. He had been stabbed. He had been Truth-Read.

But he gritted his teeth against his exhaustion and announced to all currently present within the throne room, “I hereby release you, Seraphina de la Croix, from our marital contract. You are a free woman again. You owe nothing to me and I owe nothing to you. We are even. I wanted you dead. You stabbed me. There is no blood debt between us and I will expect you to let me and my men leave your court unimpeded.”

It was past time for him and his men to leave. No doubt the Sons were beyond ready to depart. They could sail west, to the City-States of Fortuna. It was the best option left for them, now with Drakmor no longer safe.

He hated it. He wanted to return home, where everything was familiar and made sense. He wanted to return to the one thing he was good at—holding the border and snuffing out Kunishi threats. But by this point in his life, he was used to disappointment.

He never got what he wanted. He would make a new life for himself in the west.

Seraphina’s eyes widened. “What?” she asked, though he didn’t bother repeating himself. She had heard him well enough. “We are bound by a de facto betrothal—”

“Then say I died in the assassination attempt,” he snarled. “No one can fault you if I’m dead.”

She but frowned at him with those words, though. “You can’t be serious, Aldric.”

Confusion swirled within his heart. He didn’t understand. He had expected her to rejoice. To sigh in relief. Perhaps to even thank him for releasing her. He knew she had never wanted this. She had only agreed to Edmund’s ridiculous plan to save her precious Mysai.

His jaw hardened. His chin lifted. “I’m afraid I am,” he informed her.

Seraphina’s hands gripped more tightly at the arms of her throne, to the point her knuckles turned white. “But, the treaty,” she still argued with him. “I must marry you to uphold Elmoria’s end of the treaty. Edmund will not continue to support us in Mysai with you dead.”

Aldric hesitated at that. His kirei didn’t realize Edmund was the one to send the assassins for them both.

But how could she?

She saw the witchblade and drew the most obvious conclusion. And he couldn’t possibly correct her now. Because then he would have to explain how the witchblade fit into all this.

And he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to see her look at him with disgust again, as she had back on Nerina Reef. Nor did he want to be executed for bringing a witchblade onto Elmorian soil. He didn’t fear death.

But that didn’t mean he wanted to race headlong toward it.

Twisting his lips to the side, Aldric scoffed and drew back in close. His fingertips brushed the tips of hers by accident when he gripped the arms of her throne again himself. But he didn’t withdraw from that touch. This would be the last time he would ever touch her.

He might as well enjoy it, accidental or otherwise.

“Then lie,” he advised. “You seem to be rather good at it. Tell the world I am injured. I am confined to a bed.” He tilted his head to the side and added, “Then wait for good news from Mysai to come before you reveal I’m actually dead.”

Beyond all reason, Seraphina still argued with him. She insisted, “I can’t do that. I can’t just lie to the world and say you’re dead.”

Pain lanced its way straight through his heart and stole his breath when he remembered the look of disgust on his own father’s face all those years ago. King Warwick hadn’t hesitated before striking his name from the Hargrave family tree.

“My father managed well enough,” he growled, pulling away again. “I’m sure you will, too.”

“Aldric,” she whispered. Her fingers gripped his sleeve to hold him there.

But he twitched away from her touch.

Goodbye, Sera.

This was for the best. She didn’t need a man like him shadowing her reign. He was but a mere dark blot staining her entry within the history books. She was a woman made for such books. The first queen of Avirel. A woman with a dangerously strategic mind.

She would do great things.

But him? He was a crow. A little demon.

He wasn’t fit to breathe the same air as Seraphina de la Croix.

As he descended from the dais housing her throne with his hand clutched over his midsection to take some of the strain off his stitches, a sudden, harrowing thought struck Aldric like a bolt of lightning.

For all the many wounds slashed across his body, it wasn’t his flesh which ached the most with each step he took away from the Queen of Elmoria.

It was his heart.

He could barely think. He could hardly breathe. All he knew was that it hurt, the thought of leaving her there, calling out for him while he trudged toward his men.

But why was she even calling for him at all?

“Where are you going?” she cried, but he gave no answer. He didn’t know himself. Probably west to Fortuna—the furthest he could sail from his brother before forging into unknown waters.

When he reached his Sons, it was Rakon who spoke first with a low rumble of, “You alright, boss?”

Before he could answer, Calix asked, “Are we truly leaving?” His second-in-command shot a glance back toward the throne over Aldric’s shoulder. “She recognizes you as the true heir to Drakmor. She wants to name you king.”

Aldric gritted his teeth and answered both his men with a snarled, “We’re leaving. We’ll figure out where we’re going as soon as we make it out of the palace alive.”

“Stop!” Seraphina’s voice rang out from behind him. Weak. Desperate. “Aldric Hargrave, I forbid you from leaving this room.”

The words were a fresh lance to his heart. His kirei had clearly gone mad. He didn’t know what else she could possibly want from him.

She was clever. Resourceful. A de la Croix.

She would find another way without him.

Leif softly whistled through the gap in his teeth and asked while they made for the doors, “We really leaving, Father? Seems like she’s wanting you to stay.”

Aldric shrugged off his eldest Son’s words. She just wanted him to fight for her. To die for her. That was it, and nothing more.

He was but another sword in her armory.

But when he heard a soft, “Aldric, please,” unfurl from the direction of the throne, barely audible over the sound of their booted feet striking the marble floor, his steps dragged to a halt. Please, she begged him.

His eye closed. His head bowed. He rubbed his hands across his face and bit back the urge to scream with frustration.

She was toying with him.

And it was working.

Fire welled up inside of him as he turned to face her, prepared to scream at his kirei across that great distance, to ask what she wanted from him once and for all. She would give him an answer that time, too. No more nonsense about just needing to know if he was her ally or her enemy.

She should already know that much for herself.

He had taken many a dagger wound meant for her the night before.

But when his gaze caught on Seraphina where she now stood before her throne, her eyes turned toward him while her councilors and Queensguard all stared at her as if she was going to crumble into ash at any moment, all his anger bled from him.

Even from that great distance, he saw the way she trembled. He saw all the color drain from her lips. He swore beneath his breath as he realized what was about to happen.

But he was too far away to catch her as she fell.

“She’s fainting!” he called out just as the queen’s legs buckled.

Both of Seraphina’s godparents were on their feet in the next moment, though it was ultimately the Spymaster who caught his kirei before her head cracked against the floor.

Aldric raced back toward the throne, his one-eyed gaze trained on the sight of his kirei’s people easing her down to her knees. When he drew close, the Spymaster snarled, “We don’t need you, Crow,” but he ignored her in favor of dropping to his knees as well and reaching out for the queen.

His body ached. His stitches burned. But he pushed through the pain and gripped his kirei’s forearm. Like that, he helped brace her by locking in her elbow.

Seraphina’s eyelids fluttered when she whispered, “Aldric?” But her eyes remained closed. Her head remained bowed.

He frowned and tightened his grip on her. I’m here, he wanted to say, just as he had the night before. But what escaped his lips instead was a soft, “What do you want from me, woman?”

The queen’s godfather rumbled with a palpable irritation. But her godmother whispered, “Where has Father Perero gone? It’s this…blasted vision again, keeping her up to all hours of the night. She needs to rest.”

Vision? Curiosity mingled with trepidation in the pit of Aldric’s stomach when he shot a glance at the elderly noblewoman and waited for her to say more. But she didn’t. None of his kirei’s people looked alarmed by this talk of a vision, either. Not even the Queensguard who stood near enough to hear. It must not be news to them.

But it was certainly news to him. He had never heard of such a thing before—a woman who was not an Oracle receiving visions. And clearly his kirei was no Oracle.

“Where is Father Perero?” Seraphina’s godmother asked again, sounding more distressed by the moment.

Finally, it was Sir Dacre who stepped forward and answered her with a hurried, “The Shepherd was feeling ill, Your Grace, so we had Wylbert escort him to the infirmary.”

The Lord Chancellor growled, “The Shepherd wouldn’t have been feeling ill if he didn’t have to perform two Truth-Readings back-to-back.”

And suddenly, Aldric was pinned beneath the weight of so many eyes, he couldn’t help but recoil a little. He didn’t make it far, though, before his kirei reached for him and whispered through clenched teeth, “No. Wait. Please.”

He halted his retreat at once. Bound by the feel of her fingers snugged about his arm as tightly as any manacle, he narrowed his eye at the queen’s entourage and hissed, “It’s not as if I wanted to be Truth-Read.”

But despite the fresh wave of anger surging to life within him, he couldn’t help but entertain a flicker of warmth as well.

His kirei was begging him to stay.

But that feeble warmth promptly died when the Spymaster snapped back, her voice full of venom, “Yes, well, how else would we have known what you were truly doing skulking in the queen’s chambers last night?”

Aldric twisted his lips. A bitter taste filled his mouth. Before he could think of what he could say in response to that, though, Seraphina whispered something else to him.

Words he never thought he’d hear from a woman—any woman—beyond his own mother.

“I need you.”

Time seemed to stand still as all attention turned away from him and toward the queen instead. And Aldric’s heart stood still along with it.

In the deep silence which followed, he hardly dared breathe.

“…What?” he asked, too dumbfounded to think of something else to say.

What else could he possibly say?

Seraphina de la Croix had just said she needed him.

She needed him.

Finally, his kirei’s head lifted and her eyes fluttered back open, leaving him staring into those gloriously gray depths when she repeated herself with, “I need you, Aldric Hargrave.”

Breath rushed back into his lungs all at once. A great cacophony rose from the queen’s people as they all sought to ask her if she was alright. While his kirei looked away and reassured them she was fine, he remained frozen. Staring at the woman before him.

“What?” he had to ask again. But that time, she didn’t answer him.

His mind scrambled to make sense of this new development. What could she possibly need from him? The only thing of worth he could offer was his knowledge of tactics on the battlefield, his experience with fighting against the Kunishi, and thirteen more blades to add to her cause.

It was that last which saw him concluding on a low hiss, “You need me to die for you.”

But his breath hitched within his throat again when his kirei grasped him more tightly by the arm and used that hold to yank him in all the closer. “I need you to survive with me,” she whispered back.

Each word caressed his face and sang a sweet siren song to his heart.

No. He steeled himself against Seraphina’s allure, against the desperation written within her eyes as she lingered so close to him, he felt himself unraveling bit by bit, moment by moment.

Such nearness was its own sort of agony—to be so near, she was all he could see. To be so near, he drowned in her scent. He basked in her warmth. Her soft lips hovered just out of reach, taunting him with each word she spoke.

She knew precisely what she was doing, this woman. She weaponized her femininity against him.

And he didn’t like it. He was tired of being toyed with.

As if sensing his thoughts, his kirei soon added, her voice little more than a thread of sound at that point, “No games. No loopholes. You have my word.”

Her word? A frown etched itself across his own lips. He had seen just how far her ‘word’ went with his brother too many times to be lured in by that lie. “Your word means nothing to me, kirei.”

“Then you will have my hand.”

Aldric’s heart stopped beating all over again as he stared deeply into Seraphina’s gaze, searching for any hint of her treachery, her lies, her love of loopholes.

But he found none.

Behind the queen, the weasel Spymaster hissed, “You don’t have to do this, Your Majesty,” but his kirei didn’t stop speaking. She didn’t even glance that way.

She simply looked straight at him and softly invited, “Marry me, Aldric Hargrave. Marry me and help me save Elmoria. And then I will help you claim your rightful throne. You may mistrust my words, but you can trust this: as your wife, our fates will be bound. If you fail, I fail with you.”

His wife. Their fates bound.

His pulse raced faster than his thoughts in that moment while he hunted for the catch. There had to be a catch. There was something here he didn’t see. He had freed her. He had let her go. She could have rid herself of him.

And yet she was on her knees, begging him to stay. To marry her. To hitch their stars together. But why?

Why, why, why, why, why.

He wished he could Truth-Read her to know the full of it, because he knew Seraphina de la Croix well enough to know she would never tell him the full of it. Here was a puzzle he could never solve. He didn’t have all the pieces.

But still, as much as he hated it, he wanted to say yes. He wanted to stay.

If only it was that simple, though. But these things never were.

His life was no longer fully his own.

Sitting back on his heels, Aldric frowned. “I have already asked too much of my men,” he rasped, shooting a look over his shoulder toward where his Twelve Sons stood, watching. Waiting. When their eyes met, Calix frowned. “I can’t ask them to go to war for me. I can’t just ask them to die for me in some ill-fated coup.”

Leif piped up without pause to ask, “Well, what if we want to die in some ill-fated coup?”

Rakon nodded his head and agreed, “It seems we should have some sort of say in the matter, boss, since it’s our lives on the line.”

Aldric stared at his men, his brothers, his Sons. He heard their words well enough. But he struggled to process them, just as he had struggled with much of his kirei’s speech.

They had joined with him for the promise of glory fighting on the border against the Kunishi horde. They had joined him for the promise of a place where they belonged in a world not made for people like them.

Bastard sons. The unwanted amongst Drakmori high society.

They all knew who he was—the forgotten Crown Prince. But he had thought they didn’t care. He thought, to them, he was simply the Crow.

But when Calix lowered himself to a knee, saluted him with a fist over his heart, and said, “You have always been my king, Aldric Hargrave,” all that he thought he knew about his Sons unraveled before his very eyes.

Especially when Rakon followed suit. The big man rumbled, “And mine,” while sinking to his knees.

Kyn soon agreed with a soft, “And mine.”

One-by-one, every Son to a man followed Calix’s example by sinking to a knee and swearing allegiance to him. Him. The son King Warwick had abandoned. The prince who had so easily been cast aside and forgotten by the world.

Tears suddenly pricked at his eye and he squeezed it shut.

No.

He refused to cry. Not now. Not here. Not in front of her.

He felt her there, hovering in close. His hand still gripped her forearm, clinging to her just as tightly as she clung to him. He should have released her long ago. She was kneeling just fine on her own without him supporting her. But he didn’t want to let go.

And that was what frightened him the most. He knew better. He knew the way the world worked. Women like Seraphina didn’t truly want little men like him.

This was all simply a business arrangement for her. A means to an end.

To stay with her was to set himself on a path which led to only heartbreak.

“Well, there you have it,” the woman softly prompted him, clearly still waiting for his answer.

He knew which answer he should give. He should tell her no. He should leave and never look back.

But he also knew that was not the answer lingering on the tip of his tongue.

Keeping his gaze averted, his head bowed, Aldric rumbled a low jest of, “And how can you be sure I will not simply smother you on our wedding night, kirei?” while he waited for the tears threatening his vision to abate.

He could nearly taste Seraphina’s haughtiness on his tongue when she countered, “That is bold of you to assume there will even be a wedding night.”

Those words comforted him in a way none of her smiles and promises ever could. There would be no wedding night. This was simply a business arrangement.

Once again, he knew what place he held within her world.

With a smile quirking his lips, Aldric looked back toward the queen at last. “Agreed,” he conceded, releasing his hold on her arm.

She clenched her jaw and asked, “We have come to an agreement, then?”

“Yes,” he breathed without pause. “It would seem we have.” Not too long ago, when she had asked if he was her ally or her enemy, he had declared himself the latter. But now, he tilted his head to the side and observed, “It would seem we are allies, after all. For now.”

His kirei sat back on her heels and turned her head to look toward her people, where they stood nearby. He lifted his attention that way as well.

Unsurprisingly, most frowned at them both. The Spymaster looked as if she wished to murder him. But the queen’s godmother, of all people, smiled at him, for some strange reason.

The Lord Chancellor was the first to break the sudden silence when the older man groused, “It seems we’re going to war, then.”

The queen’s godmother made a face. “We’ve been at war, darling.”

But the Lord Chancellor shook his head. “This is a different sort of war, my star. Coups and conquering.” The elderly nobleman narrowed his eyes and looked down his way. Aldric met that stare unflinchingly. “Let us pray the High Shepherd supports this man’s claim. We will need the Church to stand with us in the days to come.”

Aldric would not hold his breath. For fifteen years, he had lived in exile—his birthright taken from him. If the Church had cared, if they had wished to intervene, they would have done so long ago.

But if his kirei wished to attempt a bloodless coup, with the threat of excommunication dangled over Edmund’s head until his brother yielded the throne, he wouldn’t stop her.

It probably wouldn’t work. But it hurt nothing to try.

The Spymaster stepped forward next, her lips pressed into a thin line. Stiffly, she eased herself down to her knees at the queen’s side and declared, “To war, then.”

Aldric narrowed his eye while he watched. There was something wrong with the woman’s left leg, though he couldn’t determine just what it was through her trousers.

Seraphina reached over and took the Spymaster’s hand. “Thank you, Olivia.”

Drawing in a deep breath, the queen’s godmother echoed, “To war, then,” while stepping closer and grasping both the queen and Spymaster by the shoulders. “We’ll face whatever comes, together.”

Together.

That word tasted strange on Aldric’s tongue. He had lived in exile with his men for many years. He was no stranger to the concept of together.

But this was a new sort of togetherness. The sort he never thought would be his.

A marriage. A wife. A queen.

Seraphina looked back his way, and his eye locked with hers. She had no smile for him and he had no smile for her. But he hated the way his heart skipped a beat when she whispered to him that word again, that promise of, “Together.”

Together, they’d face whatever might come next.

Together, they’d claim their rightful places within the pages of Avirel’s history books.

But as he knelt there, staring at her—his kirei, his bride—he resigned himself to a fact he should have realized long ago. Once, he had been certain he was to be her undoing. The blade sent for her in the night. Her own personal executioner.

But now, he saw the truth. He wasn’t to be her undoing.

She was to be his.