The music stopped. Silent expectation swept the crowd.
The Queen dropped her swords.
Gasps and murmurs rolled through the nobles.
Ready or not, the game had entered a new phase.
Dancers rose around them. Sunlight warmed his face, and he tilted his head to soak it in. Perhaps he would like the world to bow.
As he sheathed his blades, he noted her watching him with a peculiar smile.
“What?” he murmured beneath the upbeat music.
Her eyes wandered over his face. “You’re beautiful.”
He flipped her hand and brushed the lightest kiss to her skin. “Of course I am. Only the best for the Queen.”
Her eyes were so bright. Then the dancers parted, and her mask slipped into place.
But not quite the same mask.
She raised their clasped hands as they strode to the dais, up the steps, and to her throne. There were two thrones now – one of roses, the other of vines. She guided him to stand before his seat. On a perch next to his chair was her hawk tilting its head at him.
The nobles waited, uncertain, hostile, and wary.
The Queen’s clarion voice proclaimed, “Castien FitzUmbra of the Night Courts’ High House of Shadows, Queen’s Escort, I bestow upon you the title of Duke and Regent of the Kipos’estates, to hold until the rightful heir of Satryani Kipos comes of age. Do you accept?”
She was what?
He almost missed his line. “I am honored to serve, my Queen.”
They hadn’t discussed this. He knew better than to react, only squeezed her hand to convey his confusion – a confusion that was reflected by many of the nobles. Near Delia’s table, several courtiers glared at him. He was earning enemies already. Wonderful.
The Queen continued, “Duke Castien des Kipos, I offer you the title of Consort, to stand by my side, to rule Drantar, and to place its people above yourself. Do you accept?”
“I am honored to serve.”
She flicked a claw, drawing a line of blood along the back of his hand, and let go. He kept his arm in the air. At her sharp clap, the hawk hopped onto his bracer. Blood trickled to the floor. He stared at the creature. It eyed his blood.
The Queen shouted, “Welcome my Consort!”
The nobles cheered and clapped, their noise filling the expansive hall. From most of the foreign representatives was polite applause – all except the Nadraken table. They didn’t lift a finger. The hawk spread its wings and screeched.
The clamor continued until the Queen held up a hand for silence. She gestured for the musicians to restart and the feast to begin.
Castien was grateful when the bird hopped off his arm without taking a bite from his hand. He settled into the intricately carved seat, his fingers tracing the remarkable details of vines and leaves. A healer rushed to bandage his hand. He would thank the Queen to bestow upon him fewer titles if only to spare his flesh.
Her glance was warm, if reserved. As the level of noise in the hall rose, she said softly, “How does it feel? To sit on a throne.”
He flexed his hand. “Slightly painful. Definitely uncomfortable. And I think the Gamuths hate me.”
“Welcome to royalty. I would tell you it gets better, but–”
Cutting through the nobles’ chatter was a shattered wine glass, the shards glinting in the sunlight. Nadraken’s representative, an aging Baroness who didn’t bother to hide her disdain, drew herself to her full height.
The Queen turned an icy stare to the woman.
The elder lady’s crackling voice was sharp. “Now that that farce of a show is over, we all know what we’re actually here for.”
