The corners of Lorcan’s mouth curl up. He can read exactly what I’m thinking. Moreover, he’s not inscrutable to me anymore. I can read him, too.
He took my hand, and we turned to face the crowd. I couldn’t help but glance over at him again, wondering if he remembered that day a lifetime ago when we stood behind my father at Midwinter with hidden, clasped hands. Lorcan was already looking at me. He squeezed my hand.
He remembers.
Then we were sweeping down the steps and out the aisle. Even I, who have made this trek on at least a quarterly basis since I was old enough to walk, was taken aback by the sheer number of people who traveled to be here today. The ruined roof and damaged walls had the singular advantage of enabling people outside to see the ceremony. They’ve been through so much. This ceremony gave them closure on a painful past and hope for the future.
I’m almost proud of myself for making it happen. It’s worth it to see so much joy.
We descended the carved stone staircase, down through the darkness, with knights stationed at each landing. This would be an ideal place for an attack. Lorcan’s hand-picked guards were to follow us down and keep us safe during the ride back to the castle. He handed me into the waiting coach, hastily repainted after the trip with the Knauss family.
“How does it feel?” I asked Lorcan as soon as we were in motion. For an answer, he pulled me into a soft, lingering kiss. My fingers brushed the edge of his new crown.
“Humbling,” he says. “It’s a bit surreal.”
“For me, too.” I traced his lower lip, then sat up and pulled the curtain back from the window to look at the crowds along the roadside. “I can’t believe how many people showed up.”
“They believe in you, Zosia. In us.” He edged closer to me.
I sensed the slightest change in him, from relaxed to tense, a split second before Lorcan yanked me down onto the seat. Glass shattered. Wood splinters rained down on us as a heavy object crashed through the coach where my head had been.
“Fuck,” he muttered, rolling off me and throwing the carriage door open. “Stay here.”
“Wait!” Damn them, the Skía ruin everything—but they willnotruin this hard-won day. I’ll kill them myself.
Lorcan had a blade out, flashing in the sun. He was already halfway through the crowd, which parted for him like water. The perpetrator, a grim-faced young man in plain travelers’ clothes, kicked at the newly-minted king. Not an hour wed, yet he’s out here proving that no harm will ever come to his queen. I can’t help but admire that, but Lorcan shouldn’t have to fight on his wedding day. He’s not meant to be a killer. That part of his life is behind him.
The skirmish was over almost before it began. The would-be gang member soon thrashed in the grip of two men. Lorcan slid Raina’s Italian stiletto out of its sheath and pressed the point to the attacker’s throat above his bobbing Adam’s apple. Seconds ticked by.
Don’t do it.I won’t contradict his first call as my co-ruler, no matter how much I don’t want him to do this. I’m done with all the death.
Lorcan sheathed his weapon and walked away. I released a long exhale of relief.
“Take him to the Gaol,” he called back over his shoulder.
“Your first wise decision as king,” I said teasingly. But it’s no use. The attack set off every protective instinct he’s ever honed. His expression was granite when he returned to my side and took my wrist the way he’s only done on a few occasions. He dragged me toward a two-wheeled carriage ahead, glass shards shaking out of my gown with every step.
“Get in, Zosia.”
I let him push me into the seat, wondering why he chose this small, open vehicle when there are other closed vehicles he could have commandeered. I had my answer when he took the reins from the driver and set the horses galloping alongside the rest of the parade vehicles. Mounted guards formed a wall ahead and behind us.
“Lorcan. Stop.”
He barely glanced at me, too preoccupied with getting me to safety to listen. I was too busy trying to keep my skirt from blowing around to attempt reasoning with him. When he gets like this, nothing will stop him until the threat is gone.
There are likely other Skía recruits scattered amongst the crowd. It wasn’t lost on me that the instant I peered out the window, a vicious circular blade came crashing toward my head.
He anticipated this, and prepared well, but no one, even an assassin as talented as he is, can account for every possibility. There are more people in attendance than anyone predicted.
My heart bled when he said, grimly, “I won’t fail you the way my father failed your mother.”
“I know you won’t.”
Why doesn’t history ever stay in the past?
Because it lives with us, within us, shaping our lives from the moment we take our first breath. I was wrong to think I could run away from it. Lorcan always understood that better than I did.
But we are not powerless over our legacies.
