Page 10 of Kept

“Everyone knows about us,” he’d said outside the blacksmith’s shop. He very well could have meant the three of us. Because those rumors had flown from the moment I returned from Evelina’s wedding in Lar Keiren. The rumors were full-throated rumblings now—more than loud enough to be heard across the Rift.

The Sithistrans knew Laurent took his queen and his general to bed. Laurent almost certainly didn’t care about his own reputation, but he’d always shielded me. And he was no debaser of women. Undoubtedly, he longed to shield Given from slurs and lewd suggestions. But he couldn’t. Whether we liked it or not, our lives were public—and even more so now that Laurent was wed. My sex and warrior lineage offered some protection against the muttered insults. As a female, Given was far more vulnerable. Laurent couldn’t stop the censure that was sure to come her way.

So my dark, beautiful prince had done the next best thing. He’d placed his mother’s crown on Given’s head, and he’d surrounded his wife with the finest warriors in Ter Isir. He’d crossed the Rift with his High Priest and the Archmage of Wesyfedd.

He’d brought his queen to face the enemy who tried to kill her. Here, his actions said. Fucking dare to try it again. Perhaps more than anyone, Laurent of Nor Doru knew that perception was nearly as important as raw power. And this display would echo all the way to Beldurn.

Crasor stepped forward, his dark eyes cold as he addressed Given. “The Lord favors you, Your Grace.” He didn’t bow as was customary when recognizing a Child of Prophecy.

My hand itched to draw the dagger I wasn’t supposed to have. Crasor had plotted to kill Given. He’d sent his spy to Lar Katerin with a solstone blade. And now he dared to stand before my queen and speak of his false god’s favor.

Slowly, Given reached up and lowered her hood. A ripple went through the humans as the crown of Sorina of Nor Doru writhed on her head. Given was a study in contrasts with her pale hair and black dress. She also couldn’t have looked more different from the Sithistran women with their high-necked gowns. Given’s bodice was little more than a sheer panel, the curves of her high, firm breasts drawing more than one male gaze.

She waited until the crown’s thorns stopped moving before responding to Crasor. “The Lord favors us all, Prelate, although some might claim I’ve fallen out of his favor.”

Crasor’s mouth tightened. His eyes moved to me.

“Your god can keep his favor,” I said. “I’ve never had a use for it.”

A gasp went up among the human nobles. Several of the women clutched the mirrors on their chests. The Green Guards shifted their feet.

Elissa spoke over the tension, her gaze on Laurent. “We heard you were injured, Your Grace. My ladies prayed for your swift recovery.”

At once, the crowd quieted, every pair of eyes going to Laurent.

He smiled. “Your intelligence was mistaken, Your Grace,” he said silkily. “However, I do appreciate the prayers.”

The look in Elissa’s eyes was sharp enough to cut glass.

Lord Rellan cleared his throat. “We must also congratulate you on your marriage, King Laurent.”

“Thank you.” Laurent waited a beat, then said, “Forgive me, but my memory is notoriously unreliable when it comes to human houses. Remind me who you are again?”

Two spots of color appeared high on Rellan’s cheeks. “Lord Rellan Blackmun of the Meadowlands.”

“Ah, yes, of course!” Laurent gestured to Rellan’s breastplate. “The fruit farmers. Tell me, my lord, how is the harvest looking this year?”

Rellan turned redder. His hand went to his waist, as if he reached for a sword that wasn’t there.

“Father,” Elissa said quietly. The Green Guards stirred. My knights remained totally still. Watchful. The Nor Doruvian side of the standoff was a solid, motionless wall. Their stillness was a carryover from ancient times, when the Rift didn’t gouge the land and Nor Doruvians hunted humans freely. We no longer hunted, but the instinct to focus on our prey remained.

The thorns in Given’s crown moved, twisting and reshaping themselves in a sinuous dance. Crasor touched the mirror on his breast and spoke under his breath. “Lord preserve us.”

“Elissa,” Given said suddenly. Her voice softened as she held the First Queen’s gaze. “My sincere condolences on your losses. I know you loved my brother, and…”

Elissa lifted her chin.

Given’s voice went even softer. “No mother should have to bury her child. I loved Cathrin, as I love you.”

A slight breeze stirred, tugging at Crasor’s robes and the knights’ crimson and green cloaks.

When Elissa said nothing, Given turned to Lidia. “My condolences to you, too, Lidia.”

Lidia nodded, her green eyes warming. “Thank you, Given. And condolences to you, of course.” She drew a deep breath. “We’ve missed you at court. It’s been dreadfully boring without you and—”

“Lidia,” Elissa said sharply.

The Queen Consort snapped her mouth shut. Her black lashes swept her cheeks as she bowed her head, a little frown appearing between her dark brows.

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