Page 138 of Thorn Season
Superior.The word struck an uncomfortable chord inside me. “That’s awfully blunt.”
He kissed my temple and murmured against my skin, “Candor is underrated.” Then, with his lips still hovering close, “Didn’t you wonder why I told my advisors I wished to find a bride this year? Couldn’t you guess whose eighteenth season I’d formed my plans around?”
I blinked, glancing up toward him. Inadvertently putting our faces at a more intimate angle. “But—I didn’t—I wasn’t going to join court initially.”
“Then I’d have waited.” His loose grip on my waist turned even gentler, fingers drifting along my ribs. “Only for you.” The words were a breath across my lips, but he didn’t close the distance. He shifted instead, peering toward the dais.
And I knew. He was going to make the speech. He was going to ask me now.
“Many apologies, Your Majesty.”
We turned toward a bowing servant whose hands quivered around a scroll.
“What is it?” Erik demanded.
The boy flicked nervous eyes to me. “A message came for you, my lady.”
“Deliver it to the lady’s chambers,” Erik said. “We’re occupied.”
“The messenger said it was urgent.”
“It’s all right.” I peeled from Erik and took the scroll. “It’s probably from Vereen.”
Amarie must have sent this message before Tari had arrived.
I shoved a fingernail under the wax and paused. I didn’t recognize the seal. Erik peeked over my shoulder, and I wrapped my hand around the emblem.
“I should tend to this privately. It won’t take long.”
Erik hesitated, eyes flicking to the scroll. Then he stroked a hand down my back. “Take as long as you need.” He offered me a soft, confiding smile. “I’ll wait.”
I surprised myself by rising to kiss his cheek—an oddly automatic gesture—before I hurried away.
My heart raced with every step through the corridors. I hadn’t expected them to draw me out like this, especially so early in the night. But it didn’t matter; my specter already teemed beneath my skin. I knew where to go. I knew what to do.
I was ready.
I made it to my chambers and tossed my head around, expecting to find them there. I even lashed my specter out—rustling the curtains, curving inside the bedchamber. Nothing.
I looked again to the seal on the scroll: a sun rising behind a diamond-shaped shield, crossed with two swords. I shakily broke the wax and unrolled the parchment.
My eyes darted over the page, trying to devour the words beforecomprehending them. Then I saw the swirling symbol and focused. It was the symbol from the underground prisons and those eurium weapons. The copycats’ symbol. And underneath, written in Keil’s flowing script, was its translation.
The writing slipped out of focus. My specter slackened.
This couldn’t be right.
But a deep-rooted instinct told me it wasn’t a mistake.
I threw the scroll aside and lurched back into the halls. My legs knew where they were taking me before my mind could catch up.
Hands closed over my shoulders and my specter rushed to the surface. I whirled, primed to run, when Garret hauled me into a parlor and slammed the door behind us. The air left me in a sharp gust.
“What was that?” he said.
“I don’t have time for this.” I staggered forward, but Garret blocked me.
“I saw you leave with that look on your face,” he pressed. “What happened?”
