“He wouldn’t dare—his army sustained heavy losses before Queen Ilaria was killed and it’s the middle of summer. He knows that even with a new monarch, we are in the height of our power right now. She completed the ceremony, didn’t she? We got our magic back. Maybe she’ll surprise us,” the man argued, his voice similarly hushed.
But Ceren could hear them perfectly from her seat, and she was sure others could as well. Evelayn was too far away, but Ceren knew the new queen was aware of the murmurs, the fears and concerns swirling around the Light court. It had only been a handful of days since Evelayn had completed the ceremony, but already her people were restless, wanting to know what was next. Wanting reassurance that their new queen was going to be able to defend them from the threat to the north.
“You’ve barely touched your food, Lady Ceren.”
Ceren started and turned to look at the Draíolon on her left side. He had pale blond hair—not quite as white as Evelayn’s, but close—and eyes the emerald green of grass in the full lushness of summer. “Have we met?” Why did he know her name? If she’d seen him before, she could have sworn she’d remember.
“I’m afraid not. I’ve been on the front lines of the war for five years.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He shrugged. “It was my duty. I’m just grateful to have made it back home, especially when I find myself in such lovely company.”
Ceren hoped he didn’t notice the rising color in her cheeks, even though she thrilled at his compliment. How old was he, anyway? He had no lines on his face yet, so he was definitely still in his early prime—most likely under a hundred. But his eyes were haunted, not those of a youngling, either. Whoever he was, as soon as he realized she had only reached maturity six months ago, he would probably bid her a quick farewell and never seek out her conversation again. So she might as well enjoy it now, she reasoned. “Do you have a name? Or do you wish me to guess it?”
“Though it might prove entertaining indeed to have you try and guess, I apologize for not introducing myself earlier. I am Quinlen, of the House of Teslar. Perhaps you have heard of my father, Lord Teslar?”
Ceren tried not to choke on the sip of wine she’d just taken. “Yes, perhaps I have.”
Everyone knew Lord Teslar—one of the top generals in the army, and the High Lord of the House of Teslar. She racked her brain trying to remember how many children he had and if she’d ever heard of Quinlen before. Was he the oldest? He couldn’t be that old if he’d only been fighting on the front lines for five years—
A door at the end of the dining hall suddenly flew open, and two Light Sentries entered, dragging another Draíolon behind them. There was a collective gasp around the table, and a few of those gathered jumped to their feet. Ceren immediately looked to Evelayn, who watched while keeping her face an emotionless mask.
“What is the meaning of this?” The queen pushed back her chair and stood up. The other Light Sentries who had been hovering in the background rushed forward, but Evelayn lifted a hand and they paused before getting too close.
The Draíolon they brought in had skin the color of snow with a silvery sheen to it, and pale blue hair. His eyes, when he looked up at Evelayn, were completely white except for his dark pupils. Ceren’s hands turned to ice when she caught his scent—he smelled of winter, of blizzards. He was a Dark Draíolon from Dorjhalon.
“He claims to bring a warning,” one of the Light Sentries sneered, yanking the male’s arm back even harder. The Dark Draíolon flinched but didn’t fight back. “He wants us to believe he’s here to help.”
Fear pumped through Ceren’s veins as she glanced between the captive Draíolon and Evelayn. Silence as heavy as the moment between a lightning strike and the subsequent roar of thunder hung over the room as the queen’s eyes narrowed, and then she slowly moved toward the Dark Draíolon.
Her guards closed in, following right behind her. They halted when she paused only a few feet away from the two Light Sentries and the supposed informant from Dorjhalon.
Palpable tension radiated off Quinlen, who was one of the Draíolon who had jumped to his feet at the intrusion. He obviously didn’t trust the man, and Ceren couldn’t help but wonder if it was some sort of trap. Get away from him, she thought, wishing she dared speak out loud.
Queen Evelayn stared down at the Dark Draíolon for a long time while everyone waited in tense anticipation. The male held her gaze silently. Finally, she nodded.
“I will hear what he has to say.”
She brushed past them and swept out of the room as the Light Sentries scrambled to turn and drag the Dark Draíolon out the door, following their queen, leaving the rest of the room in stunned silence.
At first no one moved, and then Lord Tanvir shoved his chair away from the table and rushed after her. Ceren wished to do the same, but fear planted her feet to the ground. What if it was some sort of trap?
“One Dark Draíolon won’t be able to do anything to her, especially here. She’ll be fine.” Quinlen touched her elbow hesitantly, disconcerting Ceren with his ease in reading her emotions.
“I hope you’re right,” Ceren finally responded, staring at the door with her heart in her throat.
The door to the throne room was already shut when Tanvir sprinted around the corner, moving so fast the castle became a blur. He didn’t care if she was mad at him, he had to be in that room with her—he didn’t dare leave Evelayn alone with a Dark Draíolon. Two Light Sentries guarded the entrance, but he didn’t even pause to acknowledge them before throwing open the door and rushing into the throne room. Let them try and stop him, if they wanted to. The new queen needed him by her side.
When he burst into the room, all eyes turned to him. Evelayn’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but other than that she showed no sign of surprise at his entrance. She sat stiffly on her throne as the Light Sentries forced the Dark Draíolon to his knees on the ground in front of her. They had him bound with cords of light, even though he’d shown no signs of struggle nor attempted to escape.
Good, Tanvir thought as he strode to the front of the room, stopping at the bottom of the dais where the throne sat. Queen Evelayn’s council was gathering along the other side of the room in their customary seats. A few of them didn’t bother hiding their irritation at his arrival.
“What is the meaning of this intrusion, my lord?” Queen Evelayn’s violet eyes met his, and for a moment that existed only in the space between one breath and the next, everything else faded away and there was only her and the sudden spike in his pulse. But then he blinked and clarity returned.