Drystan penned a letter to Thalmar, the warlock high priest, and sent Sorana to deliver it personally. It took two days and nights, but eventually, she returned with a pale-skinned, robed man with white hair and eyes of such light blue they were nearly colorless. He was accompanied by two junior priests, large, intimidating men who Drystan guessed acted as the high priest’s bodyguards. The air of power that hummed around him gave Drystan no doubt that Sorana had returned with the right man.
“Thank you for inviting me,” the high priest said after the introductions. “Considering the sensitive nature of this matter, I think it best that I speak to the oracle and elven priestess alone.”
The brothers exchanged glances. “We mean no offense,” Drystan said, “but how can we assure their safety if we leave them alone with you?”
Thalmar raised a white eyebrow. “It is natural to have some suspicion, but if you cannot trust me to respect my own office, and the divine offices these women hold, we will never be able to work together.”
“It’s all right,” Basilla said, getting to her feet. “All three of us have the protection of our gods. We will be perfectly safe.”
“Agreed,” Rofana said, standing as well. She smiled at the princes, who did not look happy. “I know you three wish to be in control of everything, but in this matter, you must trust in us, and in the gods.”
“All right,” Drystan relented. “I expect you to inform us as soon as the three of you have reached a decision.”
The three adjourned to a private chamber, which Drystan made sure was secured before he left them alone.
“It will be all right,” Dareena soothed him as they left the room together. “Rofana and Basilla are both wise, capable women. They will handle the warlock priest just fine.”
“Maybe so,” Alistair said, “but it still seems odd that, after all this, we are leaving the fate of a king to three people who do not actually rule.”
“It is not truly up to us to decide who rules and who does not,” Lucyan reminded him. “That decision has always been up to the gods, and look where it got the warlocks when they tried to take it into their own hands.” He shook his head. “A cruel king who forsakes the gods and crushes anyone with a dissenting opinion.”
“I agree,” Dareena said. “What kind of king both banishes his wife and threatens his high priest? He must have had an iron grip on his people to get away with that and not inspire outrage.”
The four of them settled into Drystan’s office to work while they waited for an answer. Drystan did not get much done, as they ended up spending far too much time trading stories and jokes. But he did not mind—it had been too long since he had spent quality time with his brothers and his mate. His heart filled with warmth and love as he sat in his chair, cuddling Dareena on his lap. With any luck, these familial scenes would become the norm, and not the rarity they were now.
“I think you’ve had Dareena to yourself a little too long.” Lucyan stood. “Just because this is your office doesn’t mean you are the only one allowed to cuddle with her.”
“On the contrary, that’s exactly what it means,” Drystan said, tightening his grip around Dareena a little. “My office, my rules.”
“Oh, stop it, you two,” Dareena laughed, swatting Drystan’s hand away. “I think there is more than enough of me to go around.”
“There will never be enough of you,” Lucyan said, leaning down to kiss Dareena. “Or at least, I will never be able to get enough of you.”
Drystan rolled his eyes as Lucyan kissed Dareena deeply. He didn’t miss the smug look in Lucyan’s eye when Dareena wrapped her arms around his neck. He got the message clearly—his brother thought he had won. Smirking, Drystan slid his arms around Dareena from behind and burrowed his hands beneath her skirts. She moaned when he nudged her legs open, his fingers easily finding her sweet spot.
A loud knock on the door startled the three of them, and they sprang apart. “May we come in?” Rofana called through the door. Drystan wondered if he imagined the knowing tone in her voice. “We have news for you.”
“Yes!” Dareena called back, hopping up from Drystan’s lap. Drystan quickly pushed his chair back behind his desk to hide the sudden bulge in his pants as she let Rofana, Basilla, and Thalmar in.
“Thank you for waiting, my princes,” Rofana said. “The three of us have thought long and hard on this, and after consulting our respective gods, we have come to a decision.”
“And?” Drystan asked, impatient. “What have the gods instructed?”
The warlock priest stepped forward. “Rumas has no wish for Wulorian to continue to rule,” he said. “The warlock god has appeared to me in several dreams, urging me to stand up to him, but Wulorian’s intimidation tactics were quite effective in getting the priests of the other temples to fall in line even when I tried to resist, which greatly weakened my base of power. The three of us have decided that he should stand trial and answer for his crimes against Dragonfell. In the meantime, the head of the warlock council and I must confer on who to appoint as our next king, and we will rule jointly in the meantime under the guidance of our god.”
“Should he not answer for his own crimes in Shadowhaven?” Dareena asked. “Surely he must be punished for killing the previous king.”
“Without proof, it will be difficult to force the king to stand trial in his own country,” Basilla said. “Better that he be tried here, and executed for his crimes.”
Drystan and his brothers exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. “The three of us are agreed,” he said. “Lady Dareena, what say you?”
“I have no objection,” she said, “but we must do it swiftly. The more this drags on, the greater the chances that someone from Shadowhaven will try to rescue him.”
They adjourned, and Drystan went off to gather a council meeting. They would set a date for the trial in the next week or so. Once that was over, they could move on to happier prospects—the wedding and the coronation.
36
“There,” Lyria said, stepping back. “You are finally ready.”
Dareena took a deep breath, then turned around to look in the mirror. Her stomach roiled with nerves this morning, but as she stared, she had to admit she looked good. The ivory dress she’d chosen fit her perfectly, with its off-the-shoulder sleeves, heart-shaped neckline, and wide skirt that flared from her waist. The seamstress had to take it out a bit, as Dareena’s waistline had thickened with all the extra eating she was doing for the babe, but it was barely noticeable. The circlet that held the veil back from her face glimmered, almost like a little crown.
Part of her wished they had been able to do the coronation ceremony first so that she could wear the diadem she’d commissioned for the wedding. But she could not be crowned queen until the marriage ceremony was sealed, and besides, it wasn’t as though she had to wait long. They had decided to combine the ceremonies, and she would be crowned queen right after.