Chapter 12: Kings Kneel

"Yes," King Evander said. "I knew."

I walked down off the step where I had been standing.

The whole Hall stayed on its knees and watched me.

I stopped in front of him, close enough to hear his breath.

"Your Crown burned my mother's court," I said. "Your Crown made her a slave for twenty-six years."

"Yes."

"And you came to my father's Hall with a letter that said to cut my throat."

"Yes."

"You let me put my hand on that block, and you let me think you were my friend."

"I never said I was your friend."

"No," I said. "You said you were my mate."

His eyes were wet, and he did not look away.

"Then I did the one thing I could," he said. "I told you. Do what you want, Linnea. I'll take it."

I could have ended him.

I could feel exactly how, a single word in my throat, and I saw him understand it.

He did not flinch.

I thought of his hand hovering by my face in the cellar, and not touching.

I thought of him standing in front of four kings and saying my mother's name was safe.

"Stay on your knees," I said. "Until I say you can get up."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Don't call me that yet."

Behind him, in the front row, my father lifted his head.

I felt him watching me, and I turned.

For the first time since I was five years old, Edric Storrow looked straight into my face.

His blue eyes were red-rimmed.

They traveled over my hair, and my wrists, and the silver light on them.

He looked old.

"Linnea," he said hoarsely.

"Twenty years," I said. "You couldn't look at me for twenty years."

"I was afraid."

"Of a child."

"Of what you'd be." He swallowed. "I knew whose daughter you were from the first night."

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